JJBELL 
 
 Wee 
 
 Oh? Christina! Etc.


 
 JIM
 
 JIM 
 
 BY 
 
 J J BELL 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 1 WEE MACGREGOR," " OHl CHRISTINA! ", &C., &C. 
 
 HODDER & STOUGHTON 
 
 NEW YORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
 
 COPYRIGHT, ign, BY 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
 
 TO 
 
 JIM'S MOTHER 
 
 2125964
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I HE APPROACHES THE OLDEST INHABITANT . I 
 
 II MATTERS OF FACT AND FANCY l6 
 
 III A FIRST VENTURE IN FICTION .... 30 
 
 IV IN THE MAGIC WOOD 43 
 
 V A RAINY DAY 57 
 
 VI THE FIRST SITTING 69 
 
 VII MRS. SAMMY SAVES THE SITUATION ... 79 
 
 VIII JIM TELLS A TALE 93 
 
 IX " THE PORTRAIT IS FINISHED " . IO4 
 
 X THE DEPARTURE OF DAISY Il6 
 
 XI MR. GIRDWOOD WINS A PRIZE 127 
 
 XII UNTIL THE SPRING 14!
 
 HE APPROACHES THE OLDEST INHABITANT 
 
 MR. GIRDWOOD, the reputed oldest inhabitant of 
 Clure Bay, sat on the narrow bench against the 
 front of his cottage. The cottage was, as the poet 
 said, a thatched one, but the outside, though a 
 hundred years old, would have struck none but the 
 most jaundiced eye as mean. In the August sun- 
 shine the lime-washed wall was well-nigh dazzling, 
 and was only saved from being monotonously 
 white by the crimson ramblers on either side of the 
 doorway. The door itself, like the frames of the 
 two little windows, had been recently painted a 
 rather vivid green; and altogether the place wore a 
 joyous aspect. 
 
 The same cannot be said of the owner, whose 
 facial expression and rigidity of body betokened 
 mental strain of some sort. Yet, but for the rigid- 
 ity, the pose would have been natural enough, Mr. 
 Girdwood's back in its Sabbath coat was, perhaps, 
 a trifle straighter than usual, but his legs, in 
 their Sabbath trousers, were quite in their every- 
 day resting attitude that is to say, the calves
 
 Jim 
 
 made right-angles with the thighs, and the feet, in 
 their Sabbath boots, were planted flat on the 
 ground, about twelve inches apart. A gnarled, 
 brown hand covered each knee. From his moleskin 
 waistcoat depended a heavy silver chain, and under 
 his grey and somewhat untidy beard one might have 
 gained a glimpse of white linen. The only article 
 of raiment not pertaining to the Sabbath was the 
 flat bonnet resting on the shaggy head ; and its pres- 
 ence instead of that of an ancient silk hat may be 
 explained by saying that Mr. Girdwood drew the 
 line at wearing the latter on a purely secular occa- 
 sion like the present. 
 
 Half-an-hour had passed since the old man had 
 taken his position on the bench. His collar was 
 irritating his neck, and he was assailed by a crav- 
 ing for a smoke. It was warm, too, and he was 
 inclined to drowsiness. Over the strip of garden 
 in front of him, gay with pansies and calceolarias, 
 sweet with mignonette, bees laboured and butter- 
 flies sported ; yet though he loved every inch of the 
 soil, he never once let his eyes fall to it. He could 
 not prevent them from blinking, and he had a de- 
 sire to rub them ; but he could and did keep 
 them fixed on a spot in the meadow, some fifty 
 yards away. 
 
 The green door was opened, and a woman stood 
 pn the snowy step. She looked very old, yet she
 
 He Approaches the Oldest Inhabitant 3 
 
 was but little bent, and she impressed one as being 
 almost literally wiry. 
 
 " Samuel/' she said, " yer denner's ready." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood paid no attention. 
 
 " Samuel, yer denner's ready." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood's clasp on his knees tightened. 
 Otherwise he made no movement. But in an angry 
 whisper he said 
 
 " Away, woman, away ! Ye'll spile the pictur ! " 
 
 Upon a hillock in the meadow James Nevis was 
 busy at his easel. On his right rose a wooded 
 hill; on his left, under sheer cliffs, lay the sea, 
 stretching away into the summer haze that con- 
 cealed the islands of the firth. In front of him, 
 and a furlong beyond the white cottage, rose the 
 ancient, ruined castle, perched on the verge of a 
 precipice overhanging the little harbour and fishing 
 village. He wrought assiduously on the large can- 
 vas, for there were certain impressions he desired 
 to secure ere the light changed. 
 
 On the grass, close by, sat his son, a fair-haired 
 little boy in white jersey and shorts and a big man- 
 o'-war hat. He, too, was painting, but evidently 
 tiring of his occupation. 
 
 " Your sea isn't nearly so blue as mine, Doody," 
 he remarked. 
 
 " Not nearly, Jim Crow," Nevis replied absently.
 
 Jim 
 
 " But you're not looking at mine. Look at it ! " 
 
 Nevis obeyed. " Yes ; yours is much bluer. 
 Aren't you going to put a boat on it? " 
 
 " I don't see any boat." 
 
 " Oh, beg pardon." 
 
 " This is a real picture an artist picture," the 
 boy explained, tearing it from the sixpenny block. 
 
 " Rather ! Are you going to do another ? The 
 castle?" 
 
 A head-shake was the reply. " You don't get 
 such good paint when you don't put the brush in 
 your mouth. I wish I had oil paints, Doody." 
 
 "You'll get them some day. Are you hungry 
 now ? " 
 
 Jim glanced at the basket with the napkin of 
 sandwiches and the pair of Thermos flasks. 
 
 " No," he said. He was not going to be hungry 
 before his father. " I suspose," he went on, " you 
 are not quite nearly finished." 
 
 " Well, you see, Jim Crow, I want to catch yon 
 little bit of blue at the harbour before the sun goes 
 off it. You don't mind, do you? After I've got 
 that, we'll have a rest together " 
 
 " And you'll tell me another snake story? " 
 
 "Serpently!" 
 
 "Why do you say serpently for certainly, 
 Doody?" 
 
 " Don't you think it's rather funny? "
 
 He Approaches the Oldest Inhabitant 5 
 
 Jim shook his head. 
 
 " Then I won't say it again. Now I must go 
 ahead. Do make a picture of the castle till I'm 
 ready." 
 
 " My water's done," said the boy. " 'Sides, I 
 don't think I'm in the vein to-day." 
 
 Nevis checked a laugh just in time. 
 
 " I think I'll go and look for puffballs till you're 
 ready," the boy went on, " and then " 
 
 " No, no ; we'll look for puffballs together later 
 on. They are too near the cliff." 
 
 " Well, I'll go and speak to the old doody," said 
 Jim, indicating Mr. Samuel Girdwood. 
 
 " Yes ; you may do that. His name is Sammy, 
 and he says he is the oldest person in this place. 
 So you must be polite. Ask him if he remembers 
 me. I don't suppose he does, for it's eight years 
 since I was here last. But I remember Sammy 
 (though I never heard his other name) quite 
 well." 
 
 " I don't remember him." 
 
 " You weren't here then." 
 
 " Why wasn't I here then? " 
 
 " You weren't born." 
 
 "Why wasn't I borned?" 
 
 " Well, you see, you were a treat in store, Jim 
 Crow." 
 
 "What's that?"
 
 Jim 
 
 " Well, you and I have a treat in store just now. 
 When mother comes home from her long voy- 
 age " 
 
 " I wish she was home now, Doody." 
 
 " So do I, my son. But her home-coming is our 
 treat in store. You see?" 
 
 Jim nodded gravely. " I pifer " (prefer J " treats 
 out of the store, don't you ? " he said presently. 
 
 " Everybody does ; but sometimes we have got to 
 wait till the shop opens. But I say, old man, if 
 we go on talking like this, I'll miss that bit of 
 blue. Just give me five minutes, and then we'll 
 have grub." 
 
 " All right," said Jim agreeably, and strolled off 
 in the direction of the cottage. His mother had 
 been at some pains to bring him up with a sense 
 of respect for his elders in whatever walk of life, 
 and as he drew near the old man he gravely 
 touched the brim of his sailor hat. 
 
 Mr. Girdwood, however, paid no attention to the 
 salute. 
 
 It had been a kind world to Jim thus far, and 
 he was not easily abashed. Halting at the little 
 rickety gate in the low fence which bounded the 
 strip of garden, he said quite distinctly 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Sammy?" and leaned 
 against the gate. 
 
 " Eh ? " said Mr. Girdwood, starting slightly.
 
 He Approaches the Oldest Inhabitant 7 
 
 But he immediately recovered himself and his rigid 
 pose. Then he tried to speak without moving his 
 lips, but not being a ventriloquist the result was 
 not clear to the boy. " Stand aside, my lad. Ye'll 
 spile the pictur." 
 
 " What ? " Remembering his manners, the boy 
 added, " Beg pardon, Mr. Sammy." 
 
 " Stand aside, stand aside ! " Involuntarily the 
 old man made a gesture with his hand, which Jim 
 understood. 
 
 " I suspose your gate is too old and rotten," he 
 said pleasantly, and moved a step or two to the 
 right. " I could climb over the fence, if you like. 
 I came to see you, you know. Doody remembers 
 you, but I don't because I wasn't borned. So it 
 isn't my fault. But I'll remember you another 
 time, Mr. Sammy." 
 
 " H'm ! " muttered Mr. Girdwood. 
 
 "Couldn't you speak a little louder, please?" 
 Jim regarded the hairy, wrinkled, but by no means 
 forbidding, countenance with a friendly gaze, and 
 wondered if people lost their voices when they grew 
 very old. " I could climb over quite easily," he 
 said. " I wouldn't spoil your garden. It seems a 
 very nice garden, Mr. Sammy." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood noticed that the artist was light- 
 ing his pipe. 
 
 " Who was tellin' ye my name was Sammy ? " he
 
 8 Jim 
 
 inquired, a little suspiciously but almost in his nat- 
 ural voice. 
 
 "Doody. Mine is Jim Crow." 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 " Jim Crow. But when I go to school it will be 
 James Crowley Nevis." 
 
 " Folk should stick to the names they was bap- 
 tized wi'," said Mr. Gird wood, who objected to 
 " Sammy," though the " Mr." prefixed by the boy 
 had all but neutralised the annoyance on this occa- 
 sion. " I was baptized Samuel." 
 
 "Oh," remarked Jim, looking thoughtful. 
 " Haven't you got a middle name, Mr. Sammy Sam- 
 uel?" 
 
 "Tits, laddie! My name is Samuel Girdwood." 
 
 " But Doody said it was Sammy." 
 
 " Well, tell him 'tis Samuel." 
 
 Jim looked a trifle disappointed, but promised to 
 inform his father. " Doody," he went on, " said 
 you was the oldest doody in this place but p'r'aps 
 you aren't." 
 
 "The oldest what?" 
 
 " Doody I mean man. You see, when I was 
 little I used to call Daddy Doody ; and then I called 
 all men doodies, and I often still call Daddy Doody. 
 He pifers it." 
 
 " Aw," said Mr. Girdwood doubtfully. Sud-
 
 He Approaches the Oldest Inhabitant 9 
 
 denly he brightened. " But yer daddy's right about 
 me bein' the oldest man in Clure Bay ay, he's 
 right! He's a wise man, yer daddy. An' I'm not 
 say in' I never was called Sammy." 
 
 Jim was gratified. " I could climb over quite 
 easily," he said. 
 
 Mr. Girdwood shook his head. " Ye would file 
 yer fine breeks. I'll let ye in at the gate another 
 time, but " 
 
 " Now ! " said Jim, eagerly. 
 
 There was no response. The old man was sitting 
 as stiffly as ever, his gaze on the artist who had 
 resumed work. 
 
 "Please!" said Jim. 
 
 " Away to yer daddy, my lad," Mr. Girdwood 
 muttered. " He would be vexed if ye spiled his 
 pictur." 
 
 Jim stared. " How could I spile Doody's pic- 
 ture?" he demanded at last. 
 
 " Tits, laddie ! Can ye not see I'm doin' my 
 best for to assist him? If ye speak to me, I canna 
 keep still; an' if I dinna keep still, he canna pent 
 my portrait. I I'll be gled to see ye another 
 time." For an instant Mr. Girdwood's counte- 
 nance relaxed, but only to become more severe than 
 ever. 
 
 It took Jim a little while to realise the situation.
 
 io Jim 
 
 When he did so he blurted out, " But my Doody 
 isn't painting your portrait, Mr. Sammy. He's 
 painting the castle and a bit of blue " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " So you needn't sit still any more," said Jim 
 very kindly. Next moment he recoiled from the 
 fence as Mr. Girdwood, rumbling with wrath, rose 
 from the bench and tottered into the cottage. 
 
 A sort of fascination prevented the boy from at 
 once running back to his father, and ere it passed 
 he was being addressed by Miss Girdwood, who 
 came hurrying, with surprising agility, from the 
 cottage. At first, Jim took her to be an old witch, 
 and regarded her with interest, for he had not 
 been taught to be afraid any more than he had been 
 encouraged to be reckless. But as she had no 
 broomstick he decided regretfully that she was only 
 a " fun-lady." It should be mentioned, however, 
 that he forgot to touch his hat. 
 
 " Never heed him," she said gently, coming close 
 to the fence. " Did he frighten ye, dearie ? " As 
 the boy did not look alarmed, she continued, " I 
 seen ye an' heard ye from the window. Ye maun 
 try for to excuse Samuel for thinkin' yer fayther 
 was pentin* him. Ye see, Samuel's gettin' 
 old " 
 
 " Why did he make fun-noises and run away ? " 
 Jim asked.
 
 He Approaches the Oldest Inhabitant n 
 
 "Ah, well, ye see, dearie, he was disappinted- 
 like. He's been wantin' for many a year to get 
 hissel' pented in a fine pictur, an' when he heard 
 yer fayther was comin' to the Bay, nothin' would 
 please him but to get the house pented an' white- 
 washed, so as yer fayther would notice it. An' 
 when he seen you an' yer fayther comin' 'cross the 
 field this mornin', he got terrible excited, an' I had 
 an awfu' job to soothe him. An' when he seen yer 
 fayther settin' up his weasel " 
 
 " Easel," Jim mildly corrected. " A weasel's a 
 thing that goes pop, you know. Sometimes it's a 
 beast, too." 
 
 " So it is," she said agreeably. " I thought 
 penters called it a weasel. But we're always learn- 
 in'. So, when he seen yer fayther settin' it up, 
 he thought the time had come at long last, an' 
 nothin' would please him but to dress hissel' 
 an' a terrible business it was to get on his Sabbath 
 things on a Wensday. It was worse'n a funeral. 
 But mind ye, dearie, I thought the time had come 
 mysel', for yer fayther was aye lookin' at the cot- 
 tage " 
 
 " It was the castle Doody was looking at, and the 
 little bit of " 
 
 " Well, well, it canna be helped. I'll jist ha' to 
 tell Samuel he would ha' been pented the day, if it 
 hadna been for the castel. An' ye'll excuse Sam-
 
 12 Jim 
 
 uel, for he's gettin' old. Now I best gang an' get 
 him his denner. 'Twill maybe help him to get past 
 the disappintment." She stooped and plucked a 
 few carnations, which she handed shily to the 
 boy. " An' ye'll excuse him, dearie, for he's get- 
 tin' old." 
 
 " Yes, thank you," said Jim gravely, " I'll 'scuse 
 him," and remembered to touch his hat to her re- 
 treating figure. 
 
 He found his father ready for lunch and related 
 his experience at the cottage, though his report of 
 Miss Girdwood's remarks may not have been 
 altogether exact. " But I 'scused him," he said in 
 conclusion. 
 
 " Ah," said Nevis solemnly. " I'm sorry I can't 
 oblige old Sammy by painting his portrait," he 
 added. 
 
 "Why can't you?" 
 
 " Because, Jim Crow, we have come here to try 
 to make some pennies, and I can nearly always get 
 some pennies for my pictures of castles and things, 
 but not for pictures of old doodies." 
 
 " Why can't you get pennies for pictures of old 
 doodies? " 
 
 Nevis did his best to explain, without succeeding 
 in satisfying his son. 
 
 " I'll give you my savings," said the latter, at 
 last, " if you paint him."
 
 He Approaches the Oldest Inhabitant 13 
 
 " Thanks, old man. But you must keep on sav- 
 ing up, and the next time mother goes on a voyage 
 we'll be able to afford to go with her." 
 
 " But mother won't be going another voyage." 
 
 " Not without us. And it would be fine to be 
 able to take her a voyage some day, wouldn't it ? " 
 
 There was a brief pause. 
 
 " I think I would like to hear the snake story 
 now/' said Jim, who could associate his mother with 
 nothing but home. 
 
 Later they spent an hour in hunting for the de- 
 sired puffballs, and about the same period in playing 
 at trains, Jim being an express engine and his 
 father anything from a passenger to a signal post. 
 Then they rested on the hillock whilst Nevis, pad 
 on knees, wrote a letter to his wife. He had not 
 finished when Jim suddenly announced his intention 
 of making another call on Mr. Samuel. 
 
 "Don't be long," said Nevis absently. "We 
 must be getting home for tea soon, you know." 
 
 "All right, Doody." And Jim marched off to 
 the cottage with a confident look on his young coun- 
 tenance. Under his arm he carried his sketching- 
 block, in his hand his little paint box. 
 
 He opened the rickety gate very carefully, and 
 without hesitation advanced to the green door and 
 knocked.
 
 14 
 
 It was opened by Miss Girdwood, whose withered 
 face seemed to grow a trifle younger at the sight 
 of him. 
 
 " Ye've come back, dearie," she said kindly. 
 " But I doubt Samuel -- " 
 
 " I've come to paint his portrait," said Jim Crow, 
 adding, " 'cept the whiskers." 
 
 Whereupon Miss Girdwood put her hand to her 
 mouth and quaked. 
 
 " Oh, dearie, dearie ! " she gasped, controlling 
 herself. "Will ye come in an' see Samuel?" she 
 asked gently. " He's broodin' yet, but surely this'll 
 mak' him better." 
 
 Jim Crow expressed his entire readiness to enter, 
 and gave her his free hand. 
 
 In the kitchen, by the old-fashioned fire-place 
 which shone with much brass, sat Mr. Girdwood in 
 his shirt sleeves. He was indeed brooding, but his 
 expression softened at the sight of his visitor. The 
 laddie was not to blame anyway. 
 
 " Samuel," said the old woman, half humorously, 
 half appealingly, " the young gentleman's for pentin' 
 yer portrait." 
 
 " 'Cept the whiskers," put in Jim. " 'Cause, you 
 see, I don't know how to paint whiskers." Then 
 as if struck by a happy thought " P'r'aps I'll get 
 Doody to paint them on afterwards." 
 
 The frown that had come at the boy's very per-
 
 He Approaches the Oldest Inhabitant 15 
 
 sonal reference faded from the old man's face. He 
 emitted a series of deep chuckles. He rose and held 
 out his hand. 
 
 " Well, well ! " he said ; and again, " well, well ! 
 Did ye ever hear the like, Elizabeth ? Where's yon 
 wee poke o' peppermints ? " 
 
 And, after all, Jim Crow included the whiskers in 
 the likeness, and Mr. Samuel made no objections 
 whatever to their being a sort of pink.
 
 MATTERS OF FACT AND FANCY 
 
 IT took Jim Crow just three days to feel quite at 
 home with the oldest inhabitant of Clure Bay. That 
 Mr. Samuel Girdwood did not within the same 
 period become so completely at his ease in his inter- 
 course with the little boy was doubtless due to the 
 natural caution of old age and a lack of experience 
 in the ways of " genteel " childhood. For one 
 thing, Samuel was not accustomed to having hats 
 touched to him ; in fact, he could not remember such 
 an event happening prior to Jim's first approach ; 
 and while the compliment was peculiarly sweet to 
 his soul, he had frequent qualms of doubt as to its 
 sincerity. The village children, as he had long ago 
 realised, failed to perceive in him a person of any 
 special importance even on the Sabbath; their 
 grins of greeting, when vouchsafed to him, were not 
 invariably respectful, and it was not a full year since 
 two youngsters, whom he had reprimanded for 
 fighting, had united to cast stale fish at him. It 
 was fortunate for the old man's comfort of mind 
 that the adult members of the small community had 
 always allowed him to believe that they regarded 
 
 16
 
 Matters of Fact and Fancy 17 
 
 him as a sort of oracle. Indirectly this may have 
 helped him to combat his suspicions of the boy, who, 
 he argued secretly, was at least old-fashioned 
 enough to be accepted seriously. As a matter of 
 fact, Jim Crow at this time was far less old-fash- 
 ioned than imaginative. He had already taken Mr. 
 Girdwood beyond his intellectual depth on several 
 occasions, though Mr. Girdwood had been too puz- 
 zled to be resentful. 
 
 They were sitting on the bench against the front 
 of the cottage. Miss Girdwood had scrubbed the 
 bench that morning, lest the " young gentleman " 
 should take it into his head to pay a visit. Now 
 she lingered in the doorway, watching the twain. 
 There had been a longish silence, during which 
 Air. Girdwood had methodically rilled his pipe 
 with some tobacco presented to him by the boy's 
 father. 
 
 " 'Tis good tobacco," he remarked at last. 
 
 Jim Crow did not appear to have heard. " Mr. 
 Sammy," he said abruptly, forgetting, as he fre- 
 quently did, the more formal name, " where are all 
 your children ? " 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 Jim suddenly remembered that it was not always 
 polite to ask questions, so he sought the informa- 
 tion desired in a slightly less direct fashion.
 
 1 8 Jim 
 
 " I suspose you have a great many children, Mr. 
 Sammy," he said. 
 
 " Children ! " cried Mr. Girdwood ; " bless ycr 
 heart, lad, I've been a single man all my life." 
 
 " Oh," said the boy, not comprehending. " I sus- 
 pose you'll be having some later on. Children are 
 very nice to have when they're not too young." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood gaped, whilst his aged sister, 
 stifling a cackle, fled indoors to listen, hand over 
 mouth, at the open kitchen window. 
 
 " I've got heaps of children," the boy continued 
 unconcernedly. " I've got two f roggies " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Two froggies and a big humpty and a rabbity- 
 pabbity and a teddy and a ephelant and three tew- 
 kens and two mices. One of the froggies has lost 
 
 his legs Uncle Ritchie said he was the great 
 
 chieftain of the puddock race and the oldest tew- 
 ken is busted " 
 
 " What's all this, what's all this? " Mr. Girdwood 
 feebly demanded. 
 
 "Of course they're just pretend children," Jim 
 frankly admitted. " I 'spect you would pifer real 
 ones, Mr. Sammy." 
 
 " I never had any parteec'lar notion o' children," 
 said Mr. Girdwood, recovering himself and feeling, 
 no doubt, that he ought to say something. " Chil- 
 dren is mostly a trouble an' a sorrow an' "
 
 Matters of Fact and Fancy 19 
 
 " Whisht, Samuel ! " came a loud whisper from 
 the window. " Never heed him, dearie. He 
 doesna mean what he says." 
 
 Jim gave a friendly smile to the withered face, 
 which was immediately withdrawn, and turned 
 again to his host. 
 
 " Hasn't Mrs. Sammy got no children, too ? " he 
 inquired. 
 
 " Mercy on us, laddie ! She's jist as single as 
 I am!" ' 
 
 "What is single?" 
 
 Samuel pushed back his bonnet and scratched his 
 head. "Well, ye see, my sister an* me never had 
 any parteec'lar notion o' gettin' married." He 
 paused. 
 
 "Why hadn't you any parteec'lar?" 
 
 " 'Tis a hard question," said the old man 
 evasively. 
 
 " I'll ask Mrs. Sammy." 
 
 " But, my lad, Elizabeth's not a Missis; she's jist 
 a Miss." 
 
 " I see," said Jim slowly, and registered a query 
 for his father, who was so much wiser than this 
 old doody. Having done so, he somewhat incon- 
 sequently made the announcement that Mr. Froggie 
 (the one with no legs) had just got married to Miss 
 Tewken (not the busted one). 
 
 " Well, I never ! " exclaimed Mr. Girdwood,
 
 2O Jim 
 
 rather at sea, but thankful to get away from the 
 more personal conversation. " What did ye say her 
 name was ? " 
 
 " Miss Tewken. She's a chicken, you know. 
 She used to say ' tewk ! ' when she was new." 
 
 " Ay, ay. Ye mean a tewky-hen." 
 
 " You can call her that, if you like," Jim assented 
 graciously. " I always call her Miss Tewken." 
 
 "So," said Mr. Girdwood brightly, "she'll be 
 Mrs. Frog now ! " 
 
 " No ; she's Miss Tewken always," was the firm 
 reply. " After Mr. Froggie is married to Miss 
 Tewken he's going to be married to Miss Mousie, 
 and then Miss Mousie's going to be married to Mr. 
 Ephelant, and he's going to be married to Mr. 
 Heigh-ho-Anthony Rowley " 
 
 " Aw 1 but that canna be, that canna be ! " Mr. 
 Girdwood protested. 
 
 "Oh, yes, it can; it's quite easy, Mr. Sammy. 
 Isn't it, Miss Sammy ? " he called to the old woman, 
 who had allowed her amazement to overcome her 
 modesty. 
 
 " Surely, dearie, surely ! " she replied, withdraw- 
 ing once more from the window in some confusion, 
 assuring herself that she had never " heard the like 
 in all her days." 
 
 " Was ye never at the Sabbath schule, ma
 
 Matters of Fact and Fancy 21 
 
 lad ? " Mr. Girdwood inquired, the least thing se- 
 verely. 
 
 " No ; p'r'aps 1 I'll be going next year. But Mr. 
 Froggie goes ; so does Miss Mousie ; all my children 
 go, 'cept the busted ones. They like it fearful. 
 Miss Mousie told me." 
 
 This was too much for Mr. Girdwood. 
 
 " James Crow," he said solemnly, " I could for- 
 give ye for tryin' to cod me I could forgive ye 
 that but when it comes to ye tellin' " 
 
 " Oh, Samuel," came the voice from the window, 
 " ye dinna need to be that serious. 'Tis jist a bit 
 story he's tellin' ye. ... An' do ye teach them 
 in the Sabbath schule, dearie?" 
 
 " No," said the boy, undisturbed. " Mr. Monkey 
 teaches them. There's something wrong with Mr. 
 Monkey's squeaker. Doody tramped on him one 
 day ; he didn't mean it." 
 
 " I canna let him mak' a mock " began Mr. 
 
 Girdwood to his quaking sister. 
 
 " Can you tell me," interrupted Jim, eager with 
 a fresh idea, " why small tewkens real tewkens, 
 you know never have doodies ? " 
 
 " But what in the world is doodies ? " cried Miss 
 Girdwood, who seemed incapable of remaining far 
 from the window. 
 
 Her brother turned upon her. " D'ye not ken,"
 
 22 Jim 
 
 he said quite cockily, " that a doody's a daddy, 
 otherwise a fayther?" 
 
 " Mr. Sammy didn't know till I told him," said 
 Jim, without the slightest intention of abashing his 
 ancient friend. " There's a lot of small tewkens 
 where Doody and I are staying now, and they've 
 got a mother " he really said " muzzer," but cor- 
 rected himself "but no doody. And where we 
 stayed last year there was heaps of small tewkens 
 with mothers, but no doodies. Where are the 
 doodies, Mr. Sammy?" 
 
 Possibly Mr. Girdwood was cheered by having 
 the question put directly to himself, especially as 
 it was one he could answer. He replied almost 
 graciously 
 
 " Oh, the doodies, as ye call them, is there sure 
 'nough. Ye'll see them walkin' about the yard an' 
 whiles cryin' cockaleerie. Eh ? " 
 
 Jim shook his head. " Those ones can't be the 
 doodies, 'cause they're never kind to the small tew- 
 kens. They never give them things to eat, nor play 
 with them, nor do anything kind. They can't be 
 the doodies, Mr. Sammy." 
 
 " They're not very nice faythers, anyway, dearie," 
 put in the old woman gently. 
 
 "They're as the Lord made them," her brother 
 retorted, a trifle pettishly. " Hens is hens, an' cocks 
 is cocks."
 
 Matters of Fact and Fancy 23 
 
 " 'Cept when they're tewkens," said Jim. 
 
 " Would you like some rasps, dearie ? " Miss Gird- 
 wood inquired hastily. " Well, sit ye still, an' I'll 
 bring ye some nice ones. I'm for makin' jam the 
 day." 
 
 Presently she came out with a saucer of picked 
 fruit. Jim held up his face, and after a little hesi- 
 tation she ventured to kiss his cheek. 
 
 " Ye're over-big for the kissin', James," remarked 
 Mr. Gird wood, who was cheerful one moment and 
 depressed the next. 
 
 " I 'spect I'll be too big next year," Jim replied, 
 beginning on the rasps. 
 
 " I hope ye'll be stoppin' at the Bay till the bram- 
 bles is ready," said the old woman. " 'Tis a fine 
 place for brambles, the wood up yonder." 
 
 " I'm going to the wood some day. I want to 
 see the gnomes and pixies and elfs and " 
 
 " The what ? " exclaimed Mr. Girdwood. 
 
 "Didn't you know it was a Magic Wood, Mr. 
 Sammy?" 
 
 " Never heard o* sicH ' " 
 
 Miss Girdwood touched her brother's shoulder. 
 " Let him be, let him be," she whispered. 
 
 " It's just the same as a picture I've got at 
 home," continued Jim ; " 'sides Mr. Froggie told 
 me. And there's a kind Magic Doody in the wood. 
 He lives in a tree with Mr. Skirrel and Mr. Dicky-
 
 24 Jim 
 
 Dick and Mr. Fun-Owl, and he sees that everything 
 is right in the wood, and doesn't let the brown 
 gnomes and pixies and elfs be too naughty; and, 
 perhaps, if you keep very quiet you can hear him, 
 and, if you've been very, very good, you can see 
 him. Mr. Sammy, shall you and I be very, very 
 good, and go to the Magic Wood some day? " 
 
 " I never heard o' sich " 
 
 " Whisht, man ! " muttered Miss Girdwood. 
 " 'Tis a pretty notion, dearie," she said to Jim. 
 " But, ye see, Samuel doesna find the hill easy for 
 his legs. He hasna been up to the wood for near 
 twinty year." 
 
 Jim regarded Mr. Girdwood's legs with interest 
 for several seconds. " Couldn't you try? " he said. 
 " You see, Doody says that it's only very young 
 people and very old people who can see fairy peo- 
 ple, and that's why I wanted you to come with me. 
 Doody would come, too, but he would just paint 
 while we was watching. Doody knows about the 
 gnomes and pixies and the others, but he can't see 
 them. He thinks he may be able to see them when 
 
 mother comes home but then we shan't be here. 
 
 Couldn't you try, Mr. Sammy? " 
 
 " But I never " Mr. Girdwood began and 
 halted. 
 
 " I suspose," said Jim regretfully, " I'll have to 
 get Mr. Peter, the doody we're staying with, to go
 
 Matters of Fact and Fancy 25 
 
 with me. He said he would. He's not so old as 
 you, but he might do. I'm sorry about your legs." 
 
 There was a short silence, during which several 
 emotions might have been detected on the aged 
 countenance. 
 
 " 'Tis little good Peter Fraser would do ye, my 
 lad," said Mr. Girdwood at last. " The man's half 
 blin', an' he canna see nothin' at no distance wantin' 
 his glasses, which has been broke for two year an' 
 more. An' 'tis all nonsense 'bout my legs. If 
 'twasna for the rheumatis now an' then I'd be as 
 quick on my feet as any man in Clure Bay." 
 
 " Samuel was a great dancer in his time, to be 
 sure," put in his sister; " none better at the reels." 
 
 "An' 'tis reels I'd been dancin' yet, if 'twasna for 
 the rheumatis." 
 
 " I'd like awful to see you dancing, Mr. Samuel," 
 said Jim. 
 
 " Ah, well, ye never know what's afore ye, James 
 Crow," Mr. Girdwood returned, with considerable 
 briskness; "but if ye're for the wood, 'tis not me 
 that would say ' no,' so long as the rheumatis lets 
 me alone. Jist you name a day " 
 
 " Oh, Samuel ! " interposed Miss Girdwood, who 
 now began to have fears. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, woman! " 
 
 " I don't think that is a very nice way to speak 
 to Mrs. Sammy, Mr. Sammy," the boy observed.
 
 26 Jim 
 
 " When Mr. Froggie speaks like that to Miss 
 Mousie, he gets beans. That was how he lost his 
 legs. But you didn't mean to be cross, did you ? " 
 
 " Na, na, dearie ; he didna mean it, an' besides, 
 I'm used to it. But if he gangs to the wood wi' 
 ye, ye'll not let him sit down on the wet places ? " 
 
 " I 'spect Mr. Magic Doody will look after that," 
 said Jim reassuringly. " Shall we go to-morrow, 
 Mr. Sammy?" He laid a hand on the old man's 
 arm. 
 
 " Ay, ay," cried the old man recklessly ; " we'll 
 gang to-morrow." 
 
 " And have a picnic ! That'll be splendid ! I 
 'spect we shall see some gnomes, 'cause, you see, 
 you are razzer ra-ther like a gnome yourself, 
 Mr. Sammy." 
 
 " Am I ? " said Mr. Girdwood faintly. 
 
 " An' 'tis reels I'd be dancin' yet, if 'twasna one, 
 and I'll be Puck. I wish you could be a fairy queen 
 but never mind. And I'll bring Mr. Froggie 
 and Miss Mousie and Miss Tewken. What fun 
 we'll have!" 
 
 Mr. Girdwood moved uneasily. ' 'Tis a queerish 
 sort o' play," he murmured. " Yer fayther'll be 
 comin' wi' us, I hope." 
 
 " Oh, yes, Doody will come." 
 
 " I meant for to say yer doody."
 
 Matters of Fact and Fancy 27 
 
 The pause that followed was broken by the old 
 woman. 
 
 " I hope ye'll not be gettin' into any kind o' mis- 
 chief, Samuel," she said, half jocularly, half anx- 
 iously. " 'Twill be a great adventure for ye." 
 
 " We must be fearful good until to-morrow," the 
 boy supplemented. " Do you like tea or soup when 
 you're at a picnic ? " 
 
 " Never was at a picnic. . . . Ye'll not be 
 expectin' me for to climb trees an' the like, will 
 ye?" 
 
 " I 'spect Mr. Fun-Owl would love if you 
 climbed his tree, Mr. Sammy. He would say " 
 
 " I'm not for any fun-owls or fun-anything-elses, 
 thank ye," the old man declared. " I'll jist sit still, 
 if ye please, an' " 
 
 " Tell stories ! Oh, will you tell me stories, Mr. 
 Sammy? " 
 
 " I might do that, James Crow," Mr. Girdwood 
 returned, obviously relieved. " I've seen some 
 queer things in my time." 
 
 " Samuel was at sea in his young days," put in 
 Miss Girdwood. 
 
 " Tell me a story now please ! one about a 
 boat bursting its boiler ! " cried the boy. 
 
 " The boats I was on had nae bilers. But I could 
 tell ye about Aw, there's yer fayther I
 
 28 Jim 
 
 meant for to say yer doody wavin' on ye. I'll 
 see what I can mind to tell ye the morn " 
 
 "In the Magic Wood!" 
 
 " But, laddie, there's nae " Mr. Girdwood 
 
 stopped short at a nudge from his sister. Then, 
 " Well, well," he said reluctantly, " in the Magic 
 Wood, as ye call it," 
 
 " Oh, you're awful kind ! " exclaimed Jim, ready 
 to hug him. " I never thought you could tell 
 stories, Mr. Sammy. And we'll come for you to- 
 morrow morning, and you'll be all ready " 
 
 "If the rheumatis Well, well, I'll be 
 
 ready." 
 
 Jim got up radiant. " I think I'll give you Miss 
 Busted Tewken," he said generously. " I'll bring 
 her to the Magic Wood to-morrow. And oh! I 
 nearly forgot to tell you Doody is going to paint 
 your portrait some day soon. He promised me last 
 night, 'cause I wanted him to do it. I 'spect you'll 
 be very proud of it." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood's gratification of countenance is 
 not to be described, but he seized the boy's hand 
 and said brokenly, "James, 'tis a good lad ye are, 
 to be sure." 
 
 " And I'll ask him to paint Mrs. Sammy, too." 
 
 " Na, na! She would spile the pictur! " 
 
 " Dinna fash yersel', Samuel," she said good- 
 humouredly. " Thank ye, dearie, for thinkin' o'
 
 Matters of Fact and Fancy 29 
 
 me, but I've nae notion o' bein' pented unless ye 
 was for pentin' me yerselV 
 
 Jim gave her a critical glance as she took the 
 empty saucer from him. " I think I could make a 
 good job of you," he said at last, " if I was putting 
 the brush in my mouth lots. I think I could paint 
 you for the rasps, too," he added, with that vague 
 movement that made women want to kiss him. 
 " They was simply scrumptious." 
 
 " The darlin' ! " she said under her breath. " Ah, 
 well, dearie, ye maun run to yer doddy- " 
 
 " Doody," said Jim. 
 
 " My ! but ye're the stupid woman ! " said Mr. 
 Girdwood, who was still smiling at the prospect of 
 having his portrait painted. 
 
 " Good-bye, and thank you so much for a very 
 pleasant time," said Jim, quoting from his mother. 
 
 He was half way to his father when a thought 
 seemed to strike him and caused him to retrace his 
 steps. 
 
 " Do you know/' he said, halting at the fence, 
 " do you know what I would do if I was a small 
 tewken without any doody? I would make a nice 
 nest, and I would lay a beautiful big blue egg with 
 brown spots, and I would hatch it, and then I'd have 
 a doody of my very own." 
 
 He touched his hat, turned, and walked sedately 
 away.
 
 " BUT 'tisna right to let the lad believe sich stuff 
 an' nonsense," said Mr. Girdwood, looking out of 
 the window for the twentieth time. " If I was his 
 fayther " 
 
 " Put that in yer pouch, an' dinna forget ye've 
 got it," his sister interrupted, handing him a large 
 red handkerchief. " Ye believed plenty stuff an' 
 nonsense yersel', Samuel, when ye was his age." 
 
 "I didna!" 
 
 " Ye did ! Ye believed there was a bogle in the 
 Smugglers' Cave; ye believed the story about the 
 Three Bears; ye believed that babies growed in 
 cabbages; ye " 
 
 "I I never believed it was a magic wood 
 
 " Ye would ha' believed that, too, if I had telled 
 ye. So dinna gang an' try for to spile the young 
 gentleman's pretty bit notions. There's plenty wise 
 folk in the world. An' if he says he sees a tome 
 or a pelf, or whatever he calls his fairies, ye've fist 
 got to say ye see it too! Mind that! " 
 
 Mr. Girdwood emitted an impatient exclamation, 
 30
 
 A First Venture in Fiction 31 
 
 " Woman ! " he cried, " d'ye think I've nae con- 
 science ? " 
 
 " Aw, never heed yer conscience." Miss Gird- 
 wood took a peep from the window. " I see them 
 comin' now. Did ye brush yer bunnet ? " 
 
 " But 'tisna right, I tell ye. Tis agin the Scrip- 
 tures an' an' everything. Truth's truth, an' lies 
 is lies." 
 
 " Sure," Miss Girdwood placidly assented. " An' 
 fairy tales is true, if ye believe them. I'm thinkin' 
 Moses an' Abraham an' the Twelve Apostles and all 
 the rest o' them had their pretty notions when they 
 was young " 
 
 " 'Tisna the way to speak o' the saints, Eliza- 
 beth!" 
 
 " They wasna saints ; they was children ; an' I 
 hope they was children as long as the Lord meant 
 them to be, an' not jist as long as some stupid old 
 wise man thought they ought to be. An' as for yer 
 conscience, Samuel, jist you keep yer thumb on it, 
 or ye'll be sorry after. An' if he asks ye to tell a 
 story, ye needna be parteec'lar about it bein' the 
 exac' truth, because the last true story I heard ye 
 tell wasna worth the hearin'. Ye could tell far bet- 
 ter stories o' yer adventures when ye was thirty year 
 younger, for then ye wasna feart to to imagine 
 a bit. But dinna tell him anything fearsome, 
 mind!"
 
 32 Jim 
 
 " When did I ever tell a story that wasna true? " 
 he demanded, with a glance at the field which Jim 
 and his father were crossing. 
 
 Miss Girdwood patted his arm. "If yer con- 
 science canna answer that, Samuel," she said, 
 smiling, " ye best give it a rest the day." 
 
 But Mr. Girdwood was not to be thus pacified. 
 
 " If ye think I'm goin' to encourage James Crow 
 wi' his stuff an' nonsense " he began. 
 
 Miss Girdwood held up her hand. " Samuel," 
 she said solemnly, " he's a little one, an' ye're not 
 goin' to offend him. An' what's more, I'll not let 
 ye." She paused a moment and continued : " He 
 thinks ye're the oldest inhabitant o' Clure Bay. 
 I've never betrayed ye yet, but " 
 
 Mr. Girdwood's face fell. " Ye wouldna 
 
 His sister turned away hers. "If ye offend the 
 laddie," she said in a low, unsteady voice, " ye'll jist 
 be the second oldest." To herself she added, " God 
 forgimme," and went to the open door. 
 
 " Elizabeth ! " The cry was almost plaintive. 
 
 " I hear ye," she replied, restraining her old, un- 
 withered heart. 
 
 " Elizabeth, ye didna mean it." 
 
 " Ay, Samuel, I meant it. But " her voice sof- 
 tened in spite of her " but, Samuel, I ken ye would 
 never drive me that far. You wouldna offend the 
 laddie. For ye ken, Samuel, we're a long time old,
 
 A First Venture in Fiction 33 
 
 but we're an awfu' wee short time young. There, 
 man! we'll not say another word. Tidy yer hair, 
 an' come an' meet James an' his doddy." 
 
 " His doody, ye mean." The correction came 
 quite naturally from Mr. Girdwood. Then he went 
 to the mirror over the sink, smoothed his shaggy 
 hair, groaned, sighed, and joined his sister. " Is 
 the rasps ready for him in the parlour ? " he in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Ay, ay," she assured him, and went down to 
 open the gate. 
 
 They had decided the previous evening that Jim 
 should have a dish of rasps before starting for the 
 wood, and Miss Girdwood had been busy cleaning 
 the already spotless parlour since somewhere about 
 six that morning. Her best cloth was on the table ; 
 her best dishes were on the cloth; her best flowers 
 decorated the apartment. No doubt Mr. Nevis no- 
 ticed and appreciated these things ; but his son, from 
 the moment of his entrance, was held by a very dif- 
 ferent object. 
 
 " Fun-owl ! " he exclaimed excitedly. And, sure 
 enough, on a corner of the mantelpiece sat a shabby 
 stuffed owl. It was some time ere he could be per- 
 suaded to look at the little feast prepared in his 
 honour; it was not until he had been permitted to 
 hold the owl in his arms and stroke its poor feathers 
 that he consented to take the seat waiting for him.
 
 34 
 
 The host and hostess, however, were much gratified 
 by his admiration of their possession, which, to tell 
 the truth, they had come to cherish rather absurdly. 
 
 " 'Tis but an ornar' owl," said Miss Girdwood. 
 
 " He says 'tis a fun-owl," whispered her brother. 
 
 "An* so 'tis," she agreed willingly. 
 
 " Jini has his own names for things," remarked 
 Nevis, returning it to the mantelpiece, followed by 
 the longing glances of his son. 
 
 " An' very good names, to be sure, though my 
 sister can never be mindin' them," said Mr. Gird- 
 wood somewhat loftily. 
 
 "Where did you get the fun-owl?" the boy in- 
 quired, looking from one to the other. 
 
 Miss Girdwood was about to explain that she had 
 purchased it at a sale, for sixpence, many years 
 ago, but her brother was before her. 
 
 "I I shot it in Africa," he said, and Miss Gird- 
 wood put her hand to her mouth just in time. 
 
 " Why did you shoot it? " asked Jim. 
 
 Mr. Girdwood glanced helplessly at his sister. 
 " 'Tis a longish story, James Crow," he murmured. 
 " See an' eat plenty rasps." 
 
 " He didna mean for to shoot it, dearie," said 
 Miss Girdwood, with the best intentions in the 
 world. 
 
 " I did ! In my youth I was a crack shot," re- 
 torted the old man. " I shot it I shot it because
 
 A First Venture in Fiction 35 
 
 we was shipwrecked mariners requirin' food. We 
 was starvin'. Ye see ? " 
 
 " I see," said Jim. " But how could you have 
 eaten the owl when it's there ? " 
 
 Mr. Girdwood wriggled, and was about to con- 
 fess feebly that he must have been thinking of an- 
 other owl, when a straw thrown by Nevis fell within 
 his grasp. 
 
 " Perhaps," said the artist, " a ship hove in sight 
 just as they were going to cook the owl." 
 
 " Ye' re right, sir, ye're right," the old man cried, 
 with a gasp of relief. " 'Tis what happened ex- 
 ac'ly. I mind it fine now. An' so we didna need 
 to eat the owl and there it is to prove it ! " 
 
 Curiously enough, there was no applause from 
 Miss Girdwood. 
 
 " But you wouldn't have shot it if it had been 
 Mr. Fun-Owl in the Magic Wood ? " said Jim. 
 "Would you?" 
 
 " Certinly not, James Crow, certinly not ! I 
 would ha' give it something to eat, poor beast." 
 
 " How " began Jim. 
 
 But, fortunately for the Girdwoods, Nevis at that 
 moment started to ask the old man when he would 
 give a sitting for his portrait, and as Jim was 
 greatly interested in this matter the other was for- 
 gotten for the time being. Later, it is true, the 
 boy desired to learn how Mr. Sammy could have
 
 36 Jim 
 
 given an owl something to eat when he had nothing 
 to eat himself; but by that time Mr. Sammy had 
 become more advanced in the art of fiction. 
 
 Miss Girdwood helped her young guest to more 
 raspberries, sugar and cream. 
 
 " An' how," she gently inquired, " is all the wee 
 tuckens gettin' on that had nae doddy ? I should 
 ha' said doody." 
 
 " Tits, woman ! " cried her brother ; " 'tisna 
 tuckens, 'tis tewkens" 
 
 " So 'tis, so 'tis," she admitted good-humouredly. 
 She turned to Nevis. " Ye'll excuse me, sir, for 
 callin' ye his doddy ? I'm not extra quick at learn- 
 in' new words." 
 
 " I have the same difficulty," Nevis returned 
 pleasantly. " Your brother," he went on, " has 
 promised me a sitting next Monday, weather per- 
 mitting. I wonder if you would care to give 
 me " 
 
 " Na, na," put in the old man ; " she's not carin' 
 at all about her portrait. Twould be a waste o' 
 pent, Mr. Nevis." 
 
 " Samuel's right," she said readily. " Ye see, sir, 
 'tis different for him, bein' the oldest inhabitant o' 
 the place." 
 
 " Tis so," said Mr. Girdwood, much relieved. 
 " Excuse the liberty, sir, but will ye be likely to get
 
 A First Venture in Fiction 37 
 
 a hunderd pound for the pictur ? There was a man 
 cam' here once, an' he got fifty for pentin' some 
 cattle in a gale o' win'." 
 
 Nevis laughed. " Certainly we ought to get more 
 for the oldest inhabitant than some cattle, but " 
 
 " Well, well," said Mr. Girdwood, " 'tis best not 
 to count yer chickens afore " 
 
 " Tewkens," cried his sister, and put her hand 
 to her mouth too late. 
 
 " Mr. Sammy was wrong," said Jim delightedly, 
 " and Mrs. Sammy was right." 
 
 But Mr. Girdwood only chuckled. The sure 
 knowledge that he was at last going to have his 
 portrait painted filled his soul with satisfaction; 
 there was no room for resentment just then. 
 
 Presently it was time to go to the wood, and a 
 start was made after Jim had been allowed to em- 
 brace the stuffed owl. In the garden he confided 
 (rather loudly, perhaps) to his father his admira- 
 tion for the owl and his longing to possess such a 
 
 joy. 
 
 " We'll have to wait till we can take a trip to 
 Africa, Jim Crow," said Nevis, and poor Mr. Gird- 
 wood nearly fell from the doorstep, for in addition 
 to his never having been in Africa, he was unaware 
 whether owls existed there. 
 
 His sister called him back. " Mind an' not loss
 
 38 Jim 
 
 yer hanky, Samuel," she whispered. " Ye did fine, 
 man, but but ye can put a wee tate truth in yer 
 stories, if ye like." 
 
 Nevis, out of regard for the old man, was about 
 to take the longer, but easier, road to the wood. 
 Mr. Girdwood, however, insisted on the short 
 cut and, assisted by his stout staff, did remarkably 
 well. 
 
 " 'Tis not so bad for four score an' five/' he ob- 
 served complacently when the hill had been sur- 
 mounted. " An' I could ha' gone quicker but for 
 James Crow here." 
 
 " You're a wonderful man," said Nevis, offering 
 his tobacco. 
 
 " Couldn't you dance now, Mr. Sammy ? " Jim 
 inquired. " Slow, like a dancing bear, you know." 
 
 "That'll do, Jim," said Nevis, with a hint of 
 warning in his voice. 
 
 The boy looked a little hurt. " Mrs. Sammy said 
 he could dance," he explained. 
 
 " 'Tis true," said the old man. " Why, I oncet 
 got a medal for the dancin'. But the rheuma- 
 tis " He proceeded to fill his pipe. 
 
 " I've brought Miss Busted Tewken to give to 
 you," said Jim softly. " She's in the bastek with 
 Mr. Froggie and Miss Mousie and the lunch." 
 
 " 'Tis a good lad ye are, for sure, James Crow," 
 Mr. Girdwood returned, patting the young shoulder,
 
 A First Venture in Fiction 39 
 
 "but " He broke off suddenly, remembering 
 
 his sister. Then " An' I've had a cravirf^ for a 
 busted tewken all my life, my lad." 
 
 " I think you might have given Mr. Girdwood a 
 hale and hearty tewken," Nevis observed. 
 
 " But he pifers a busted one, Doody. Don't you, 
 Mr. Sammy?" 
 
 " Surely ! " replied Samuel, now fairly on the 
 downward path. He lit his pipe and, puffing smoke 
 and satisfaction, marched towards the wood, which 
 was now not a furlong distant. 
 
 " I hope we see the gnomes and pixies and elfs 
 and Mr. Fun-Owl," said Jim to his ancient friend. 
 
 Mr. Girdwood refrained from saying that owls 
 were very seldom visible in the daytime. " 'Tis 
 not unlikely," he said. 
 
 " And Mr. Magic Doody ! " 
 
 " I wouldna wonder, lad. An* I 'I hope ye'll 
 p'int them all out to me." 
 
 "Of course, Mr. Sammy. I 'spect you'll like 
 them. Mr. Froggie and Miss Mousie are so ex- 
 cited. Humpty and Teddy wanted to come, too, 
 but there wasn't room in the bastek." 
 
 " I hope," said Nevis very solemnly, " I sincerely 
 hope, Jim Crow, that your friends in the bastek 
 haven't eaten up all the lunch." 
 
 " I hope not," returned the boy, as though he 
 were full of doubts.
 
 4O Jim 
 
 This make-believe business was trying on Mr. 
 Girdwood, but he made an effort to do his share. 
 Nevis had fallen behind to light his pipe. 
 
 "Did ye ever see a hedgehog?" the old man 
 whispered. 
 
 Jim shook his head. 
 
 "Well, when I was in in Africa, a hedgehog 
 oncet ett my denner." 
 
 " Was that why you had to shoot the poor fun- 
 owl?" 
 
 " The very reason, laddie, the very reason ! " Mr. 
 Girdwood cried eagerly. 
 
 " What was you having for dinner? " 
 
 ", . . Sassiges an' an' turmits. The hedge- 
 hog got them when my back was turned." 
 
 " Did it make a noise? " 
 
 "Na, na." 
 
 Jim looked disappointed. 
 
 "Well, maybe it made a kind o' a roarin'- 
 squeakin' noise," Mr. Girdwood said hurriedly. 
 
 " Was your dinner in a bastek, Mr. Sammy? " 
 
 ". . . Not exac'ly, James Crow, not exac'ly." 
 
 " What was it in, Mr. Sammy ? " 
 
 "A a bit o' newspaper, maybe." 
 
 After a pause "What did you do to Mr. 
 Hedgehog? " 
 
 "I I I cuffed his cars, James. He he 
 deserved it."
 
 A First Venture in Fiction 41 
 
 Just then Nevis rejoined them. 
 
 " Doody, what's a hedgehog like ? " 
 
 "A hedgehog?" 
 
 Mr. Girdwood felt like making for home as fast 
 as his old legs would carry him. But at the mo- 
 ment, when disgraceful exposure seemed inevitable, 
 the whole subject was abruptly changed by the boy 
 himself. 
 
 '"Sh!" said Jim, coming to a sudden halt, and 
 pointing. " I do believe I see a fairy ! " 
 
 The men stopped short. At the edge of the 
 wood, half hidden by a furze bush, seated on the 
 stump of a tree, was a small figure in pink. 
 
 " No," said Jim, in deep disappointment, " it's 
 only a little girl." 
 
 They went on, and presently Jim took his 
 father's hand and whispered, " Doody, she's cry- 
 ing." 
 
 It was true. The little girl, at whose feet lay a 
 little bundle, was hugging a doll and sobbing bit- 
 terly. 
 
 " Mr. Sammy," said Jim, " would you mind very 
 much if I gave her Miss Busted Tewken? " 
 
 Mr. Girdwood declared that he didn't mind; yet 
 somehow he did mind. 
 
 " Please give me Miss Busted Tewken, Doody," 
 said the boy. 
 
 With some difficulty Nevis extracted the lump
 
 42 Jim 
 
 of yellow fluff from the basket. " Pity you haven't 
 one of your others, Jim," he remarked. 
 
 Jim turned to the old man. " I'll try to give you 
 another some day, Mr. Sammy," he said, with an 
 effort, for he loved his " children " dearly. 
 
 Then they went forward to the little girl.
 
 IN THE MAGIC WOOD 
 
 THEIR voices silenced, their steps almost sound- 
 less on the turf, they were quite close to the little 
 girl ere she became aware of their presence. Then 
 she started and looked up in a scared fashion, 
 stared for a moment or two, and fell again to weep- 
 ing upon her doll. 
 
 Jim laid the fluffy thing on her lap, whilst Nevis 
 gently inquired whether she had lost her way. 
 Whereupon she sobbed more violently than ever. 
 
 " It's for you," said Jim, endeavouring to direct 
 her attention to his offering. "You can keep it." 
 
 But there was no response. 
 
 Jim turned to his father. " P'r'aps she's got a 
 pain, Doody." 
 
 " I'm afraid there's a pain of some kind some- 
 where," murmured Nevis. " Come, my dear," he 
 said to the child, " won't you tell us what is the 
 matter?" 
 
 Mr. Girdwood took a step nearer. " 'Tis the 
 lassie that came yesterday to Miss Mingay that has 
 Sea View for the summer. We was hearin' she 
 was a niece o' Miss Mingay's." 
 
 43
 
 44 
 
 Whereupon the little girl's distress still further 
 increased, and for a moment it looked as if Jim 
 Crow were going to join in the lamentation. Pos- 
 sibly the presence of Mr. Gird wood sustained him, 
 and he managed to say in a somewhat emotional 
 voice, "If you like, I could lend you Miss Mousie." 
 '(Miss Mousie, by the way, had frequently proved 
 his own stay and comfort in time of trouble.) 
 
 But even this offer was without result, and so 
 Nevis, who was rather a shy man, knelt down on 
 one knee and took the little girl on the other. And 
 at last he got her story. 
 
 Her name was Daisy, and her age was about 
 seven. Her parents being unable to leave home, 
 had sent her for the good of her health to spend a 
 month with her Aunt Alice at Clure Bay. She 
 had never been from home until now. She had 
 cried on her arrival, and Aunt Alice had been cross. 
 Later Aunt Alice had been cross again, so she had 
 cried some more. She had hated going to bed 
 alone, also waking up alone. She had got up very 
 early and put on her special silk stockings and new 
 shoes and her best frock and Sunday hat, and she 
 had made a bundle of a few things in a towel, and 
 she had taken her dolly; and then she had crept 
 from the house by the back garden and set out to 
 find the railway station. But she had not found 
 the station, and had lost her way, and things had
 
 In the Magic Wood 45 
 
 kept falling out of her bundle, and a cow had 
 frightened her, and her dolly had fallen in a muddy 
 ditch, and she had got hungrier and hungrier and 
 hungrier. . . . 
 
 " I guess we'd better have lunch at once," said 
 Nevis, who could be practical as well as artistic, 
 " and then I'll take Daisy home to her aunt." 
 
 At the mention of lunch Miss Daisy brightened; 
 at the mention of her aunt she wailed anew. 
 
 " Well, we'll have lunch, and then we'll see what 
 we'll do." Nevis gently set her back on the tree 
 stump. 
 
 " I 'spect she pifers to stay in the Magic Wood 
 with us," said Jim. " She could be the Fairy 
 Queen, you know." 
 
 At this the little girl pricked up her ears and 
 showed one eye and a bit of tear-stained cheek. 
 
 "If her face was washed, she would be rather 
 like a fairy." 
 
 The eye blinked, and a small muffled voice said, 
 "I I've nothing to wash it with." 
 
 Nevis, however, was already dipping a handker- 
 chief in a streamlet that ran close by, and a minute 
 later the stains were removed. Then while he set 
 about unpacking the basket, the little boy looked at 
 the little girl, and the little girl looked at the little 
 boy, and Mr. Girdwood regarded both with a genial 
 smile.
 
 46 Jim 
 
 " That's Mr. Sammy," said Jim presently. 
 " He's the oldest doody in this place, and after- 
 wards he's going to play at being King of the 
 Gnomes." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood's smile went out. 
 
 " Aren't you ? " said Jim. 
 
 "Will I need to climb trees an' so on?" Mr. 
 Girdwood faltered. 
 
 " Not unless you want to. You see, if you're 
 King, you can do anything you like nearly any- 
 thing." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood gave a grunt of relief. "If 
 
 'twasna for the rheumatis " He proceeded to 
 
 relight his pipe, which he had allowed to go out. 
 
 Jim turned again to Daisy, and assisted her in 
 brushing the dry mud from her doll. " I suspose 
 she's an only child," he remarked. 
 
 " She's grown up she's a lady," Daisy re- 
 turned, with decreasing diffidence. " Don't you 
 see, she has got a long dress and lovely petticoats, 
 and " 
 
 " Her legs are fearful fat. Has she got a 
 squeaker ? " 
 
 " Nice dolls don't have squeakers only the 
 clown and injun-rubber kind. Mine is a superiorest 
 French doll. And her legs aren't fearful fat." 
 
 "They're nearly as fat as my Auntie Hilda's 
 but then she's fearful fat all over. But
 
 In the Magic Wood 47 
 
 she's a very nice doll. Wouldn't you like to cuddle 
 Miss Busted Tewken, too? Feel her." Jim ap- 
 plied his gift to the little girl's cheek. 
 
 " It's nice and pussy," she allowed. 
 
 " She's awful nice to sleep with; and if the stuff- 
 ing comes out, it's quite easy to put it in again. 
 You're to keep her, you know." 
 
 Daisy rubbed the fluff against her cheek again, 
 and smiled to Jim. " I think you are a very nice 
 little boy," she said demurely. " What's your 
 name ? " 
 
 " Jim Crow but I'm nearly as big as you." 
 
 " That's a funny name." 
 
 He was about to explain, when his father called 
 them to lunch. Ere the simple repast was over, 
 however, a good many personal explanations were 
 exchanged, with the result that the little girl was 
 on friendly terms with every one, not excepting 
 Mr. Girdwood, who won her interest by relating 
 how little girls in Africa had dolls made only of 
 wood and stone, and without clothes. 
 
 Jim was proceeding to inquire which parts were 
 made of wood and which of stone, when Nevis 
 interposed. 
 
 " Now, Daisy," he said, " I'm sure your aunt 
 must be worrying terribly about you, so I'll walk 
 down now and tell her you're all right; and later 
 on we'll take you to her."
 
 48 Jim 
 
 At "aunt" Daisy's lips drooped; at "later on" 
 they recovered. Youth can face anything later 
 on. 
 
 " Doody'll give her beans," Jim whispered con- 
 fidentially and encouragingly. 
 
 "Will he?" said Daisy. "Haricot beans? 
 What for?" 
 
 "You'll look after the children, won't you?" 
 said Nevis to the old man. 
 
 " The Lord helpin' me," replied Mr. Girdwood 
 a trifle louder than he intended. " Surely, sir. I'll 
 keep my eye on them." 
 
 Nevis turned to his son. " Be a good boy, Jim," 
 he said, not so much for convention's as the old 
 man's sake, for Nevis knew that the phrase had as 
 much effect upon a boy as " Good-morning " has 
 upon the weather. 
 
 " All right, Doody." Jim had not time to think 
 of being either good or bad, but he desired to 
 reassure his father who seemed to be anxious about 
 something. "No, Daisy; not haricot beans! 
 Wait! I'll show you." He produced Mr. 
 Froggie, a xylonite affair in green and yellow. 
 " You see, Mr. Froggie once had legs, legs that 
 waggled. He could stand, too. But one day he 
 was bad to Miss Mousie, and I gave him beans. 
 Now he has got no legs! But I still love him. 
 The beans hurt me more than they, hurt him."
 
 In the Magic Wood 49 
 
 After about fifteen seconds had elapsed Miss 
 Daisy slowly put the question : " But where are 
 the beans, Jim Crow ? " 
 
 " Now," said Jim to the guardian, " let's go into 
 the Magic Wood and look for gnomes and pixies 
 and elfs and Mr. Fun-Owl." And he led the way 
 along a path strewn with pine-needles. 
 
 "What sort of wood did you say it was?" the 
 little girl, overtaking him, inquired. 
 
 " Magic," he replied, rather shortly. 
 
 It must be confessed that Jim was disappointed 
 in Daisy. He had explained so many things, and 
 she had understood so few. The heart was willing, 
 no doubt, but the imagination was weak. 
 
 " Where's the magic ? " she asked, gazing about 
 her. 
 
 " I don't think," said Jim slowly, " I'll ever get 
 married to you." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 " I think I'd rather get married to Mrs. Sammy." 
 
 Daisy's mouth twitched ominously. 
 
 41 Well," he said, relenting, " I'll get married to 
 you, too, if you like." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood, who was toddling close behind, 
 found it hard to hold his peace. 
 
 " But," objected Daisy, drying one eye with her
 
 50 Jim 
 
 doll and the other with Miss Busted Tewken, " you 
 couldn't get married to two ladies at once." 
 
 " Not at once," he admitted. " I'd have to have 
 a wedding for each. That would be two cakes." 
 
 " But I'd only get one," said Daisy, who was not 
 quite so dense regarding practical matters. 
 
 Mr. Girdwood interposed here. " I'm thinkin' 
 we best not go any furder, James," he said mildly, 
 " for fear we get wandered. Here's a nice place 
 for us to sit down on." 
 
 " I don't think it's dry enough for your legs. 
 'Sides, we haven't gone far enough to see the 
 gnomes. I think I see the tree where Mr. Magic 
 Doody and Mr. Fun-Owl live " 
 
 "Who?" asked Daisy. 
 
 " I've told you already. Come on ! " And the 
 boy hastened forward. 
 
 Daisy was left with the old man. " Please," she 
 said ; " is it true about those things in the wood ? 
 Is it truly a Magic Wood ? " 
 
 Mr. Girdwood removed his pipe from his lips 
 and coughed. 
 
 " 'Tis like as not," he said, at last, with diffi- 
 culty. " 'Tis many years since I was here before." 
 
 " Were you ever in a Magic Wood ? Did you 
 ever see gnomes and things ? " 
 
 Mr. Girdwood hesitated. 
 
 "Did you?"
 
 In the Magic Wood 51 
 
 "I I seen some queer things, when when I 
 was in Africa " 
 
 He was happily saved from further fictions just 
 then by a hail from the boy. 
 
 " Here's the very place, Mr. Sammy. Come on, 
 Daisy." Jim was standing beside the trunk of a 
 fallen tree. " We can hide behind it," he explained, 
 " and watch for them. Let's kneel and keep fear- 
 ful quiet." 
 
 "Could I not get sittin', James?" said the old 
 man, after a painful failure to adopt the posture 
 suggested. Eventually he was permitted to occupy 
 a very knobby piece of root, which Jim named the 
 Throne of the King of the Gnomes. He was given 
 Mr. Froggie and Miss Mousie to take care of. 
 
 Then the children knelt by the trunk, their heads 
 just above it, their eyes on the lights and shadows, 
 the greens and browns and yellows of the wood, 
 the blues and whites of the patches of sky. A 
 very tall pine in the foreground was so Jim 
 decided the home of Mr. Magic Doody and Mr. 
 Fun-Owl ; but he did not speak about it. 
 
 A great stillness fell upon them. It lasted for 
 about half-a-minute. 
 
 " Do you see anything? " Daisy inquired. 
 
 "'Sh!" 
 
 Daisy held her tongue until the sudden cry of a 
 bird caused her to give a jump and a screech and
 
 52 Jim 
 
 let Miss Busted Tewken roll over the trunk. It 
 was some time ere peace was restored. 
 
 Quite a long silence ensued, and it was Jim who 
 broke it. 
 
 " I think," he said softly, " I'll ask a blessing, 
 and see if that does any good. Oh, Lord, we 
 thank Thee for Thy mercies, and forgive our sins, 
 amen " 
 
 " That's not the one I say," said Daisy. 
 
 " It's the one Doody says when mother's with 
 us," he returned. " Sometimes when she isn't, 
 too." 
 
 " Would you like me to say mine, Jim Crow ? " 
 
 Jim shook his head. " Let's keep awful quiet." 
 He glanced at Air. Girdwood, who was evincing 
 signs of drowsiness. " I'm afraid some of us 
 haven't been very, very good lately, Mr. Sammy." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood looked uncomfortable, but that 
 may have been due in some measure to the Throne. 
 " I hope ye'll see something soon," he said, rousing 
 himself. 
 
 Once more silence. 
 
 Daisy feared that she had made a hole in the knee 
 of one of her fine stockings, but managed to keep 
 the trouble to herself. 
 
 " Please don't kiss your doll so loud," said Jim 
 in an undertone.
 
 In the Magic Wood 53 
 
 Next moment he was pointing and whispering 
 excitedly 
 
 " I believe I see a gnome ! Yes, yes ; away over 
 yonder, where it's very dark. See, it's moving!" 
 
 A cool breeze stole through the warm wood. 
 
 "It must be a gnome! it's sort of brown! 
 and gnomes are brown 'cept when they're green. 
 Mr. Sammy, don't you see it? Oh, it's away! 
 no, it's back again." 
 
 Said Daisy, her blue eyes very big, " I don't see 
 anything, Jim Crow." 
 
 Jim appealed again to Mr. Girdwood. " But you 
 can see it ! " 
 
 "Me?" 
 
 " Oh, you're looking the wrong way ! It's 
 yonder look ! quick ! " 
 
 "Well, I don't exac'ly. . . ." Mr. Gird- 
 wood pulled himself together. " Surely," he said, 
 bravely, " I can see it, James Crow." 
 
 Jim clapped his hands. " And it's brown, isn't 
 it, Mr. Sammy?" 
 
 "To be sure!" 
 
 " With a brown hood on its head ? " 
 
 "Why, cert'inly!" 
 
 " And it's got whiskers like yours, Mr. Sammy? " 
 
 " I I won't deny it." 
 
 " Oh, we've seen a real gnome ! " cried Jim.
 
 54 
 
 But Daisy wailed, " I haven't ! I haven't seen 
 anything at all ! " 
 
 Jim's pointing finger fell. " Oh, it's gone away," 
 he said regretfully. " P'r'aps it'll come back 
 Daisy." 
 
 But it didn't, and Daisy was disconsolate. 
 
 " You should have let me ask a blessing, too," 
 she complained. 
 
 " I 'spect you didn't see it 'cause you're a girl," 
 said Jim, not unsympathetically. But he really felt 
 that she must have been very bad in some way 
 lately. Which was, perhaps, his best reason for 
 putting his arm round her neck and promising to 
 appeal to Mr. Magic Doody on her behalf on an- 
 other occasion. " And now," he went on, when 
 she had been comforted, " we'll play ! You'll be 
 Queen of the Fairies you can blow your nose 
 with my hanky first and Mr. Sammy'll be King 
 of - Oh, you mustn't get off your Throne, Mr. 
 Sammy." 
 
 " But, if ye please, James - " 
 
 Happily for the old man, Nevis appeared at this 
 junction, having pacified a distracted woman whose 
 worst sin had been a splitting headache on her 
 niece's arrival the previous afternoon. She would 
 have accompanied Nevis to the wood to embrace 
 the child, had not the artist managed to persuade 
 her to rest for an hour or two.
 
 In the Magic Wood 55 
 
 " Your aunt," he informed Daisy, who had almost 
 forgotten her wanderings, " says you may stay a 
 little longer, if you want to, and then we'll all go 
 home together. She isn't cross, and she sent her 
 love to you." 
 
 Thereafter Daisy became Queen of the Fairies, 
 and proved almost as obedient as did Mr. Gird- 
 wood in his role of King of the Gnomes. 
 
 Of course Nevis had to be told of the real gnome. 
 " And Mr. Sammy saw it too, Doody ! " 
 
 Nevis looked at the old man, a trifle quizzingly 
 perhaps. 
 
 " Sure," the latter murmured. 
 
 " And I 'spect," said Jim, with a happy thought, 
 " Daisy would have seen it, too, if it had been a 
 pixie or an elf." 
 
 Thereafter no marriage bell could have gone 
 merrier than their play. 
 
 That night, at the fireside, Mr. Girdwood had 
 an argument with his sister. 
 
 " 'Twas you that started me," he said. 
 
 " But I didna mean ye to gang so far wi' the 
 stories. I near drapped when ye began about 
 Africa you that never sailed furder'n Dublin. 
 Ye should draw the line, Samuel, ye should draw 
 the line."
 
 56 Jim 
 
 Mr. Girdwood grunted, then burst into a reckless 
 fit of chuckling. 
 
 " I seen a gnome in the Magic Wood, the day," 
 he said at last. 
 
 "Yedidna!" 
 
 "I did!" 
 
 "Oh, Samuel!" 
 
 " An' if ye had been wi' James Crow, ye would 
 ha' seen it, too ! In for a penny, in for a pound ! "
 
 A RAINY DAY 
 
 OFTENER than not we may tell a child's sex from 
 the time the child spends at the window on a rainy 
 day. Whatever the years make a woman, she is 
 born domesticated; the little girl looks out of the 
 window chiefly because something is happening 
 outside, not because she wishes something would 
 happen, and returns contentedly to her indoor 
 interests. But however the years thin a man's 
 blood, he is born an open air adventurer; the little 
 boy tires of carpet play, and remains gazing at 
 the rain and grey skies, wearying for the sun to 
 shine. 
 
 Jim knelt on a chair at the parlour window of the 
 cottage wherein his father had taken lodgings for 
 the stay at Clure Bay. Mr. Froggie, Miss Mousie 
 and the others sprawled neglected on the floor. On 
 the table lay an open paint-box, some scattered 
 brushes, and a number of " expression pictures," 
 as the boy designated his more than usually gaudy 
 sketches; also a tumbler of paint-muddied water. 
 On the haircloth sofa rested several volumes of 
 juvenile appearance. A small fire burned sulkily 
 
 57
 
 58 Jim 
 
 in the grate. There was a feeling of heaviness and 
 dulness in the atmosphere. 
 
 The hour was three. It had been a long morn- 
 ing; it threatened to be a longer afternoon. Since 
 dawn the rain had fallen straight and steadily, and 
 still the castle loomed dismally through the mist 
 and the boats in the harbour appeared ghostly on 
 the oily water. And it was the day on which Mr. 
 Girdwood was to have sat for his portrait. 
 
 Nevis, a novel on his knee, drowsed in a chair 
 which was " easy " after one got the secret of its 
 springs. He had done his best towards entertain- 
 ing Jim and Daisy (who had invited herself) during 
 the morning, and possibly his exertions then (he 
 had been anything from a hippopotamus to a wind- 
 mill) coupled with an early dinner were accountable 
 for his present sluggishness. 
 
 The silence which had lasted for some twenty 
 minutes was broken by the boy. 
 
 " Doody," he said softly, without turning from 
 the window. 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 "Doody!" 
 
 ". . . Well?" 
 
 "If you was to sail from here as far as you could, 
 where would you come to ? " 
 
 " America."
 
 A Rainy Day 59 
 
 " Oh ! . . . Why would you come to Amer- 
 ica? " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 Jim repeated the question. 
 
 " Because you would," said Nevis, the least thing 
 irritably. 
 
 After a short pause, " Doody! " 
 
 "Well, what is it?" 
 
 "If if you didn't sail as far as you could, 
 where would you come to? " 
 
 " Nowhere." Nevis let the novel slip from his 
 knee and kicked it across the rug. 
 
 " But, Doody," said Jim, whose desire to carry 
 on any sort of conversation was just then very 
 acute, " but, Doody, if you came to nowhere you 
 wouldn't know you was anywhere." 
 
 Nevis did not respond. 
 
 " How big is America, Doody ? " 
 
 " I don't know. . . . Aren't you going to 
 paint some more pictures ? " 
 
 " The light's bad," quoted Jim. " Is America as 
 big as " 
 
 " Botheration ! " muttered Nevis ; " can't you 
 play with something or other?" 
 
 Jim gave a silent little gulp. " I've got no one 
 to play with me," he said. 
 
 " Daisy would have come back this afternoon if
 
 60 Jim 
 
 you had asked her. And she wanted you to go to 
 her house. Would you like to go now?" 
 
 " No no, thank you, Doody." 
 
 " Well, what do you want to do? " 
 
 " I d-don't know." 
 
 With something between a grunt and a groan 
 Nevis closed his eyes, and a long silence followed, 
 disturbed only by the occasional squeaking of a 
 small wet forefinger on the pane. But at last even 
 that sound ceased, and a little later Jim descended 
 from the chair. He regarded his paints on the 
 table, his toys on the floor, his books on the sofa; 
 but for once they one and all failed to appeal to 
 him. 
 
 He halted in front of his drowsy parent. His 
 lip trembled. 
 
 "I I don't think I'm feeling very happy," he 
 said in a breaking voice. " Talk to me, Doody." 
 
 It was a gentle stab, but it went deep enough. 
 Nevis sat up yawning, and took his son on his 
 knee. 
 
 "What's the matter, old Crow?" 
 
 " I was feeling so lonely alone," said Jim, and 
 gave way. 
 
 " Poor old Crow, I guess we'll both be glad 
 when mother comes home. That was it, wasn't 
 it?" 
 
 "If you hadn't went to sleep "
 
 A Rainy Day 61 
 
 " Well, well, I'm not going to sleep any more. 
 What would you like me to do ? Tell you a story ? " 
 
 " No ; just talk." 
 
 " All right. ... I wonder how our friend 
 Sammy is getting along to-day. I expect he'll be 
 rather wild at not getting his sitting." 
 
 " I 'spect so, too," said Jim, borrowing his 
 father's handkerchief. " I 'spect he'll be fearful 
 grumpy with Mrs. Sammy. I hope he doesn't bite 
 her nose off." 
 
 " Oh, I don't think he would go quite so far as 
 that, Jim Crow." 
 
 " I've heard her asking him not to bite it off, 
 when he was grumpy." 
 
 " Still, I don't think she was really afraid of 
 actually losing her nose." 
 
 " I suspose he would just give it a small bite, 
 and leave it on." 
 
 " I hardly think he would even do that." 
 
 " Wouldn't he ? " said Jim, not a little disap- 
 pointed. 
 
 Nevis proceeded to explain that people some- 
 times said things without exactly meaning them. 
 " For instance, you remember when old Sammy 
 was telling us the story about the three lions he 
 shot in Africa ; he said when they roared he nearly 
 jumped out of his skin. Now, you know, he 
 couldn't have jumped out of his skin if a hundred
 
 62 Jim 
 
 thousand lions had roared and he had tried with all 
 his might. D'you see, Jim Crow ? " 
 
 " Yes, I see, Doody. Of course Mr. Sammy 
 couldn't jump out of his own skin " 
 
 "Well, then " 
 
 " But he could bite Mrs. Sammy's nose quite 
 easily, if he wanted to." 
 
 " Let's have a look at the weather," said Nevis. 
 
 At the window Jim, whose spirits were up again, 
 remarked that the froggies would enjoy this 
 weather, and expressed a desire to give his own 
 Mr. Froggie a mud-bath in the window-box. 
 
 " That's a delightful idea, Jim Crow," Nevis re- 
 plied ; " but what do you say to our putting on 
 our waterproofs, and going down to the harbour, 
 and getting a boat with lines, and seeing if we 
 can catch some fish ? " 
 
 The suggestion was hailed with rapture and a 
 request for immediate departure. Nevertheless, it 
 was first necessary to deposit Mr. Froggie in the 
 window-box ; " 'cause, you see, he'll be enjoying 
 himself, too." 
 
 " Hadn't you better pick up your other friends ? " 
 said Nevis mildly, indicating the sprawling toys. 
 
 " They pifer being on the floor," Jim replied, 
 making for the door. 
 
 " All the same, we can't leave the room in this 
 state," Nevis said, going to work.
 
 A Rainy Day 63 
 
 " I don't think they mind you picking them up, 
 Doody," Jim observed; " but they hate me to do it 
 they simply loase (loathe) it." 
 
 " You're a bit of a humbug, Jim Crow," the 
 father remarked good-humouredly. " I don't 
 know how you can make such a mess in a room." 
 
 " That's what mother says about the studio at 
 home," the son replied. " Couldn't you be a little 
 quicker, Doody ? " 
 
 Within the next half-hour the weather gave some 
 promise of improving. 
 
 Mr. Girdwood opened the cottage door for the 
 fiftieth time that day. 
 
 " Ye needna think they'll be comin' now," said 
 his sister from the kitchen. 
 
 " I never said I was thinkin' they would be 
 comin' now," he retorted. 
 
 " Well, can ye not sit still instead o' dancin' 
 about like a hen on a het girdle ? " 
 
 " Clay up ! " was the rude reply. 
 
 It had been a bad day for Mr. Girdwood, and 
 he had made it a worse one for his sister. Now 
 they had reached the acute stage of irritability. 
 
 "Whatever did it rain for the day?" he de- 
 manded, for somewhere about the hundredth 
 time. 
 
 " I wouldna wonder if it was a judgment on ye
 
 64 Jim 
 
 for all the falsehoods ye've been tellin' lately, 
 Samuel." 
 
 "An' who started me at the falsehoods?" 
 
 There was a brief pause. 
 
 " If ye had left out the Africa falsehoods," said 
 Miss Girdwood. " What made ye tell about lions 
 and teegers an' polar bears an' buffoons an' " 
 
 " Baboons, ye eediot ! " 
 
 " when ye've never seen a dangerous beast in 
 yer life? What made ye do it? " 
 
 " I've seen plenty dangerous beasts in a men- 
 agerie. 'Tis jist the same as seein' them in 
 Africa." 
 
 "You an' yer Africa! You an' yer bassoons! 
 I wonder what the meenister " 
 
 " Hold yer tongue, woman, if ye canna keep yer 
 temper. I said baboons! A bassoon's not a beast ; 
 'tis a musical instrument a kind o' flute. A 
 baboon's a kind o' monkey." 
 
 " You an' yer mutes an' flunkeys " 
 
 " Tits, woman ! Ye're lossin' yer power o' 
 speech. Clay up, for any favour! Ye canna even 
 say flukes an' " Mr. Girdwood left the door- 
 step rather hastily. 
 
 The rain had almost ceased. He strolled round 
 to the back of the house, growling to himself. 
 
 Five minutes later his sister joined him. Left 
 to herself her ill-temper had evaporated; and she
 
 A Rainy Day 65 
 
 had thought of Samuel's rheumatism. Prepared 
 for a rebuff, she laid a hand on his arm. 
 
 " Samuel, will ye no' get wet ? " 
 
 But no rebuff came. 
 
 " Elizabeth," he said, and pointed. From the 
 harbour mouth a boat was being rowed by one 
 Andrew, a fisherman; in the stern sat Jim and his 
 father. 
 
 " Elizabeth, I'm thinkin' ye was right," he said 
 slowly. " Tis a judgment surely." He turned 
 abruptly and proceeded indoors. 
 
 She followed, and set about making the tea. " I 
 didna mean it, Samuel," she said at last. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " The judgment." 
 
 " But / meant it. . . . What's James Crow 
 an' his doody goin' out wi' Andrew for? Can / 
 no' pull a boat ? " 
 
 " Oh, Samuel, dearie, ye ha' never been in a 
 boat for twinty year ! " 
 
 " Ye said that about the Magic Wood an' I 
 won there easy ! " 
 
 " But yer rheumatis " 
 
 "They should ha' come to me if they was for 
 the fishin'. I tell ye 'tis a judgment. If I ever 
 see James Crow again I'll confess that I never was 
 furder'n Dublin, an' never shot anything bigger'n 
 a rabbit."
 
 66 Jim 
 
 " Oh, but, Samuel " she paused, staring at 
 the brown teapot in her hand. " But, Samuel 
 " she paused again. 
 
 "An' I'll tell him the truth about the owl 
 that ye bought it ready stuffed for a shillin' " 
 
 " It was jist a sixpence, dearie." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood waved away the soft correction. 
 
 " An' I'll tell him that I never really seen his 
 gnome in the wood " 
 
 "Oh, Samuel, Samuel!" 
 
 "An' I'll tell him I'll tell him that ye're three 
 year older'n me ! " Mr. Girdwood writhed in his chair. 
 
 With a cry Miss Girdwood set the teapot on the 
 hob. 
 
 " Na, na, na na na! Ye mauna do that, 
 Samuel, ye mauna do that ! Ye mauna tell him 
 anything. For ye see " she moved her hands as 
 if actually groping for solid arguments "ye see, 
 Samuel, yer stories never did the lad any 
 harm " 
 
 " I ken. "Tis me that's gettin' the judgment. 
 An' I'll never get ma portrait pentit now I can 
 see that." 
 
 " Toots, man ! Doesna the Lord send the rain 
 on the just an' the unjust?" 
 
 " Ay ; but 'tis maybe not so convenient for the 
 unjust, Elizabeth. I tell ye, I'll never see ma por- 
 trait "
 
 A Rainy Day 67 
 
 Poor Miss Girdwood! She had a sore time of 
 it during the next three hours. Samuel's disap- 
 pointment, his injured feelings, his jealousy, were 
 not to be soothed by anything she could say. She 
 was at her wits' end when a knock came on the 
 door. 
 
 Jim entered followed by his father. The boy, 
 glowing from the sea air, was in a high state of 
 excitement. He dragged a big fish on a string 
 across the kitchen floor, heaved it up, and planted 
 it on the old man's knees. 
 
 " It's for you, Mr. Sammy. I caught it. 
 Doody hardly helped me at all. Didn't you not, 
 Doody?" 
 
 " Nothing to speak of." 
 
 " Mr. Sammy, isn't it a splendid fish ? " 
 
 " Ay ; 'tis a fine fish," said Mr. Girdwood gloom- 
 ily, and sighed. 
 
 " Now, Jim Crow, we must be going," said Nevis. 
 " I told you you could stay for just a minute." 
 
 " Oh, rest ye a whiley, sir," pleaded the old 
 woman. " I'll warm him some milk to keep him 
 from catchin' the cold." She lowered her voice. 
 " He " with a nod in her brother's direction 
 " had a sad disappointment the day. Bide a wee 
 whiley, if ye please, sir." 
 
 Jim had already made himself at home close to 
 Mr. Girdwood. " It was the only fish we caught,"
 
 68 Jim 
 
 he said, " and it's to make up for you not getting 
 your portrait painted to-day. Andrew says it's go- 
 ing to be fine to-morrow " 
 
 " Andrew kens nothin' about the weather," 
 grunted the old man. 
 
 " Oh, but I hope it'll be fine, 'cause Doody is 
 going to paint you the first fine day. Aren't you, 
 Doody?" 
 
 "Certainly!" 
 
 " There ye see, Samuel ! " cried Miss Girdwood, 
 and put her hand to her mouth. 
 
 Samuel bowed his head and appeared to be 
 deeply interested in the fish. 
 
 Miss Girdwood remarked that the warm milk 
 would soon be ready. 
 
 " I'll tell you what we'll do now," said Jim. 
 " Mr. Sammy, you tell the story you promised to 
 tell me about the big, huge whale you caught at 
 Africa!"" 
 
 Mr. Girdwood wriggled, and the fish flopped on 
 the floor, whereat Jim laughed heartily. 
 
 " Tell about the whale," he urged presently. 
 
 " I canna, I canna," protested the old man. 
 " I'm awfu' obliged for the fish, James Crow, but I 
 canna tell about the whale. Oh, na, na; 'tis not a 
 story I can tell." 
 
 " Go on, Samuel, go on ! " said Miss Girdwood 
 in a hoarse whisper. " Tell about yer whale ! "
 
 THE FIRST SITTING 
 
 " Now, Jim Crow," said Nevis, settling himself 
 on his stool, " if you're not going to paint Mr. 
 Girdwood's portrait along with me, I think you 
 should find something to do for an hour or so, 
 because, you see, Mr. Girdwood isn't used to sit- 
 ting for his portrait, and if you keep running about 
 and speaking to him, he'll be very uncomfortable." 
 
 This in response to a timid appeal from the old 
 man on the bench by the cottage wall. 
 
 " All right, Doody," said Jim agreeably ; " I 
 think I'll just do a small sketch of Mr. Froggie till 
 Daisy comes. I've done Mr. Sammy already, you 
 know." 
 
 " Very good," said Nevis. 
 
 His son looked gratified. " But it would have 
 been better if he hadn't had whiskers. Which part 
 of Mr. Sammy do you. begin with?" 
 
 " You may see that for yourself later on, old 
 chap. Now let's get to work." The artist turned 
 to the sitter, who immediately drew himself up, 
 assuming a pose of extreme dignity and rigidity. 
 
 " Light your pipe, Mr. Girdwood, and make 
 69
 
 70 Jim 
 
 yourself as easy as you like. It's not as if you 
 were going to be photographed." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood fished out his pipe, looked at it, 
 and put it back. " I think I'll not smoke," he said 
 after some consideration ; " 'twill be seemlier want- 
 in' the pipe. But if ye've nae objections, sir, I'll 
 give my nose a bit blast." 
 
 " No objections whatever," said Nevis gravely. 
 
 Mr, Girdwood produced a large red handkerchief 
 and trumpeted loudly. 
 
 " Again, Mr. Sammy ! " cried Jim, highly de- 
 lighted. " Do Mr. Ephelant again." 
 
 "Quiet!" said his father. "Now, just sit at 
 your ease, as if I were miles away, Mr. Girdwood. 
 You are the oldest inhabitant, you know, and I 
 want to show you enjoying the beautiful summer 
 day in your garden. You understand ? " 
 
 " Ay. ... I maun try for to sit at my ease, 
 sir." And the old man adopted an attitude of 
 cramped misery. 
 
 "Of course it's not that I can't go on with the 
 portrait," said Nevis patiently. " That's all right 
 so far as I am concerned. But I don't like to see 
 you suffering." 
 
 " Tisna sufferin' exac'ly, sir. Tis liker a sort 
 o' -o* agony." 
 
 "Agony?" 
 
 " Well, maybe no' that either. If ye would wait
 
 The First Sitting 71 
 
 till I ease my collar. Ye see, Elizabeth forgot 
 where she put the wee stud, an' we had to use a 
 button on a hairpin, an' the hairpin's ah ! that's 
 better ! Now, sir, I'll try my best to please ye." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Nevis, " you would like me to 
 postpone the portrait till another day " 
 
 " Na, na! I'll sit easy, sir; I'll sit easy, if it 
 chokes me." 
 
 Jim's request to be informed how " sitting easy " 
 could choke anybody was cut short by his father, 
 who pointed out that Mr. Froggie was evidently 
 feeling neglected. Whereupon the boy applied his 
 brush to his mouth, thence to the paint styled 
 " emerald green," and proceeded to execute a de- 
 sign of which any parent would have been proud 
 after the parent had been told what it repre- 
 sented. 
 
 For the next five minutes or so all went calmly. 
 Mr. Girdwood's pose could scarcely have been 
 termed " natural," but he frequently smirked in a 
 way that suggested a certain satisfaction of spirit. 
 
 " Doody," said Jim suddenly, " shall you paint 
 Mr. Sammy's face first, and put the whiskers on 
 afterwards? " 
 
 Nevis ignored the question which was unwise 
 of him, an experienced parent. Children don't ask 
 questions merely for the fun of the thing; no coun- 
 sel for the prosecution can equal their persistence.
 
 72 Jim 
 
 Eventually Nevis was driven to replying that he 
 painted the whiskers first and the face afterwards. 
 Jim accepted the answer without comment, which 
 shows how much better it is to reply promptly to a 
 child. But he put another question. 
 
 "Do whiskers grow, Doody?" 
 
 " Yes, of course." 
 
 "Like grass?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 A brief silence. 
 
 "Doody, what is whisker seed like?" 
 
 At this there came from the open kitchen window 
 a prolonged cackle. 
 
 " Hullo, Mrs. Sammy ! " the boy called gaily to 
 the old woman, who immediately dodged from 
 sight. 
 
 Mr. Gird wood stopped in the midst of a chuckle. 
 " Away, woman, away ! " he cried sternly ; " would 
 ye spile the pictur after all? " 
 
 Having addressed a few warning words to his 
 son, Nevis returned to his canvas, while the sitter 
 gradually composed himself. 
 
 " Excuse my sister, if ye please, sir," said the 
 latter. "How's the pentin' gettin' on?" 
 
 " I think we'll manage to make a start soon," the 
 artist returned, laughing. 
 
 Mr. Girdwood gaped. 
 
 " The beginning is the worst," Nevis assured
 
 The First Sitting 73 
 
 him. " Now make yourself comfortable, and we'll 
 go ahead." 
 
 Nearly fifteen minutes passed without interrup- 
 tion. Jim, having tired of painting Mr. Froggie's 
 portrait, was painting Mr. Froggie himself; Nevis 
 was working diligently; the old man was perspir- 
 ing and smirking. 
 
 Then, all at once, the last mentioned threw out 
 his right hand, and in a hoarse whisper said 
 
 " Sir, I'm vexed to stop ye, but " His voice 
 
 rose to a roar. " Elizabeth, shift frae that window! 
 D'ye hear?" 
 
 For a marvel Miss Girdwood retorted quite 
 crossly 
 
 " I wasna lookin' at you; I was lookin* at James 
 Crow." 
 
 " Well, I canna thole ye at the window when I'm 
 gettin' my portrait pentit." 
 
 " Ye couldna see me." 
 
 " I heard ye breathin'." 
 
 Miss Girdwood retired, and Mr. Girdwood after 
 several violent shrugs regained, with the utmost 
 precision, his former position. 
 
 Jim got up. " I think I'll go into the house and 
 talk to Mrs. Sammy," he announced, " and see the 
 fun-owl." 
 
 " Do you think he might ? " Nevis inquired of 
 the old man.
 
 74 
 
 "Please! "said Jim. 
 
 Somehow Mr. Girdwood did not much care 
 about his sister having the boy all to herself. 
 
 " James Crow isna disturbin' me," he replied un- 
 truthfully. " He's fine where he is." 
 
 " But I want to go into the house, Mr. Sammy." 
 
 " I really think it wouldn't be a bad plan," the 
 artist remarked, with a smile. 
 
 " Ah, well," said Mr. Girdwood reluctantly, " ye 
 best gang in, my lad, an' see the owl; but ye 
 needna pay any attention to her. . . . Eliza- 
 beth ! " he shouted, " open the door ! " 
 
 The old woman obeyed almost at once. " What 
 are ye wantin', Samuel ? " 
 
 "James Crow's comin' in to see the owl I shot 
 in Africa. Mind, 'tis the owl he's wantin' to see." 
 
 " An' ye're welcome to see the owl, dearie," said 
 Miss Girdwood, delighted, to Jim. 
 
 " And you'll tell me again how Mr. Sammy shot 
 it," he responded. 
 
 " Na, na ! " cried Mr. Girdwood, greatly per- 
 turbed. " She's not to do that ! " 
 
 " Aw, I'll tell ye about something else, dearie," 
 she said kindly 
 
 " Ye're not to tell him anything about me, 
 woman ! mind that ! " 
 
 " Oh, Samuel," she said soothingly, " dinna fash 
 yersel'. Jist pay attention to yer portrait."
 
 The First Sitting 75 
 
 " I suspose," said Jim, " you don't know about 
 all Mr. Sammy's adventures so well as he does." 
 
 "I I never speak about them, dearie. Come 
 in now, for I doubt we're keepin' yer doddy back." 
 
 " Doody ! " yelled Mr. Girdwood as the door 
 closed. "Oh, me! the stupeedity o' women!" he 
 remarked to Nevis ; adding, " I hope she'll not be 
 tellin' him a heap o' nonsense about me." Once 
 more he settled himself in position, but he was ob- 
 viously nervous. 
 
 " I'm afraid that boy of mine has upset you for 
 to-day," said Nevis at last, fairly baffled by the 
 changing expressions of the ancient visage. 
 
 Mr. Girdwood did not seem to hear. He was 
 listening anxiously with his mouth; his eyes were 
 fixed in a sidelong stare on the window. He ap- 
 peared to be expecting something to happen. 
 
 And it happened sooner than he expected. He 
 all but fell from the bench when, with a merry 
 " peep-bo, Mr. Sammy ! " a small hand shot forth, 
 grasping the stuffed owl. A badly stifled cackle 
 followed the surprise. 
 
 The least Nevis could do was to be angry. 
 
 " That's enough, Jim," he called. " If you're not 
 going to " 
 
 " Doody," cried Jim unabashed, " do you remem- 
 ber the book at home, with the picture of the doody 
 standing beside the wild beasts he shot? "
 
 76 Jim 
 
 "What about it?" demanded Nevis, hoping for 
 a change of subject. 
 
 " Well, I think you should paint Mr. Sammy be- 
 side the fun-owl, 'cause he shot it. ... Mr. 
 Sammy, will you have it at your feet or on your 
 knee? Do you hear Mrs. Sammy laughing? raz- 
 zer like a tewken! You do laugh funny, Mrs. 
 Sammy; but I like it." 
 
 " Oh, dearie, ye'll be the death o' me ! " gasped 
 the old woman. Next moment she popped her head 
 out of the window. " Samuel, dinna be vexed, 
 man. 'Twas but a bit joke." 
 
 " I'm afraid," said Nevis to his son, " you have 
 quite ruined the sitting. You had better come home 
 with me at once." 
 
 "But, Doody " 
 
 " Give Miss Girdwood the bird, and < " 
 
 " It's an owl." 
 
 " Give it to her, and come to me at once. I'm 
 ashamed of you." 
 
 "You're not!" 
 
 " But I am. Come along, quickly ! " 
 
 Said Miss Girdwood gently, " Oh, sir, he didna 
 mean it. Him an' me'll bide in the parlour, an' 
 let ye win through wi' yer job. I dare say Sam- 
 uel's awfu' ill to pent. Let James Crow bide wi' 
 me, if ye please, sir." 
 
 But Mr. Girdwood, his mind still obsessed by the
 
 The First Sitting 77 
 
 dread of being " given away " by his sister, said, 
 " Clay up, Elizabeth ! James Crow's better wi' his 
 doody." 
 
 " Come along, Jim," said Nevis sternly. " See 
 how you've spoilt everything. . . . I'm sorry, 
 Miss Girdwood, but I must ask you to open the 
 door for him." 
 
 " Can I not get givin' him a biscuit first, sir ? " 
 she pleaded. 
 
 Nevis shook his head. " Jim, I've already asked 
 you twice to come to me." 
 
 " Three times, Doody," said Jim, and broke 
 down, " But I'm coming," he sobbed. 
 
 " Oh, dearie ! " sighed Miss Girdwood, and led 
 him to the door. " I'm vexed there's not a single 
 peppermint in the house," she continued. " Dinna 
 cry, my wee laddie, dinna cry " 
 
 " I'm not," said Jim, drying his eyes on her 
 apron. "But but Doody said he was 'shamed 
 of me." 
 
 He went to his father without taking any notice 
 of Mr. Girdwood. He threw himself on his father, 
 sending palette and brushes spinning. 
 
 "Why was you 'shamed of me, Doody?" he 
 wailed. 
 
 " Because because " Nevis, for the life 
 
 of him, could not explain. 
 
 " I was never 'shamed of you, Doody."
 
 78 Jim 
 
 There was a silence. 
 
 " All right, old man," whispered Nevis. " But 
 you must learn obedience, you know. It all came 
 of not doing what I asked. Well, well, I forgive 
 you. No, no ! I'm not really ashamed of you. 
 But you must go to Mr. Sammy, and tell him you're 
 sorry for upsetting everything. Will you?" 
 
 " Y-yes, Doody. But I've lost my hanky." 
 
 Presently he approached Mr. Girdwood slowly, 
 far from willingly. 
 
 " Aw, the wee man ! " muttered Miss Girdwood, 
 and turned into the doorway, tears on her withered 
 face. 
 
 But it was too much for the old man. Up he 
 got and toddled to meet the boy, crying 
 
 " James Crow, James Crow, 'twas most my fault. 
 Oh, sure, 'twas all my fault. Will ye shake hands, 
 an' an' let it pass? An' if ye say 'tis got to be, 
 well, yer Doody can pent me an' the owl the 
 fun-owl in the same pictur an' I'll chance it ! " 
 
 Jim clung to the old hand, but for a space said 
 nothing. Then 
 
 " I think I'd really pifer the fun-owl in a picture 
 of its own," he said.
 
 MRS. SAMMY SAVES THE SITUATION 
 
 " AND if Mr. Sammy hadn't fired guns and 
 shouted very loud and made fearful noises with his 
 feet, the whale would have gobbled him up! 
 Wasn't he brave, Doody ? " 
 
 " I should say so," assented Nevis, who was ex- 
 amining a milky -hued pebble which he had just 
 sifted from a handful of fine gravel. 
 
 Mr. Girdwood writhed on the flat rock whereon, 
 with considerable diffidence, he had seated himself 
 half-an-hour earlier. 
 
 "Did you ever hear of such a brave doody?" 
 the boy persisted. " The whale had its mouth 
 wide open, and Mr. Sammy had nothing on but 
 
 " Never ! " said Nevis firmly. " I'm beginning 
 to feel that Mr. Girdwood's African adventures 
 would make rather an entertaining book." 
 
 It may be that one cannot blush after eighty 
 in this world, at any rate. But if Mr. Girdwood's 
 colour failed to increase, he perspired freely 
 enough. 
 
 79
 
 8o Jim 
 
 " James Crow," he said feebly, " ye' re not to 
 bother yer doody wi' my stupid stories." 
 
 " They're not stupid," Jim promptly replied. 
 " And Doody likes to hear them. I tell him all 
 your stories, Mr. Sammy don't I, Doody?" 
 
 " I believe you do, Jim Crow," said Nevis, taking 
 up another handful of gravel. 
 
 Jim turned to the old man. " Doody liked the 
 one about when you cuffed the hedgehog's ears for 
 eating up your dinner in Africa," he said. " Doody 
 roared and laughed." 
 
 "Aw," murmured Mr. Girdwood, and gazed in 
 turn at sea, sky and cliffs. " 'Tis time I was step- 
 pin' home," he said at last, making to rise. " Eliza- 
 beth'll be gettin' the denner ready." 
 
 " But you're going to have lunch with us, Mr. 
 Sammy," said Jim. " You promised and it's in 
 the bastek for you. 'Sides, you've got to tell the 
 story about the giraffes with the f ezzers feathers 
 on their noses. Doody wants to hear how you 
 stole their eggs when they weren't looking. Don't 
 you, Doody ? " 
 
 " Certainly," said Nevis. " But, still, if Mr. Gird- 
 wood " He fingered a fresh handful of 
 
 gravel. " The pebbles are pretty scarce, aren't 
 they?" 
 
 " That's what Mr. Sammy said about the 
 giraffe's eggs. Didn't you, Mr. Sammy ? "
 
 Mrs. Sammy Saves the Situation 81 
 
 " Aw," murmured the old man again, looking 
 supremely uncomfortable. " 'Tis surely very kind 
 o' ye, James Crow," he continued, " but I I best 
 be steppin' home. Ye see, Elizabeth " 
 
 " She won't give you beans, will she? " 
 
 " No ; 'tis pea-soup on Fridays. But, ye 
 see " 
 
 Nevis roused himself. He and his son had been 
 lying in the sunny cove since shortly after break- 
 fast, and the comfort of the shingle and the hush- 
 ing of the sea had made him drowsy. Mr. Gird- 
 wood had apparently quite inadvertently 
 joined them about noon. 
 
 " The pebbles are pretty, but they are few," said 
 Nevis, rolling over and sitting up. 
 
 " Very, very few, sir," the old man said, still 
 writhing ; " very, very few, indeed, to be sure." 
 
 " You said there was heaps," remarked Jim, 
 eyeing him. 
 
 Mr. Girdwood was getting used to prevaricating. 
 " I meant very few heaps, James Crow," he said 
 hastily. "Ye see?" 
 
 " I see," Jim replied. " I can find more pebbles 
 than Doody." 
 
 " Quite right," said Nevis, whose pockets bulged 
 with his son's tribute in the form of sand, broken 
 shells, pieces of flint and small stones. The milky 
 and scarlet pebbles for which Clure Bay was noted
 
 82 Jim 
 
 were really difficult to find; but it's a sorry sort of 
 child that can't discover some treasures on the sea- 
 shore at the first attempt. 
 
 " Did you get pebbles in Africa, Mr. Sammy ? " 
 the boy inquired. 
 
 Mr. Gird wood, afraid to commit himself, shook 
 his head, nodded, then shook it again. 
 
 " Wasn't it a nice shore like this, Mr. Sammy ? " 
 
 " 'Twas a nice enough shore," was the slow, un- 
 willing reply; "a nice enough shore for them as 
 liked it." 
 
 " But what sort of shore was it? " 
 
 Nevis interposed. " I think you might give Mr. 
 Girdwood a rest," he mildly remonstrated, " and 
 then we'll have lunch." 
 
 " But he likes talking about Africa, don't you, 
 Mr. Sammy ? " 
 
 " In private, James Crow, in private," the old 
 man answered in a whisper, desperately. 
 
 "What's 'in private,' Doody?" 
 
 " Mr. Girdwood means," said Nevis gravely, 
 " that he prefers to tell his stories to one person at 
 a time." 
 
 " That's why he always stops when Mrs. Sammy 
 comes," said Jim, looking reflective. " I suspose, 
 Mr. Sammy, you tell her stories when I'm not 
 there." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood murmured something to the effect
 
 Mrs. Sammy Saves the Situation 83 
 
 that his sister did not much care for his stories, 
 and added that he must be stepping home. 
 
 " Come along, Jim Crow, and help me to unpack 
 the basket," said Nevis, in order to create a diver- 
 sion. " Mr. Girdwood must have some soup before 
 he starts to climb the hill if he insists on going." 
 
 " Mr. Sammy's legs are much stronger than they 
 used to be," observed Jim. " Aren't they, Mr. 
 Sammy ? " 
 
 Mr. Girdwood chuckled doubtless with relief 
 at the longed-for change of subject. " "Tis so, 
 James Crow, 'tis so. They was only needin' exer- 
 cise, I'm thinkin'." 
 
 " But I'm sure Mrs. Sammy would like the story 
 about when you killed the four rhinoceroses with 
 your sword. I'll tell her about it, if you like." 
 
 " Na, na ! She she doesna like to hear about 
 dangerous beasts " 
 
 " Come along, Jim. Take the sandwiches to Mr. 
 Girdwood," put in Nevis. 
 
 " All right, Doody. ... I suppose she pifers 
 to hear about kind beasts, like froggies and tewkens 
 and fun-owls, and " 
 
 " Jist that, jist that! " cried the old man eagerly, 
 the sandwich trembling in his hand. " Oh, she's 
 terrible fond o' hearin' about kind beasts ! I I'll 
 be greatly obliged if ye'll never tell her about 
 nothin' but but kind beasts."
 
 84 Jim 
 
 " I suspose," said Jim thoughtfully, " a hedgehog 
 is a sort of kind beast when it's good and doesn't 
 steal people's dinners. I'd like to tell Mrs. Sammy 
 about the hedgehog." 
 
 " Na, na ! Ye canna call a hedgehog a kind 
 beast. 'Tis a terrible cruel beast " 
 
 " But it's not very big " 
 
 " Not very big ! My ! I've seen a hedgehog as 
 
 big as as as " Mr. Girdwood paused, 
 
 looking rather helpless. After all, he did not want 
 to tell more falsehoods than he could help. "I 
 I hope ye'll never tell her about the hedgehog," he 
 said at last feebly. 
 
 Jim appeared far from satisfied. " Would it 
 frighten her?" he demanded. 
 
 "Not exac'ly; but but " And then Mr. 
 
 Girdwood received one of the inspirations of his 
 life. In a hoarse whisper "James Crow, I'll 
 tell ye why ye're not to tell her about the hedge- 
 hog!" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because she canna bear hearin' about jaggy 
 beasts. It it mak's her creep." 
 
 "On the floor?" said Jim, highly interested. 
 
 " Na, na ; it mak's her flesh creep, I should ha' 
 said her flesh, ye ken." 
 
 " But where does it creep ? " 
 
 " Aw it jist creeps."
 
 Mrs. Sammy Saves the Situation 85 
 
 "Does it hurt?" 
 
 " Maybe it doesna exac'ly hurt, but " 
 
 " Does her nose creep, too ? " 
 
 " 'Tis like as not," replied Mr. Girdwood very 
 solemnly and impressively. " All her flesh creeps." 
 
 "If it doesn't hurt, I think I'd like to tell Mrs. 
 Sammy about the hedgehog," said Jim. 
 
 Just then Nevis came over with a mug of soup 
 in one hand and another of milk in the other. 
 
 " Thank ye, thank ye," the old man stammered, 
 " but I think I best be steppin' " 
 
 " Doody," said Jim, who already enjoyed a vision 
 of Miss Girdwood's nose making a slow circuit of 
 her head, " shall we go to see Mrs. Sammy after 
 lunch?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't think we'll trouble Miss Girdwood 
 to-day. We're going to examine the pools when the 
 tide goes out, you know; and then, you remember, 
 you are going to have tea with Daisy -" 
 
 " But I'd like to see her just for a minute, 
 Doody." 
 
 " Well, well, we shall see." Nevis turned with a 
 smile to Mr. Girdwood. " Your sister has quite 
 captured his heart, but she must not allow him to 
 intrude whenever the spirit moves him in her direc- 
 tion." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood mumbled something incoherent, 
 finished his sandwich and gulped his soup.
 
 86 Jim 
 
 " I best be goin', sir," he said, slowly rising. 
 " Maybe I'll see ye another time." 
 
 " Oh, don't go away, Mr. Sammy," the boy 
 pleaded. " Stay and help us to look for things in 
 the pools when the tide goes out." 
 
 But Mr. Girdwood would not be persuaded. 
 
 " Thank ye, James Crow, but I best be goin'," 
 he said in a mournful voice. " I'm thinkin' 'tis bad 
 for my rheumatis hereabouts. I I'll maybe see 
 ye an' yer doody another time." 
 
 Presently, with the aid of his staff, he was tod- 
 dling up the rough track of a cleft in the cliff. 
 
 " Jim Crow," said Nevis kindly, " you must try 
 to remember that very old people like Mr. Sammy 
 don't always want to talk; sometimes they want to 
 sit quiet. If you had left him alone for a little 
 while, he might have stayed longer. You see ? " 
 
 Jim nodded, and for a moment or two was silent. 
 Then, with a smile " I 'spect you'll get a siprise, 
 Doody, when we go to see Mrs. Sammy after- 
 wards." 
 
 "What sort of surprise, old chap?" 
 
 Jim laughed and applied himself to his sandwich 
 and milk. 
 
 Mr. Girdwood approached his home even more 
 slowly than his aged limbs required. He was in a 
 sorry plight of mind. Not for a moment did he
 
 Mrs. Sammy Saves the Situation 87 
 
 blame Jim Crow, but he did wish that the boy had 
 not repeated his stories to Mr. Nevis. It was not 
 that Mr. Nevis had laughed at his stories, though 
 that was bad enough; but Mr. Girdwood was un- 
 easy lest Mr. Nevis might sooner or later object 
 to his son's companionship with a person who had 
 lately become almost a stranger to the truth. 
 Moreover, for the last week Elizabeth, alarmed at 
 his suddenly developed powers of imagination, had 
 been urging him to drop his African adventures 
 altogether and to entertain " the laddie " with tales 
 having at least some foundation in fact. Unfor- 
 tunately such efforts had been but coldly received 
 by Jim, who continued to demand the aforesaid 
 adventures, which, truth to tell, the old man enjoyed 
 hugely in the hour of their recital, being carried 
 away, so to speak, on the wings of his own inven- 
 tions, though afterwards he became oppressed with 
 the dread of his sister learning how far he had gone 
 on the downward way. He knew that, so far, only 
 the merest fragments of his " adventures " had been 
 retailed to her. But even so she had taken fright. 
 What would happen were a single " complete story " 
 to reach her ears he dared not contemplate. 
 
 " 'Tis the big fool ye are, Samuel Girdwood," he 
 said to himself, "talkin' to James Crow about 
 makin' her flesh creep. Now he'll be tellin' her 
 about the hedgehog, for sure an' 'tis natural
 
 88 Jim 
 
 enough for him to want to see it creepin', poor lad. 
 But he'll not see nothin' an' then he'll be 
 blamin' me for deceivin' him, an' Elizabeth'll be 
 blamin' me for the same as well as for the false- 
 hoods about the hedgehog. . . . Oh, 'tis a fine 
 mess ye've got yersel' into, Samuel Girdwood ! " 
 
 An astonished Miss Girdwood opened the cottage 
 door. 
 
 " I thought ye wasna comin' home," she began. 
 Then anxiously " What's ado, Samuel ? Are ye 
 sick?" 
 
 He shook his head. " Let me in, an' hold yer 
 tongue ! " A minute later he was in his armchair. 
 " Na, na. Tak' yer own denner, woman. I've had 
 all I want. I'm not hungry." 
 
 But she set a basin of soup on the table at his 
 elbow. " Jist leave it, if ye dinna want it. Was ye 
 feelin' cold on the shore? I hope yer rheu- 
 matis " 
 
 " Eat yer denner, an' never mind me. . . . 
 James Crow'll maybe be here the day," he an- 
 nounced abruptly after a longish silence. 
 
 " Well, well," she said, pleasure shining through 
 her perplexity. " I was feart you an' him had cast 
 out," she went on with a faint laugh. " I won- 
 dered, when I seen ye comin' up the road " 
 
 "Jam.es Crow's maybe comin' to see yer flesh 
 creep," he said, .and groaned.
 
 Mrs. Sammy Saves the Situation 89 
 
 "What?" The spoon fell from her fingers. 
 
 His explanation and confession, which included 
 the Adventure of the Hedgehog, occupied consid- 
 erable time. The soup was cold when Mr. Gird- 
 wood sank back in his chair with another groan. 
 
 To his amazement she did not upbraid him. But 
 there was a solemn silence during which she looked 
 puzzled and perhaps a little sad. 
 
 " 'Tis the worst of all my stories, Elizabeth," he 
 said at last, apologetically. " 'Tis the fullest wi' 
 falsehoods of them all. That's how I I didna 
 want ye to hear about it." 
 
 Of a sudden she laughed. " Oh, Samuel," she 
 cried, " I wish I had seen ye cuffin' its ears ! " 
 
 Mr. Girdwood immediately looked offended. 
 
 " 'Twas you that started me at the stories, any- 
 way," he muttered. 
 
 She was grave again. " But surely I tried to 
 stop ye goin' over far, Samuel." 
 
 " 'Tis likely that Eve said something the same to 
 Adam after he had ett his bit o' the apple." 
 
 She accepted the remark without showing resent- 
 ment. " I was thinkin' about yer stories all the 
 mornin', Samuel," she said gently, " an' I got the 
 notion that the tellin' o' them wasna maybe so bad 
 a sin after all. Think o' the folks that spends their 
 lifes writin' story-books! Ye're nothin' to them, 
 Samuel, are ye? An' I've seen plenty story-books
 
 90 Jim 
 
 in the Manse. So I decided to say never a word 
 more to ye about tellin' James Crow stories, excep' 
 that I hope ye'll not get into the habit when James 
 Crow's not there. So, Samuel dearie " 
 
 Alas ! How speedily does our repentance evapo- 
 rate when we find we are to escape a scolding after 
 all. There was quite an arrogant snap in Samuel's 
 voice as he interrupted her with 
 
 " That's not the p'int, woman, that's not the 
 p'int!" 
 
 " An' what's the p'int ? " she mildly inquired. 
 
 " The p'int's jist this, that ye canna mak' ye flesh 
 creep for James Crow. That's the p'int ! " 
 
 " Mercy on us ! Did ye tell the laddie he would 
 see it creepin' ? " 
 
 " He expec's to see it, anyway ay, an' yer nose 
 movin' " 
 
 " My nose movin' ! Aw, Samuel " 
 
 "I I tried to save ye, woman." (Oh, Mr. 
 Girdwood!) 
 
 " My nose movin' ! . . . An' he's goin' to 
 tell me about yer hedgehog to mak' my flesh 
 creep. Aw, the wee man ! he'll be that disap- 
 p'inted!" 
 
 " Ay ; for ye canna move yer nose an inch," said 
 Mr. Girdwood, as if he could move his an ell. " An' 
 he'll be blamin' me for deceivin' him, for I doubt 
 he's set his heart on seein' it creep."
 
 Mrs. Sammy Saves the Situation 91 
 
 " Look, Samuel," said Miss Girdwood suddenly. 
 
 "That's not movin' yer nose; that's jist makm' 
 a face. Like as not, James Crow'll wash his hands 
 o' me after this." 
 
 Miss Girdwood sighed helplessly. " 'Tis a terri- 
 ble thing to disapp'int a little one," she murmured. 
 
 " 'Tis all that," said Samuel, and groaned. 
 
 Next moment he started as, with a sharp cry, his 
 sister rose and crossed the kitchen floor. 
 
 " Are they comin' ? " he asked anxiously. 
 
 " Whisht, Samuel. Dinna speak." 
 
 The old woman was peering into the small mirror 
 over the sink. 
 
 A minute passed, and then she emitted a gay little 
 cackle. 
 
 " 'Tis better'n nothin'," she whispered ; " an' 
 maybe James Crow'll be satisfied " 
 
 " What d'ye mean, Elizabeth? " 
 
 " Oh, Samuel," she said, half laughing, half sob- 
 bing, " d'ye not mind when I was a lassie? . . . 
 I was f eart I had forgot the way but I can do it 
 yet an' I'm sure 'tis fifty year since I done it 
 last " 
 
 " Do what, woman? " 
 
 " Move my ears, Samuel, move my ears ! " 
 
 It turned out to be one of the most entertaining 
 half-hours of Jim's life.
 
 92 Jim 
 
 He was simply and frankly delighted. 
 So was Miss Girdwood. 
 
 So also might have been Mr. Girdwood, had he 
 not become jealous of his sister's accomplishment.
 
 JIM TELLS A TALE 
 
 " BUT I don't want to be a sausage," the little 
 girl protested ; " I want to be a princess." 
 
 " Well, Daisy, you shall be a princess after you've 
 been a sausage for ten years," said Jim patiently. 
 " Doody, tell her the story again." 
 
 They were in the Magic Wood once more, and 
 the boy was keenly desirous of acting the fairy tale 
 which his father had invented, more or less, a few 
 evenings ago. In extenuation of its absurdity may 
 be mentioned the fact that at its first recital the 
 teller had been harassed by certain worldly cares, 
 while the listener had previously been wearying for 
 his absent mother. 
 
 " I think you might tell it yourself," said Nevis, 
 who was sitting a little way off, barely within ear- 
 shot, making a water-colour sketch. 
 
 " Ay, tell it yersel', James Crow," put in Mr. 
 Girdwood. He had arrived quite unexpectedly a 
 few minutes ago, and was now enjoying a pipe of 
 the artist's tobacco. " 'Tis a long time since I heard 
 ye tell a story." 
 
 " Yes," said Daisy, seating herself on the grass 
 93
 
 94 
 
 with her doll. " Tell it yourself, Jim Crow. But 
 I want to be a princess." 
 
 The requests were so sincere that Jim did not be- 
 come self-conscious. 
 
 " I'll tell you," he said, and solemnly he held up 
 his right forefinger. " Listen ! Pay great inten- 
 tion. Mr. Sammy, don't laugh with your whis- 
 kers!" 
 
 Mr. Girdwood checked his grin and murmured an 
 apology. 
 
 " Now I'll begin. Daisy, don't speak that silly 
 way to your doll." 
 
 " I was putting her to sleep. . . . She's 
 sleeping now." 
 
 " Well once upon a time there was a little girl, 
 and her doody was a king. He was a nice kind 
 doody, 'cept when he hadn't enough pennies. He 
 used to tell the little girl lovely stories about fairies. 
 I suspose he would have told her about gnomes and 
 pixies and elfs and Mr. Fun-Owl, if he had known 
 about them. But, you see, he didn't. So one day 
 the little girl came running to his throne and asked 
 him to tell her a fairy tale. But the king hadn't 
 enough pennies that day, and he was fearful cross. 
 He said : ' Snuff and tonsense ! ' please don't 
 make fun-noises, Mr. Sammy he said : ' Snuff 
 and tonsense ! I'm not going to tell you any more 
 fairy tales, 'cause you're too old, and, 'sides, there
 
 Jim Tells a Tale 95 
 
 aren't any fairies ! ' And whenever he said that, a 
 fairy bounced into the room out of nowhere. And 
 it was a wicked fairy ! And the wicked fairy said : 
 * Mr. King, did I hear you say there wasn't any 
 fairies ? ' And the king got angrier than ever, and 
 he said: 'Of course! Fairies are just snuff and 
 tonsense ! ' " 
 
 " Maybe," Mr. Girdwood ventured gently, " ye'll 
 be meanin' ' stuff and nonsense,' James Crow." 
 
 " No, I don't. Doody says ' snuff and tonsense ! ' 
 Please keep very quiet, Mr. Sammy." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood apologized once more, adding, 
 " 'Tis a fine story, to be sure." 
 
 "Yes, it is," agreed Jim heartily. "Wait till 
 you hear it. ... When the king said that, the 
 wicked fairy got very angry too, and waved her 
 wand, and cried, ' Look at your little girl, Mr. 
 King ! ' And the king looked, and lo ! and behold ! 
 his little girl was turned into a sausage. And she 
 rolled on the floor, 'cause she couldn't stand." 
 
 " A sassige ! " murmured Mr. Girdwood. 
 
 " Why couldn't she stand ? " inquired Daisy. 
 
 " Sausages have no feet ; they've got always to 
 lie down or roll about. . . . And then the 
 wicked fairy went away. But before she went away 
 she said : * Mr. King, your little girl will be a sau- 
 sage till a handsome prince kisses her/ Then the 
 king was in a fearful state, and sent soldiers and
 
 96 Jim 
 
 p'licemen to catch the wicked fairy. But they 
 couldn't find her anywhere. And then the doctor 
 came, but he couldn't do anything, 'cause a sausage 
 can't put out its tongue and you can't feel its pulse. 
 So the doctor shook his head and said Doody, 
 what did the doctor say? " 
 
 " What doctor ? " Nevis had become absorbed in 
 his work. 
 
 " The doctor that came to the little sausage girl." 
 
 " Ah," said Nevis, " he just said : ' Avoid bow- 
 wows and pussy-cats one guinea good-morn- 
 ing ' and went away." 
 
 " Yes," Jim resumed, " that's what he said. And 
 the king was m a fearful state, and so was the 
 queen. Everybody was in a fearful state, 'cept the 
 little sausage girl " 
 
 " Why wasn't she in a fearful state? " Daisy in- 
 quired. 
 
 " 'Cause she was a sausage. Sausages don't know 
 anything," Jim explained, a trifle impatiently. 
 
 " About what size would she be, James Crow ? " 
 Mr. Girdwood respectfully asked. 
 
 " Doody, what size was she? " 
 
 " About four inches and three quarters." 
 
 " She was about four inches and three quarters, 
 Mr. Sammy, and she had a little tweaky thing at 
 each end. For, you sec, she was really turned into 
 a sausage."
 
 Jim Tells a Tale 97 
 
 " 'Tis a grand story, for sure," murmured the old 
 man, realizing that his African Adventures had not 
 been so extravagant after all. 
 
 " And what happened next? " said Daisy. 
 
 " You have a dreadful bad rememory, Daisy. 
 You couldn't have been listening the last time, when 
 Doody told it. Listen now ! " Jim held up a small 
 but impressive forefinger. " Are you listening ? 
 Are you paying great intention? " 
 
 " Yes, Jim," she said meekly. 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you what happened next. The 
 king sent for all the wise old doodies in the land, 
 and all the wise old doodies came. And some of 
 them had magic. Then the king said: 'If you 
 don't turn this sausage into my little girl in three 
 days, you'll get your heads cut off/ So the wise 
 old doodies tried very, very hard for three days, 
 but they couldn't turn the sausage into a little girl 
 they couldn't even turn it into a baby. And they 
 went to the king and said they were awful sorry 
 they couldn't do anything, but it was the first time 
 they had ever found anything too difficult for them, 
 and they hoped the king wouldn't cut off their heads, 
 'cause their heads were so full of wiseness, and they 
 didn't really know what they would do without 
 them. 
 
 " So the king thought for a long time and said : 
 ' Very well, I shan't cut off your heads ; I'll just cut
 
 98 Jim 
 
 off your bodies. Good-morning.' And they said 
 Doody, what did they say ? " 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " The old doodies when the king said he would 
 just cut off their bodies." 
 
 " Oh, they merely said : ' Thank you very much, 
 your good gracious majesty ; fare thee pump ' and 
 passed out." 
 
 " Yes ; that's what they said, and ' fare thee 
 pump ' means * good-bye/ Mr. Sammy." 
 
 " And what happened next ? " Daisy inquired. 
 
 " I'm going to tell you. But before it happened 
 the king and queen were in a fearful state. The 
 king was so sorry he had been cross, and the queen 
 was so sorry she had made him cross with spending 
 too many pennies ; and she said it was all her fault, 
 but the king said it was all his. And then they 
 kissed each other and said it was all the dress- 
 maker's fault And they sent people to the dress- 
 maker to dress her in one of her own dresses; and 
 when she was dressed she couldn't walk, and she 
 couldn't sit down, and when she fell she couldn't 
 get up. And so she had to roll about like a sausage, 
 too. And the queen said she could whistle for her 
 'candalous old account. And ever since the dress- 
 maker has been trying to learn to whistle; but she 
 can't do it, and Doody thinks she never will, 'cause
 
 Jim Tells a Tale 
 
 she hasn't the face. So she just rolls about and eats 
 pins." 
 
 " Preserve us ! " ejaculated Mr. Girdwood. 
 
 " Hush ! " said Jim, forefinger up again. " And 
 so the poor king and queen didn't know what to do 
 about their little sausage girl. You see, she 
 couldn't do anything. She couldn't eat, and she 
 couldn't go to school or have music lessons, and 
 she couldn't play any games. She couldn't do any- 
 thing at all." 
 
 "Had she any clothes?" This from Daisy. 
 
 " No ; 'cause, you see, the queen didn't know 
 which end to put them on at ; and, 'sides, the things 
 would slip off as soon as they was put on. So the 
 king and queen bought a beautiful little meat-safe 
 all painted green and a dozen Doody, a dozen 
 what?" 
 
 " Muffin dishes," replied Nevis, who happened to 
 be listening at the moment. 
 
 "A dozen beautiful muffin-dishes that was it. 
 And the little sausage-girl lived in the meat-safe 
 and got a clean plate to lie on every two hours, with 
 fresh parsley all round her " 
 
 " It must have been awful cold," said Daisy. 
 
 " She pifered it cold. Once, when it was winter, 
 the nurse gave her a hot dish, and she she pre- 
 spired awful didn't she, Doody? "
 
 ioo Jim 
 
 " You might leave that bit out, Jim Crow," said 
 Nevis. 
 
 "Why, Doody?" 
 
 " To oblige me. It isn't so nice as I thought it 
 was." 
 
 " Very well," said Jim agreeably. " And so," he 
 resumed, " the nurse got beans, and very nearly got 
 her head cut off, too, and the king and queen hated 
 the sight of gravy ever after. And every day they 
 brought handsome princes to the meat-safe, and 
 opened the door, and let them look at the sausage. 
 But none of the handsome princes ever wanted to 
 kiss it, 'cause, you see, princes don't care for 
 sausages. They think sausages are Doody, what 
 do they think sausages are ? " 
 
 "Vulgar. But just tell the story in your own 
 words, old Crow." 
 
 " So I do, but sometimes I forget. . . . And 
 so the king and queen were very mis'rable, for they 
 thought their little girl would have to be a sausage 
 always and always. And the handsome princes 
 just sniffed and went away. What comes next, 
 Doody?" 
 
 " And ten long years went slowly past," said 
 Nevis solemnly. 
 
 " Didn't she grow any bigger ? " inquired Daisy, 
 wide of eye. 
 
 " 'Course not ! Sausages don't grow ! And ten
 
 Jim Tells a Tale 101 
 
 long years went slowly past," Jim quoted, and looked 
 to his father for guidance. 
 
 " Now," said Nevis, " you tell how on fine 
 days " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I remember now, Doody. . . 
 Listen ! On fine days the king and queen took her 
 out to get some fresh air. She couldn't walk, you 
 know ; but she could roll splendidly. And there was 
 a lovely smooth, green hill near the palace, and they 
 carried her up to the top and she rolled down to the 
 bottom. But before they took her out of the palace, 
 they always fired guns and rockets and banged 
 gongs and blew whistles and trumpets, and all the 
 people round about had to keep their bow-wows and 
 pussy-cats locked up in their houses." 
 
 " Deed, ay ! " said Mr. Girdwood, with a chuckle ; 
 " the dogs an* cats would ha' made short work o* 
 a sassige ! " 
 
 " But it's nothing to laugh at, Mr. Sammy," Jim 
 returned reprovingly. " Please pay great intention, 
 'cause I'm coming to the exciting part. Well, one 
 day one fine day the king and queen carried the 
 little sausage girl to the top of the hill. And the 
 king cried : * One, two, three and away ! ' and the 
 little sausage girl began to roll down. And she 
 rolled and she rolled and she rolled; and the queen 
 clapped her hands and cried : ' Faster, darling, 
 faster ! ' And the king and queen laughed, 'cause
 
 IO2 Jim 
 
 their little sausage girl looked so happy when she was 
 rolling. But all at once they stopped laughing, for 
 what did they see coming up the hill " Jim's finger 
 went up and his gaze grew very grave " what did 
 they see, but a great, big, huge, brown bow-wow! 
 And then the queen cried, * Help ! fire ! robbers ! ' 
 and the king cried : ' Bad dog ! Go home, sir ! ' 
 But the bow-wow only said ' Bowf ! ' and ran to 
 meet the little sausage girl. And the little sausage 
 girl rolled to meet the bow-wow. And the king 
 and queen began to run, but the king tripped on 
 his watch-chain, and the queen's dress was too tight, 
 and they both fell and rolled and rolled and rolled. 
 And the king cried : ' Good dog ! Poor fellow ! 
 Biscuits, biscuits ! ' and the queen cried * Rats and 
 mice ! ' but the bow-wow said nothing but 
 'Bowf!' and ran to meet the little sausage girl. 
 And the little sausage girl rolled to meet the bow- 
 wow; and she rolled far faster than the king and 
 queen. What next, Doody?" 
 
 " Then the king and queen bumped " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! The king and queen bumped to- 
 gether with their heads, and stopped rolling and 
 sat up and rubbed, their heads. And then they saw 
 their little sausage girl in the bow-wow's paws. 
 And they cried ' Caesar, Tiger, Pompom, Fido ! ' 
 and all sorts of names, but the bow-wow said noth- 
 ing but * Bowf! ' and put down his nose to the little
 
 Jim Tells a Tale 103 
 
 sausage girl. And lo ! and behold ! the little sausage 
 girl jumped out of her skin and became a beautiful 
 princess with golden hair, and the brown bow-wow 
 jumped out of his skin and became a handsome 
 prince, and they were married and lived happy ever 
 after. And that's all the story. Now let's play 
 at it."
 
 THE PORTRAIT IS FINISHED 
 
 MR. GIRDWOOD'S portrait was finished at last, 
 and the old man had come to view it. He sat on 
 the chair placed for him by Nevis, who stood be- 
 hind him. He held Jim's hand. He smiled and 
 made clicking sounds with his tongue, but uttered 
 no word. It was a good portrait: better, perhaps, 
 than the artist realised then ; yet it was also a good 
 picture, if only for the retrospection in the old eyes 
 and the hint of wistfulness at the old mouth. 
 
 It was Jim who broke the silence, giving the an- 
 cient hand a little shake as if to rouse the owner to 
 speech. 
 
 " Mr. Sammy, doesn't Doody paint splendid 
 whiskers ? " 
 
 " To be sure, James Crow, to be sure," Mr. Gird- 
 wood slowly and gravely replied, and returned to 
 his gazing and clicking. 
 
 "And look at the smoke coming out of the 
 chimney," the boy continued. " Smoke's fearful 
 difficult to paint, Mr. Sammy. And see the pipe in 
 your hand ; Doody put it in afterwards for a 
 siprise. And he put the newspaper on the seat for 
 
 104
 
 "The Portrait is Finished" 105 
 
 a siprise, too. You like having it there, Mr. Sammy 
 don't you?" 
 
 Nevis interposed. " I think, Jim Crow, Mr. 
 Girdwood would take a smoke now. He'll tell you 
 what he likes and doesn't like about the portrait 
 presently. You might fetch my tobacco pouch. I 
 must have left it in the garden." 
 
 "All right, Doody; I'll fetch it." Half-way to 
 the door Jim halted and returned. " Doody, I want 
 to whisper." 
 
 "What is it, old chap?" said Nevis, bending 
 down. 
 
 " Don't let Mr. Sammy say nothing till I come 
 back." 
 
 Nevis nodded reassuringly, and the boy ran off. 
 Mr. Girdwood continued to click contentedly. 
 Nevis watched him with a faint smile, then sud- 
 denly with keen interest. The pose of the old head 
 and shoulders. . . . Jim's sketching-block was 
 lying on the table. Picking it up Nevis hastily 
 pencilled a rough impression a mere memoran- 
 dum, as it were. " I wonder," he said to himself, 
 " why I never tried this sort of thing before." 
 
 Then Jim reappeared with the pouch. 
 
 " Better have a smoke, Mr. Girdwood," said the 
 artist. " Hand him the tobacco, Jim." 
 
 " Smoke, Mr. Sammy," said Jim encouragingly. 
 
 " Thank ye, James Crow, thank ye." Mr. Gird-
 
 106 Jim 
 
 wood took the pouch, but made no move to get out 
 his pipe. 
 
 Several minutes went past. From regarding his 
 aged friend with curiosity Jim fell to eyeing him 
 with perplexity. Presently he took a glance at his 
 father. Nevis was gazing at the old man with (it 
 seemed to his son) a worried look. 
 
 Jim went softly from Mr. Gird wood's side and 
 slipped his hand into his father's. It was as if he 
 had said : " Never mind, Doody. We know it's 
 good." 
 
 Nevis seated himself on the sofa and drew the 
 boy between his knees. " Mr. Girdwood is a critic 
 just now," he said in an undertone, smiling, " and 
 we must never disturb critics, you know." 
 
 " I see, Doody," said Jim, not quite comprehend- 
 ing the words, but reassured by the smile. " Do 
 crit critics always tick like clocks ? " he whis- 
 pered. 
 
 " Not always, Jim Crow. But you never know 
 when they'll strike. Look here! Do you know 
 who that is ? " Nevis exhibited the rough sketch 
 he had done in the boy's absence. 
 
 " A fun-doody," was the prompt reply. " Did 
 you do it for me with your eyes shut ? " 
 
 Nevis laughed and pocketed the sketch. 
 
 " I think," remarked his son, " I could do a 
 funnier one."
 
 "The Portrait is Finished" 107 
 
 " Try," said Nevis, handing him block and pencil, 
 and for a little while Jim forgot about critics. 
 
 At last Nevis, who was eager to get back to a 
 canvas he had been engaged on in the garden prior 
 to the old man's arrival, said in his mildest voice 
 
 " Mr. Girdwood, I'm sending your portrait to 
 Glasgow to-morrow, as I'm anxious to have a 
 friend's opinion of it." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood appeared to waken up. 
 
 " Aw," he said, and scratched his head. " But, 
 sir, yer frien' has never seen me. Excuse me for 
 sayin' it, but how can ? " 
 
 " Of course my friend can't tell whether it's a 
 good likeness or not, but he knows good painting 
 from bad." 
 
 " Aw/' said Mr. Girdwood again. " Ye'll excuse 
 me, but but d'ye think ye'll maybe get a hunderd 
 pound for the picture? " 
 
 Nevis laughed. " Well, I have my doubts," he 
 returned good-humouredly. " As I told you before, 
 portrait painting is hardly in my line." 
 
 " Aw," said Mr. Girdwood once more. 
 
 " I 'spect Doody will get a hundred pounds," Jim 
 put in. 
 
 " I was going to say," the artist continued, " that 
 you might like Miss Girdwood to see it before I 
 pack it up. If she cares to come up " 
 
 " Na," said Mr. Girdwood firmly.
 
 io8 Jim 
 
 " You think she wouldn't like it ? " asked Nevis, 
 taken aback. 
 
 " Mrs. Sammy would love to see it," said Jim, 
 half puzzled, half indignant. " She's been weary- 
 ing to see it. She told me." 
 
 " I dare say she would like fine to see it, James 
 Crow," Mr. Girdwood replied, the least thing stiffly. 
 " But 'twill be better for her not to see it." 
 
 " I don't think that's very nice," said Jim. 
 
 At this little reproof Mr. Girdwood looked dis- 
 tressed, but said nothing. 
 
 "What do you think of the portrait yourself? " 
 Nevis inquired, endeavouring to conceal his annoy- 
 ance. 
 
 " If ye please, sir, I'm just in the midst o' lookin' 
 at it," the old man replied in a curiously pathetic 
 tone. 
 
 The artist's irritation departed. 
 
 " Come along, Jim," he said briskly. " We'll go 
 out to the garden, and leave Mr. Girdwood to ex- 
 amine his portrait in peace. Fill your pipe, Mr. 
 Girdwood, and take as long as you like. There's 
 no hurry. When you've had enough of the portrait 
 you'll find us outside." 
 
 " Thank ye, thank ye," the other murmured, 
 and Jim went with his father, but not quite willingly. 
 
 " Do you think Mr. Sammy has got a pain? " the 
 boy inquired the moment the door was shut.
 
 "The Portrait is Finished" 109 
 
 " Possibly his rheumatism is bothering him to- 
 day. Come along, and let me see the new house 
 you've built for Miss Mousie in the garden." 
 
 " It's not finished yet, Doody. The drains aren't 
 made yet." 
 
 " But surely Miss Mousie won't like living in the 
 house before the drainage is right." 
 
 "Oh, yes; she pifers it So does Mr. Frog- 
 gie." 
 
 " I'm glad to hear it. By the way, what has come 
 over Daisy this morning ? " 
 
 Jim squeezed his father's hand in a confidential 
 fashion. " I told her not to come till the afternoon, 
 'cause, you see, I thought you would be wanting to 
 play with me this morning." 
 
 " Oh," said Nevis, glancing at the unfinished 
 work on his easel. 
 
 " Come and help me to make drains," urged Jim, 
 pointing to a wondrous erection of sticks, stones and 
 soil in a corner of the garden. 
 
 " Do you think I can afford the time to make 
 drains this morning, old chap? You see, I don't get 
 any pennies for making drains, and you know we 
 want to make as many pennies as we can before 
 mother comes home." 
 
 " I think mother would like you to make drains 
 too just for a little while, Doody," the boy said 
 softly.
 
 no Jim 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder," yielded Nevis. " All 
 right, I'm at your service for half-an-hour." 
 
 " Come on, then ! " cried Jim delightedly, and 
 added : " If you would like to be excited, we can 
 have an earthquake afterwards." 
 
 " But what would Miss Mousie say to that? " 
 
 " Oh, she simply loves earthquakes. So does Mr. 
 Froggie. Let's run, Doody ! " 
 
 Presently they were very busy indeed. 
 
 " You must show Mr. Sammy this wonderful 
 house," Nevis remarked when the drains, consisting 
 of disused lemonade bottles and jelly jars were 
 in Jim's opinion well and truly laid. 
 
 " I 'spect he'll like it. I'm going to build one in 
 his garden some day. Shall I call him to come 
 now?" 
 
 "No, no; leave him alone a little while longer." 
 
 "All right, Doody. But you're not going to 
 paint yet? " 
 
 " Not just yet. We'll take a walk round and see 
 the flowers growing." 
 
 " Yes ! . . . D'you know, Doody, I think I 
 know why Mr. Sammy was cross ! " 
 
 "Why, Jim Crow?" 
 
 " 'Cause he doesn't want the picture to go away." 
 
 " Perhaps you're right. But, you remember, he 
 didn't want Mrs. Sammy to see it." 
 
 " I suspose he didn't want her to be sorry too.
 
 "The Portrait is Finished" in 
 
 But p'r'aps not; p'r'aps he was afraid she would 
 want a picture of herself." 
 
 Nevis smiled. " Then you think he likes his por- 
 trait?" 
 
 Jim's face was grave. " He'd better ! " he said 
 distinctly. 
 
 " Loyal Jim Crow ! . . . Well, if he really 
 does like it, don't you think we ought to tell him 
 about the water-colour copy of his portrait for him- 
 self?" 
 
 " But then it won't be a siprise," objected Jim, 
 who was a great believer in surprises. 
 
 " Still, though his picture isn't quite ready, he 
 would be surprised to be told he was going to get 
 it." 
 
 Jim nodded. " I'll go in and tell him now." 
 
 " No ; wait till we're quite sure that he does like 
 the portrait," said Nevis. " Would you mind if I 
 did a little work now ? " 
 
 " No. I'll come and stay beside you." 
 
 " Don't you want to do anything? " 
 
 " No. Just stay beside you. . . . Doody." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "If you was to make a fearful heap of pennies, 
 would it make mother come home soon ? " 
 
 Nevis selected a brush. " I'm afraid all the pen- 
 nies in the world wouldn't do that, old Crow," he 
 said gently. " Because, you understand, it's the be-
 
 H2 Jim 
 
 ing away with Aunt Margaret that is making mother 
 well and strong. Pennies have nothing to do with 
 that But we must have patience. She'll be home 
 in two months now." 
 
 " How long is two months? " 
 
 " Sixty days." 
 
 " How many days is sixty days ? " 
 
 " You'll learn all that when you go to school," 
 said Nevis, squeezing a tube of cobalt. 
 
 Jim sighed. " I don't think pennies are much 
 good after all, Doody." 
 
 " Not always. But supposing we got a fearful 
 heap of pennies, Jim Crow " 
 
 "What, Doody?" 
 
 " Why, you and I could get on board a big 
 steamer and sail away to meet mother and bring her 
 home." 
 
 " Oh ! . . . wouldn't my savings help ? " 
 
 Just then Mr. Girdwood came slowly from the 
 house. His gait and appearance suggested pro- 
 found dejection. 
 
 " Shall I tell him now ? " whispered Jim. 
 
 " Not yet." Nevis waved his brush. " Come 
 away and sit down, Mr. Girdwood. I don't want 
 you to talk about the picture unless you feel dis- 
 posed; but I do want you to tell me what I'm to 
 call it. Would you prefer ' Samuel Girdwood
 
 "The Portrait is Finished" 113 
 
 Oldest Inhabitant,' or simply ' The Oldest Inhabi- 
 tant'?" 
 
 Mr. Girdwood seated himself on the grassy bank 
 near by and bowed his head. " "Pis a fine picture," 
 he murmured. 
 
 " But what about the title? " 
 
 " 'Tis a great honour a great honour, to be 
 sure," said the old man sorrowfully. 
 
 " You would like your name in the title, then? " 
 
 Mr. Girdwood sighed. " 'Twould be a fine thing 
 to ha' my name away out in the world yonder a 
 great honour, surely." 
 
 " Very well, thank you. The portrait is called 
 ' Samuel Girdwood Oldest Inhabitant/ ' 
 
 " Thank ye, thank ye." 
 
 " And if I get a hundred pounds for it, I'll let 
 you know." 
 
 " Thank ye, thank ye. ... But I doubt none 
 o' the folk in Clure Bay'd believe me unless I was 
 to show them yer letter, sir." 
 
 " You would be welcome to show them my letter," 
 said Nevis pleasantly. " I only hope I may have 
 reason to write it." 
 
 " I'll write you a Froggie letter, Mr. Sammy," 
 said Jim kindly. 
 
 " Thank ye, James Crow. But I was meanin', 
 sir, that none o' the folk would believe my portrait
 
 H4 Jim 
 
 was worth a hunderd pound, unless I could prove 
 it." 
 
 " I quite understand, Mr. Girdwood, though I 
 think you are too modest. Now, tell me, haven't 
 you changed your mind about letting your sister see 
 the portrait before it goes to Glasgow? " 
 
 Mr. Girdwood shook his head. " 'Twill be best 
 for her not to see it. But " he went on rather hur- 
 riedly " I'm terrible obliged to ye, sir, for pentin' 
 it. Tis a fine pictur', to be sure." He cleared his 
 throat. " I noticed ye had mended the bit pane that 
 was cracked in the kitchen window. 'Tis wonder- 
 ful, an' I'm terrible obliged terrible obliged. I 
 knowed everything in the picture 'cept the bit 
 pane." He groaned and relapsed into gloomy si- 
 lence. 
 
 Nevis nodded to his son and then at the bent fig- 
 ure. 
 
 Jim got up eagerly and laid a hand on Mr. Gird- 
 wood's arm. 
 
 " Do you know, Mr. Sammy, Doody has nearly 
 finished another picture with water-colours, and it's 
 the same as your portrait, and it's for your very 
 own self. Doody was going to give you it for a 
 siprise for being so kind to me, but p'r'aps it's a 
 siprise to hear about it. Is it ? " 
 
 It was. 
 
 At last " 'Tis far too kind ye are you, James
 
 "The Portrait is Finished" 115 
 
 Crow, an' yer doody far too kind far too kind. 
 An' Elizabeth'll be that proud." 
 
 And a little later " Maybe, after all, 'twouldna 
 hurt Elizabeth to see the one ye're sendin' away. 
 I'll fetch her to see it, sir, afore ye pack it up, if ye 
 please, sir. Maybe I'll fetch two or three o' the 
 neighbours likewise. Tis a great honour, to be 
 sure." He rose in haste. " I'll best away an' tell 
 Elizabeth to get hersel' dressed." 
 
 They watched him depart with astonishing light- 
 ness of step. 
 
 " I'm awfully hungry, Doody," said Jim. 
 
 " We must put that right at once," said Nevis, 
 getting up. " I hope Mr. Sammy doesn't bring 
 along the whole population this afternoon." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood did not go quite so far as that. 
 He allowed the babies, a few mothers, and a man 
 with a broken leg to stay at home.
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF DAISY 
 
 " I'M going away to-morrow." 
 
 Daisy sitting on the grass, her doll Eva in one 
 arm and Miss Busted Tewken in the other, made 
 the announcement to the seat of Jim's little white 
 pants. 
 
 Jim was extremely busy. Miss Mousie and Mr. 
 Froggie were expecting some children shortly 
 per Dr. Goose and it had become necessary to 
 add a storey to the garden residence. During the 
 morning hours Daisy had been a willing assistant, 
 and Jim had been too polite to inform her that she 
 knocked down more than she built up; but he had 
 been relieved when she had departed to her aunt's 
 for dinner. She had no head for building, and, 
 moreover, she had hurt his feelings by declining 
 to see in an old broken bicycle lamp, which he greatly 
 prized, a handsome gas stove for Miss Mousie's 
 kitchen. Now that she had unexpectedly returned, 
 he hoped she would not want to help in any way; 
 and while his little grudge against her was as good 
 as forgotten, he continued to labour earnestly and 
 
 116
 
 The Departure of Daisy 117 
 
 industriously as if to show her that he desired to be 
 independent in his task. 
 
 " I'm going away to-morrow, Jim Crow," she said 
 again. 
 
 " Oh, are you, Daisy ? " His attention was all 
 on a fragment of slate in his left hand. 
 
 " Yes ; I'm going home. Auntie had a letter at 
 dinner-time. I'm going with the first train to-mor- 
 row morning." 
 
 " Oh, are you ? " Jim began to scrape the slate 
 with a palette-knife recently borrowed from his 
 father, with the absent-minded permission of the 
 latter. " I'm afraid I shan't have Miss Mousie's 
 house ready for you to see." 
 
 " I've got a new little sister," said Daisy. " I'm 
 going home to see her." 
 
 "Are you? I haven't got the roof finished yet, 
 and then I've got to make the bath-room. It's go- 
 ing to be a splendid bath-room, with a water bath 
 for Miss Mousie and a mud one for Mr. Froggie. 
 Miss Mousie's is to be very long 'cause of her tail, 
 and Mr. Froggie's is to be very short 'cause he has 
 no legs." 
 
 There was a short pause while Jim fitted the slate 
 in position. 
 
 " My new little sister," said Daisy, " is very, very 
 beautiful, and she is so good; she hardly ever cries.
 
 n8 Jim 
 
 She is going to have the loveliest fair hair like 
 Eva's." 
 
 " Miss Mousie's children are going to have brown 
 hair. . . . Did Dr. Goose bring your new little 
 sister ? " The inquiry was made with a faint in- 
 crease of interest. 
 
 "Of course not!" Daisy returned indignantly. 
 " Dr. Tobin brought her." 
 
 " Miss Mousie pifers Dr. Goose. So does Mr. 
 Froggie. So do I," said Jim equably, and pro- 
 ceeded to select another fragment of slate. 
 
 " Dr. Tobin brought my new little sister from 
 away up in the skies." 
 
 " Has he wings like Dr. Goose? " 
 
 " I don't believe there's any Dr. Goose ! " cried 
 Daisy. 
 
 Jim was not disturbed. " You believe awful few 
 things," he said placidly; " I suspose you can't help 
 it" 
 
 " But you've never seen Dr. Goose." 
 
 " That's 'cause he's un unvisible. You've 
 never seen Dr. Toby flying about in the skies 
 have you ? " 
 
 " N no," sighed Daisy reluctantly. " But his 
 name isn't Toby," she added, as though that made 
 a difference; "it's Tobin." 
 
 " Toby is much nicer." 
 
 "It isn't!"
 
 The Departure of Daisy 119 
 
 Jim gave her a brief glance. " What makes you 
 so cross?" he mildly asked. "Have you got a 
 pain?" 
 
 "You're a rude thing!" murmured Daisy, and 
 blushed behind Miss Busted Tewken. 
 
 Possibly Jim missed the remark. He had re- 
 turned to his housebuilding, and for some minutes 
 there was silence. 
 
 Then " My new little sister is very healthy," 
 Daisy observed. " The nurse says she never saw a 
 finer, healthier child. I hope mummy will call her 
 Gladys." 
 
 "Why? 'Cause she's glad?" 
 
 " No, of course not. Gladys is a lovely name. 
 I wish I had been called Gladys." 
 
 " I like Daisy better," said Jim carelessly. 
 
 "Do you really, Jim Crow?" 
 
 " Yes ; but you're not very like a daisy." 
 
 There was another silence. 
 
 " Would you like me to help you? " she inquired. 
 
 Jim pretended not to hear. 
 
 Daisy sighed. " I wish my new little sister had 
 been a little boy," she said in a far away voice. 
 
 " Do you ? You should ask the doctor to change 
 her." 
 
 "He couldn't do that!" 
 
 " Dr. Goose could. He often changes babies for 
 Miss Mousie. But he nearly always brings what
 
 I2O Jim 
 
 she orders. She's having three of each sort this 
 time." 
 
 " I don't believe " she began, and stopped 
 
 short. " But I don't think mummy would want to 
 change. Perhaps I shan't either, when I get 
 home." 
 
 " Perhaps you won't," he agreed. " Now the 
 roof is nearly finished. Afterwards I'll let you 
 make some mud for Mr. Froggie's bath. You'll 
 like doing that won't you, Daisy ? " 
 
 " Yes, thank you. But perhaps there won't be 
 time. I've got to go home soon." 
 
 " Oh, well, it doesn't matter." 
 
 After a pause " I'm going away with the 'first 
 train to-morrow," she said. 
 -"Are you?" 
 
 " And I'm just awful glad ! I hate this place ! " 
 
 " I like it. Why do you hate it, Daisy? " 
 
 " I I don't know, but I hate it." 
 
 " That's like me and pea-soup. I don't know 
 why, but I hate it I simply loase it ! Do you like 
 pea-soup ? " 
 
 In a breaking voice she said : " I'm afraid I can 
 never marry you." 
 
 " Never mind, Daisy. It doesn't matter," he re- 
 turned kindly. 
 
 " But but you once said you would marry me." 
 
 " But I said I would marry Mrs. Sammy first
 
 The Departure of Daisy 121 
 
 so it doesn't matter in the least it really; 
 doesn't." 
 
 Daisy made one more effort. 
 
 " Don't you wish you had a little sister? " 
 
 " Yes," he replied, putting the last slate in its 
 place. 
 
 " Perhaps you would like me for a little sister." 
 
 Jim tapped the slate in a professional manner. 
 " I think I'd pifer a small brother," he said at last. 
 
 Whereupon Miss Daisy sobbed aloud. 
 
 Jim was regarding her with utter bewilderment 
 when his father came from the house bearing a treat 
 a dish of ripe pears for the children. 
 
 Failing to get any explanation from his son, 
 Nevis applied soothing words to Daisy, who pres- 
 ently poured forth her griefs. 
 
 " He doesn't want to marry me and he doesn't 
 want me for his little sister and he doesn't want 
 me to help him " 
 
 " Doody, I said she could make mud for Mr. 
 Froggie's bath." 
 
 " and I'm going away to-morrow and I came 
 to say good-bye and I brought Miss B Busted 
 Tewken for Jim to say good-bye to and I didn't 
 want to make mud " 
 
 " But, Doody, she said " 
 
 " Hush, Jim 1 I'm afraid you've been unkind to 
 Daisy," said Nevis, a trifle sternly.
 
 122 Jim 
 
 " Oh, but he didn't mean it, he didn't mean it," 
 she cried at once. 
 
 " Did you not mean it? " Nevis demanded of his 
 son. 
 
 " 'Course not ! " replied Jim promptly. " And I 
 don't know what she's crying for. She's awful 
 stupid, Doody." 
 
 " Jim ! " his father said warningly. 
 
 " I'm not stupid ! " wailed Daisy, with a fresh 
 flow of tears. " I'm not stupid, Jim. Say I'm 
 not" 
 
 " Well, you T re not," he admitted, softening at her 
 distress. 
 
 " Then say you're sorry," said Nevis. 
 
 " But I'm not. . . . But I'll give her a kiss, 
 if she likes, and lend her my hanky." 
 
 " Do you wish him to give you a kiss, my dear? " 
 asked Nevis. 
 
 " Yes, please and his hanky, too," she whis- 
 pered. 
 
 The hanky was rather earthy, but Daisy made 
 no objections. Then Jim knelt down on the grass 
 and kissed her. 
 
 " I think I'm sorry, Doody," he remarked. " But 
 I don't know what for. . . . What a nice smell 
 you've got, Daisy. Have you been taking your 
 auntie's perfume again ? " 
 
 " It was for Eva," she said in an unsteady voice.
 
 The Departure of Daisy 123 
 
 " And I put some on Miss Busted Tewken, too. 
 Smell her!" 
 
 After the contact with his old fluffy friend Jim 
 looked grave. 
 
 " Do you think Miss Busted Tewken wants to 
 go away from here? " he asked. 
 
 " I promise to be very kind to her, Jim Crow," 
 she replied. "/ don't want to go away now 
 except to see mummy and daddy and the little new 
 sister." 
 
 Jim made no response, but continued to gaze at 
 Miss Busted Tewken until Nevis interposed with 
 the question 
 
 " Well, who says a pear ? " 
 
 Nevis found an opportunity of privately admon- 
 ishing his son to the effect that as it was Daisy's 
 last visit he ought to be specially kind to her and 
 do everything to please her. 
 
 " All right, Doody," said Jim. 
 
 And ere long he permitted her to build chimneys 
 on the Mousie-Froggie residence, and only kept 
 his mouth very tightly shut and his hands clenched 
 when, thanks to their deplorable construction, the 
 chimneys fell and wrecked most of his day's work. 
 
 Daisy was regretful enough, but blamed the mis- 
 hap on the silly stones and offered to build them up 
 again, but Jim pretended not to hear, and turned
 
 124 Jim 
 
 away lest she should see his face. To some extent 
 she retrieved her worth in his opinion by discover- 
 ing, a little later, a delightful patch of bluish clay 
 a substance the boy had been long and eagerly 
 seeking; but he would have esteemed her still more 
 had she taken part in the manipulation of the clay 
 into objects of use and ornament for the aforesaid 
 residence. 
 
 However, on the whole, the afternoon passed 
 happily enough. Daisy stayed to tea, and would 
 have stayed much longer had not her aunt appeared 
 to take her away. 
 
 " It seems cruel to part children when they are 
 so happy together," remarked Miss Mingay to 
 Nevis. " They are just like sweethearts," she 
 added, with a sentimental smile. " I hope the part- 
 ing won't break their little hearts." 
 
 Nevis, who had looked after the children together 
 five times for once that Miss Mingay had troubled 
 herself about them, echoed the hope the least thing 
 dryly. 
 
 " It is such a pity," the lady went on, " that your 
 little boy has no little playmate. Does he know 
 any little boys at home? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; but when they are not available, it is 
 wonderful how he endures his parents." 
 
 " Ah," she murmured, " I have always been a 
 great believer in children mixing as much as pos-
 
 The Departure of Daisy 125 
 
 sible with other children and not seeing too much 
 of their parents." 
 
 Nevis smiled without replying. 
 
 Presently Miss Mingay commanded Daisy to 
 make her farewells, and after ten minutes or so 
 Daisy, satisfied that she had inspected every one 
 of Jim's possessions, consented to go. 
 
 At the door Nevis kissed her and slipped a piece 
 of silver into her hand. 
 
 " Good-bye, little girl," he said tenderly. 
 
 "Aren't you going to kiss Jim?" inquired Miss 
 Mingay of her niece, observing that the boy was 
 gazing solemnly at the latter. 
 
 " Jim ! " said his father. 
 
 Daisy approached boldly, but her lip trembled. 
 
 " Kiss Eva first, Jim Crow," she said. 
 
 " No, thank you. But I'll kiss you " 
 
 He kissed her once. 
 
 " and Miss Busted Tewken." 
 
 He kissed her twice. 
 
 Then he clutched his father's hand, while Daisy, 
 guided by her aunt, went weeping away. 
 
 While Jim, a little later, was being put to bed, 
 he suddenly threw his arms round his father's 
 neck. 
 
 " Oh, Doody, it's so nice to be alone. I don't 
 want nobody but you and Muzzer."
 
 126 Jim 
 
 Nevis held his son close. " Oh, Jim Crow," he 
 said to himself, " if there was only the slightest 
 possibility of your saying that a few years 
 hence ! "
 
 MR. GIRDWOOD WINS A PRIZE 
 
 " I BEST gang up an' tell him," said Mr. Gird- 
 wood suddenly, turning from the kitchen window. 
 " I'm sayin', I best gang up an' tell Mr. Nevis." 
 
 " Tell him what? " said Miss Girdwood, the least 
 thing impatiently. 
 
 " Tell him about that man that's been pentin' the 
 castel since nine o'clock." And Mr. Girdwood 
 took his bonnet from its nail. 
 
 " Mr. Nevis isna heedin' if a score o' men was 
 pentin' the castel. He couldna stop them, any- 
 way." 
 
 " A' the same, I best gang up an' tell him." 
 
 " Ye best bide where ye are, Samuel. Ye've 
 been like a hen on a het girdle since breakfast- 
 time. Mr. Nevis'll never be in the house on a 
 fine day like this. Ye dinna ken where to find 
 him." 
 
 " He'll be in the Magic Wood. An' if he's not 
 there, he'll be on the shore. I best gang up an' 
 tell him." 
 
 " Maybe he's not wantin' ye." She regretted the 
 words immediately. For on this occasion Mr. Gird- 
 
 127
 
 128 Jim 
 
 wood did not rudely order his sister to " clay up." 
 Quite humbly he said 
 
 " Maybe ye' re right, Elizabeth." He sighed and 
 replaced his bonnet on the nail, and went slowly to 
 his seat by the fireside. " "Tis most likely ye're 
 right." 
 
 Miss Gird wood paused in her task of scrubbing 
 the dresser, and regarded her brother with per- 
 plexity. 
 
 " Is there anything wrong wi' ye, Samuel? " she 
 asked at last. " Are ye sick ? " 
 
 For an instant an angry retort seemed inevitable. 
 Then, " Na, there's nothin' wrong wi' me," he said 
 quietly. 
 
 Her perplexity increased. " 'Tis a fine day," she 
 said. "Are ye not for the garden?" 
 
 He got up, saying, " Ay, I'll sit in the garden," 
 and went out in a listless fashion. 
 
 Miss Girdwood resumed her scrubbing, but halted 
 at the end of a couple of minutes. " What's ado 
 wi' him? " she asked herself. Presently she stepped 
 over to the door. 
 
 " Samuel," she said softly, "I I wasna 
 meanin' to be cross wi' ye." 
 
 " 'Twas no matter," he returned ; " 'twas no mat- 
 ter at all, Elizabeth. Never heed about me." 
 
 This humility was too much for the old woman.
 
 Mr. Girdwood Wins a Prize 129 
 
 " But I doubt there's something wrong wi' ye, 
 Samuel." 
 
 He took out his pipe, looked at it, shook his 
 head, and replaced it in his pocket. 
 
 " An' I didna mean for to keep ye from goin' to 
 see Mr. Nevis, if yer heart was set on it," she 
 continued. " Maybe the walk would be good for 
 ye/' 
 
 Unseen by her Mr. Girdwood clenched his fists. 
 " I best bide where I am," he murmured, and 
 groaned. 
 
 She regarded him in a stupefied fashion. 
 " Samuel, dearie," she said at last, " I canna under- 
 stand ye." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood, looking as if he would burst, 
 held his peace. 
 
 " Samuel, dearie," she ventured again, " I'm 
 vexed I said Mr. Nevis wouldna maybe want ye, 
 for he's aye gled to see ye, an' so is James Crow. 
 Will ye not tak' a walk " 
 
 Mr. Girdwood hoisted a fist high in air. 
 " Woman," he began in a terrible voice. Then the 
 fist fell weakly, and once more he groaned and 
 gently sighed. " Never heed about me, Elizabeth, 
 never heed about me. Ye asked me to bide here, 
 an' I'm goin' to bide here. I I prefer bidin' 
 here. I'm sayin' I prefer bidin' here to to please
 
 130 Jim 
 
 ye. So ye can gang back to yer work in the 
 house." 
 
 "But but " 
 
 Mr. Girdwood's hands opened, then gripped the 
 edge of the bench whereon he sat. " For any fa- 
 vour," he said in a strained and piteous voice, 
 "gang into the house an' let me be." 
 
 "But " 
 
 " Away, away ! Leave me to my my brood- 
 in's." 
 
 " Oh, Samuel, I doubt I doubt there's some- 
 thing wrong wi' ye. Would ye try to swallow 
 a 
 
 Mr. Girdwood held on to the seat as though 
 some tremendous force threatened to draw him 
 into space. " Elizabeth," he said hoarsely, " for 
 mercy's sake let me be ! " 
 
 Miss Girdwood looked altogether distracted. She 
 opened her mouth, closed it, took a step back from 
 the door, returned and whispered brokenly 
 " Samuel, dearie, will ye cry if ye want me? " 
 "Ay," he replied shortly. "But gang!" 
 She went in reluctantly and closed the door. 
 Slowly Mr. Girdwood's grip on the bench re- 
 laxed. He lay back against the wall. He wiped 
 his brow. He drew several long breaths. He 
 folded his hands. And almost devoutly he mut- 
 tered trie words
 
 Mr. Girdwood Wins a Prize 131 
 
 "The Lord kens I deserve the prize, an' I wish 
 it was to-morrow." 
 
 It was late in September, but the still afternoon 
 was warm and balmy; the scents of the garden 
 were heavy and soothing. Presently the old 
 shaggy head drooped, the grey beard lay flat on the 
 shabby vest. Mr. Girdwood drowsed. 
 
 A few minutes later Miss Girdwood peeped 
 stealthily from the kitchen window. Her anxious 
 countenance cleared somewhat at the sight of the 
 placid slumberer. " Maybe he was jist a wee bit 
 wearit," she said to herself, " but I didna like him 
 bein' that soft-spoken an' ready to please. 'Twasna 
 nateral." 
 
 Nearly an hour passed. Several times the old 
 woman peeped out, but saw nothing to alarm her; 
 and on the last occasion she smiled, for she per- 
 ceived Jim coming across the meadow. " 'Twill 
 likely be all right now," she murmured, and with- 
 drew hopeful. 
 
 At the opening of the little gate Mr. Girdwood 
 started and rubbed his eyes. 
 
 " 'Tis James Crow ! " he exclaimed in pleased 
 surprise. " I didna expec' to see ye the day, James 
 Crow. But where's yer Doody ? " 
 
 " He's coming too with your portrait but he 
 met another artist doody in the field, and they
 
 132 Jim 
 
 talked, so I just came along myself. I suspose 
 you've been having a small nap, Mr. Sammy. You 
 look very sleepy." 
 
 " Aw, jist for about three minutes." 
 
 " Had you any fun-dreams ? " 
 
 Mr. Girdwood shook his head. He didn't feel 
 equal then to inventing any " fun-dreams " which, 
 by the way, had of late taken the place of African 
 Adventures. 
 
 " I did my best for to dream them," he said, " but 
 I couldna manage it. Maybe I wasna sleepin' 
 sound enough. But I was terrible tired." 
 
 Jim looked disappointed. " What made you tired, 
 Mr. Sammy?" 
 
 " Strivin' to please ye, James Crow. But we'll 
 not speak about it till the time's up." Mr. Gird- 
 wood sighed. " The time's not up till the morn, 
 ye mind." Then he brightened. " So yer Doody's 
 bringin' the portrait. 'Tis terrible kind o' him, an' 
 'tis a great honour a great honour." 
 
 " I think it is," Jim assented frankly. " But I've 
 got the prize in my pocket, and I'm going to give 
 it to you now if you deserve it. Do you deserve 
 it, Mr. Sammy? " The question was put with much 
 solemnity of voice and countenance. 
 
 " The Lord kens," sighed Mr. Girdwood, " I've 
 did my best. 'Twas terrible severe on me, but I've
 
 Mr. Girdwood Wins a Prize 133 
 
 never spoke a cross word to her since I got out my 
 bed at nine this mornin'." 
 
 " That was rather late," said Jim. 
 
 " 'Twas all that, James Crow, but, ye see, it made 
 the day shorter." 
 
 " I see. . . . And you never spoke a cross 
 word since then?" 
 
 " Never oncet." 
 
 " Nor called her stupid? " 
 
 " Never oncet." 
 
 " Nor told her to clay up, Mr. Sammy ? " 
 
 " 'Twas a great wonder I didna, my lad." Mr. 
 Girdwood's tone was faintly touched with asperity. 
 
 " Nor roared at her till she thought you was 
 going to bite her nose off?" inquired Jim, with 
 more interest than ever. 
 
 " James Crow," the old man declared, not with- 
 out emotion, " 'tis the voice o' a mouse I've been 
 speakin' wi' the day the voice o' a mouse ! " A 
 happy thought struck him, and he added, " Even 
 the voice o' yer frien', Miss Mousie exceedin' 
 soft an' kind not that I can say I ever heard her 
 speakin'." 
 
 " I have," said Jim, highly delighted by the refer- 
 ence to his favourite. " I've heard her speaking to 
 Mr. Froggie. Sometimes she speaks to me, too. 
 But you've got to listen fearful hard."
 
 134 
 
 Mr. Girdwood nodded. " Same time, James 
 Crow," he remarked, " 'twas terrible severe on me." 
 
 " I think," said Jim, tugging at something in his 
 pocket, " I think, Mr. Sammy, you deserve the 
 prize." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood looked modestly gratified. " 'Tig 
 for you to say, James Crow, 'tis for you to say. 
 But the Lord kens - -" 
 
 " I'm going to give you one of my f roggies 
 Mr. Froggie, Jenior. He has got one leg. Of 
 course I couldn't give you Mr. Froggie, Sunior, 
 'cause he's married to Miss Mousie, and, 'sides, I 
 have a great infection for him. You didn't 'spect 
 I would give you Mr. Froggie, Sunior did you, 
 Mr. Sammy ? " 
 
 " 'Deed, I I never expected a frog at all ! " 
 said Mr. Girdwood, truthfully enough. " But d'ye 
 not mean Junior an' Senior?" 
 
 " Doody says Jenior and Sunior. Here is Mr. 
 Froggie, Jenior. Please take great care of him, 
 'cause I 'spect he'll miss me very much. I'll miss 
 him. He gets a water bath every day and a mud 
 one on Saturdays." 
 
 It was not without reluctance that Jim laid the 
 xylonite object on the palm of his ancient friend. 
 
 " Aw, I'll tak' great care o' him, ye can count 
 on that," said the recipient of the prize gratefully. 
 " An' 'tis terrible kind o' ye, James Crow - ~"
 
 Mr. Girdwood Wins a Prise 135 
 
 " And 'tis a great honour, Mr. Sammy." 
 
 " To be sure, to be sure ! I'm real proud o' f e- 
 ceivin' Mr. Frog, Junior I mean Jenior, James 
 Crow real proud ! But " the speaker's voice 
 sank to a confidential whisper " ye ye'll not be 
 for tellin' Elizabeth what I got the prize for." 
 
 The boy did not appear to comprehend. He 
 asked several questions. 
 
 " 'Twill be best for her not to know," said Mr. 
 Girdwood, rather at a loss. " An' 'twill be a fine 
 secret for you an' me." 
 
 The latter argument appealed. a All right, Mr. 
 Sammy," said Jim. " I'll not tell her. But I 'spect 
 she'll wonder lots." 
 
 " 'Tis woman's business to wonder I mean for 
 to say, 'twill do her no harm to wonder. Same 
 time, would ye mind if I said 'twas a present 'stead 
 o' a prize, James Crow?" 
 
 Jim thought for a few moments. " It's a pres- 
 ent, too, Mr. Sammy, 'cause, you see, you wasn't 
 nice to Mrs. Sammy for a whole day." 
 
 " The Lord preserve us ! " murmured the old 
 man. 
 
 " So you can tell her it's a present. Here's 
 Doody coming with your portrait ! " 
 
 The hanging of the picture in the parlour was a 
 ceremony of the briefest, for Mr. Girdwood had
 
 136 Jim 
 
 driven the nail for it more than three weeks ago, 
 to be precise on the day of its being promised to 
 him. On the contrary, the admiration which fol- 
 lowed the hanging was of such long duration that 
 the artist became extremely embarrassed and his 
 son not a little impatient. While remembering his 
 promise to the prize-winner, Jim was yet anxious 
 to have some conversation with the prize-winner's 
 sister, but it was not until she retired to the 
 kitchen to make tea >she would have been sorely 
 hurt had her guests refused hospitality then, and the 
 table was already laid for them that the boy 
 found his opportunity. He joined her in the 
 kitchen, and after a little while said 
 
 " I suppose you've been very extra happy to-day, 
 Mrs. Sammy." 
 
 " "Pis a great day, to be sure," she replied, meas- 
 uring the tea from the caddy. " Samuel an' me 
 are terrible proud o' the picture. Sich kindness I 
 never heard o'." 
 
 " But you've been very extra happy without the 
 picture," said Jim after a pause. 
 
 She set the pot on the hob ready for the boiling 
 water. She sighed. 
 
 " Samuel wasna hissel' the day, dearie, but 
 maybe he'll soon be better." 
 
 Jim was too puzzled for speech. He stared at 
 her.
 
 Mr. Girdwood Wins a Prize 137 
 
 " Ye see, dearie," she continued, with another 
 sigh, " Samuel's gettin' old, an' I was a wee bit 
 anxious about him the day, for he bided in his bed 
 
 till after nine, an' then he But we'll not 
 
 speak " 
 
 There was a heavy step at the door and the voice 
 of Mr. Girdwood exclaimed crossly 
 
 " Aw, woman, for any favour clay up ! " 
 
 " Mr. Sammy ! " cried Jim. 
 
 " Oh, me ! I couldna help it, James Crow," said 
 the old man in dire confusion, and retired with all 
 the haste in his power. 
 
 Jim turned to Miss Girdwood, and was aston- 
 ished to encounter her smile. 
 
 " 'Tis all right, dearie, 'tis all right," she whis- 
 pered. " He's hissel' again, an' I'm terrible gled. 
 But ye'll not tell him I was sayin' he wasna hissel' 
 the day will ye not? " 
 
 Poor Jim Crow was fairly lost in the mystery of 
 it all, and eyed the old woman in silence. 
 
 " Ye'll not tell him I was sayin' he wasna hissel' 
 will ye not ? " she pleaded. 
 
 " Very well, I'll not, Mrs. Sammy," he promised 
 at last, much to her satisfaction, if not to his own. 
 But he determined to lay the whole matter before 
 his father whenever they should be alone. 
 
 On quitting the cottage, however, they encoun- 
 tered the artist to whom Nevis had spoken earlier
 
 138 Jim 
 
 in the afternoon, and when he left them at the door 
 of their lodgings Jim was sleepy enough to have 
 forgotten his determination for the time being, at 
 any rate. A minute later he would have forgotten 
 it, however alert his little brain. 
 
 For on the table in the sitting-room lay a letter, 
 which Nevis snatched up and tore open. And pres- 
 ently Jim, having picked up the envelope from the 
 floor, heard his father saying in rather a queer 
 voice 
 
 " Old Crow, this is good news." 
 
 " But it's not from Muzzer, Doody," said the 
 boy, who sometimes forgot his grown-up pronuncia- 
 tions towards bed-time. 
 
 " No ; it's not from Mother, but it means " 
 
 He broke off, seated himself on the crazy easy- 
 chair and drew the boy to his knee. " Do you 
 know, Jim Crow, that you're a perfect little brick? " 
 
 "Why, Doody?" 
 
 " Because you made me paint old Sammy's por- 
 trait." He cleared his throat, put his arm round 
 his son, and continued : " This is a letter from the 
 man I sent the portrait to. He writes to say that 
 he thinks it very good, and that a lot of other peo- 
 ple think it very good, and that some of them have 
 been wanting to buy it, and that he has sold it to 
 one of them for for two hundred and fifty 
 guineas, Jim Crow ! "
 
 Mr. Girdwood Wins a Prize 139 
 
 " How much is that, Doody ? More than all my 
 savings? " 
 
 " It's a great deal of money for us to get for 
 a picture. But the best of it is that the man says 
 I've found myself, and I must go on painting more 
 old doodies. . . . And I'd never have thought 
 of it but for you " 
 
 " And Mr. Sammy." 
 
 " No ; I'd never have done it for him, my boy. 
 And now, d'you know what you and I are going 
 to do?" 
 
 "Write to Muzzer." 
 
 " No ; we're going to cable to her - send her a 
 wire, you know; and we're going to go to her. 
 We're going to get on board a big steamer and 
 sail away to a place called Capetown, and there we 
 shall meet her on her voyage home, and we shall 
 all come home together " 
 
 " Oh, Doody ! Now? Shall I pack Miss Mousie 
 and Mr. Froggie ? " 
 
 " I think we shall leave here the day after to- 
 morrow. We'll do our packing to-morrow. It 
 will be a busy day, so you must have a good 
 sleep." 
 
 But they sat for an hour or so longer, and at the 
 last Nevis carried his boy to bed. When he had 
 tucked him in finally, and was leaving the room 
 softly, a small drowsy voice said, " Doody, please."
 
 140 Jim 
 
 "What is it, Jim Crow?" asked Nevis, return- 
 ing. "Aren't you very happy?" 
 
 " Yes, Doody. But if you have any of the 
 pennies left, will you buy me a fun-owl like Mr. 
 Sammy's ? "
 
 UNTIL THE SPRING 
 
 THE following day was a busy one for Nevis, 
 but he found time to send a note to the old people 
 informing them of his sudden change of plans, and 
 bidding them to five o'clock tea. Jim insisted on 
 enclosing a " Froggie letter," explaining, in hiero- 
 glyphics, that he also was very busy indeed. 
 
 " I suspose they'll be sorry we're going 
 away," the boy remarked, and his father nodded 
 absently. 
 
 " But they'll be fearful glad to come to tea. I 
 hope Mr. Sammy has been having some more fun- 
 dreams. He'll be fearful excited to hear we're 
 going to Africa ! " Jim had been questioning his 
 father concerning the journey since 5 130 A. M. 
 " Do you think we shall have some adventures, 
 Doody?" 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder, Jim Crow." 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder, either, Doody. Miss 
 Mousie is so excited about it! She didn't sleep a 
 wink all night." 
 
 " That's most unfortunate. But we must get on 
 with our packing." 
 
 141
 
 142 Jim 
 
 i 
 
 " Yes, we must, Doody," agreed Jim, who was 
 naturally in a high state of happy enthusiasm. 
 
 And down in the cottage, half-an-hour later, the 
 old people sat regarding each other in dismay. 
 
 " But he said they was goin' to bide in the Bay 
 till the end o' October," Mr. Girdwood was mur- 
 muring for the third time. 
 
 " Ay, Samuel," she returned, fingering the note 
 Mr. Girdwood would not let the " Froggie let- 
 ter" out of his possession "ay, Samuel. But ye 
 see he didna ken he would be goin' abroad to meet 
 his wife. Tisna as if he had tooken a scunner at 
 the place." With an effort at cheerfulness she 
 added, " 'Tis likely they'll come back again some 
 day, Samuel." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood groaned and shook his head. 
 
 " 'Tis a judgment on me for the falsehoods," he 
 said. 
 
 " Havers, man ! " she said gently. 
 
 " Can ye prove 'tis not a judgment ? " he de- 
 manded. 
 
 " Aw, Samuel, dearie, is James Crow not leavin' 
 me, too ? An' how can it be a judgment on me that 
 never told him a falsehood ? " 
 
 :< Ye egged me on at the beginning anyway. 
 Ye canna deny that." 
 
 After a pause " But James Crow'll be terrible
 
 Until the Spring 143 
 
 gled to get quick to his mother," she ventured. 
 " Ye vvouldna grudge " 
 
 He wagged his head. " I tell ye 'tis a judgment," 
 he said stubbornly. " An' I've been gettin' ready 
 a place in the garden for his Miss Mousie's new 
 house. He was comin' the day to start on the 
 buildin'. I've got some real cement for him, an' 
 Macfarlane was goin' to gi' me a score o' the best 
 bricks. An' I was to help him." 
 
 " 'Tis a great pity, surely, but, Samuel, dearie, 
 the cement an' the bricks'll keep till he comes 
 back " 
 
 " He'll never come back. I tell ye, James 
 Crow'll never come back. An' if he does come 
 back, he'll not be the same James Crow. He'll ha' 
 forgot his queer bit toys, an' he'll not be heedin' 
 about stories an' dreams, an' he'll be done wi' the 
 Magic Wood, an' " 
 
 " Oh, Samuel, dearie, 'twill be a lang while afore 
 he's as big as that. I'm thinkin' he'll aye be the 
 same James Crow to you an' me. An' if we canna 
 tell for sure what he'll be, we we ken what he's 
 been." 
 
 Miss Girdwood arose, smiled encouragingly at 
 her brother and went over to the window. For 
 some minutes she gazed at the sunny meadow the 
 meadow that had been the same to her for fifty
 
 144 
 
 years until two months ago. She would never 
 look upon it again, summer or winter, without a 
 vision of a small, sturdy, white-clad figure cross- 
 ing its acres. She wiped her eyes with her apron, 
 furtively, remained for a minute longer, and then 
 turned a brave countenance to the old man. 
 
 " I best be gettin' yer things ready for the tea- 
 party, Samuel," she said, as she left the kitchen. 
 
 Mr. Girdwood said nothing, nor did he raise his 
 eyes from the " Froggie letter." 
 
 But almost immediately she returned. 
 
 " Samuel, here a minute." 
 
 " What's ado ? " he asked moodily. 
 
 " Come ben to the parlour." 
 
 He followed her slowly, unwillingly. 
 
 She pointed to the stuffed owl. 
 
 " Would ye not be thinkin' o' givin' it to James 
 Crow?" she said softly. 
 
 His face brightened a shade and gloomed 
 again. 
 
 " 'Tis your owl, Elizabeth." 
 
 " 'Tis yours now, Samuel." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood considered. " Ye'll not be tellin' 
 him 'twas a present from yersel' ? " 
 
 "'Twill be a present from you, Samuel jist 
 you." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood nodded, stepped forward and pos- 
 sessed himself of the bird. " 'Tis a pity ye've not
 
 Until the Spring 145 
 
 tooken better care o' it," he remarked critically. 
 " Tis shabby-like." 
 
 " Tak' it into the kitchen, an' I'll get ye some- 
 thing to dust it wi' an' put a bit gloss on its feath- 
 ers. James Crow'll be fine an' pleased, yell see." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood bore the bird to the kitchen. 
 " Haste ye wi' the things for cleanin' it," he called 
 quite briskly. And for the next two hours he ap- 
 peared almost cheerful. 
 
 The tea-party was a much less melancholy affair 
 than might have been expected. The old people's 
 depression was not proof against the happy atmos- 
 phere created by Jim and his father; along with 
 their shyness it vanished speedily. And then Nevis, 
 guessing what the news would mean to the old man, 
 told him of the sale of the picture. 
 
 " My ! But 'twas quick work ! " exclaimed Mr. 
 Girdwood. " Ye'll excuse me, sir, but I hope ye 
 didna let it gang over cheap. I I was hopin' ye 
 would maybe get a hunderd pound, sir," he added 
 wistfully. 
 
 Nevis could not resist telling him the price. 
 
 It was almost too much for Mr. Girdwood. For 
 nearly a minute he sat speechless, stunned. Then 
 he sat up in his chair, and a smile dawned and 
 broadened, and his whole being seemed to swell 
 with gratification and importance.
 
 146 Jim 
 
 And he banged his fist on the table, narrowly 
 nissing his cup and saucer. 
 
 " Elizabeth ! " he roared, " did ye hear that ? Mr. 
 Nevis has gotten twa hunderd an' fifty guineas for 
 a picture o' me! " 
 
 " Ay, ay, Samuel," she said softly. " Tis a 
 great honour to you, to be sure." 
 
 " 'Tis a great honour to you to be my sister ! " 
 he returned so fiercely that Jim was on the point of 
 reminding him of the prize of the previous day. 
 
 Nevis, however, changed the subject by saying 
 pleasantly that he hoped Mr. Girdwood would fa- 
 vour him with more sittings in the spring; he was 
 anxious to paint a fireside portrait. 
 
 At this the old man's cup of satisfaction brimmed 
 over. Countenance and voice alike softened as he 
 turned to his sister. 
 
 " Ye was right, Elizabeth," he murmured, " an' 
 the Lord is terrible good to us." 
 
 After tea they passed to the garden. 
 
 Mr. Girdwood, with many badly suppressed 
 chuckles, led Jim to a certain bush, parted the 
 leaves, and bade him peep in. 
 
 And behold, there was the stuffed owl! 
 
 It was some little time ere the boy's delight per- 
 mitted him to return coherent thanks. 
 
 " Is it from you, Mr. Sammy ? " he asked at last.
 
 Until the Spring 147 
 
 Somehow the " ay " stuck in Mr. Girdwood's 
 throat. He coughed. " 'Tis from us both," he 
 said, not without difficulty, and added, with a su- 
 preme effort, " 'Twas her notion, James Crow." 
 
 Jim flew across the garden and embraced the old 
 woman. 
 
 " But 'twas Samuel's " she began. 
 
 " Aw, clay up, Elizabeth ! " cried Mr. Girdwood. 
 
 Later Mr. Girdwood enticed Jim, with the 
 promise of a " fun-dream," to the other end of 
 the garden. 
 
 " But I'm goin' to tell ye a true secret first," he 
 said rather nervously. " A story's jist a story, an' 
 maybe it doesna matter how much truth's in it, but 
 I've got to draw the line, James Crow, when it 
 comes to to sheer deceit." He paused and made 
 a gesture in Miss Girdwood's direction. He cleared 
 his throat, hesitated, sighed, and solemnly whis- 
 pered 
 
 " She's three year older'n me." 
 
 "Is she?" said Jim vaguely. 
 
 " I'm sayin' she's three years older'n me. She's 
 the oldest inhabitant." 
 
 " I see," said Jim, cuddling his owl and wonder- 
 ing what all the solemnity was about. " And 
 you're the oldest doody, Mr. Sammy. Now tell me 
 the true secret." 
 
 That Mr. Girdwood was more annoyed than re-
 
 148 Jim 
 
 lieved by his indifferent reception of his tremen- 
 dous confession is highly probable, yet almost im- 
 mediately he plunged into the recital of a 
 " fun-dream " which easily surpassed all his previous 
 efforts in the direction of fiction so far so that the 
 conclusion found his listener regarding him with 
 more doubt than admiration. Happily, however, 
 ere any cross-questioning could take place, a tele- 
 gram arrived for Nevis. It was from one of the 
 great shipping offices, and while informing Nevis 
 that the required passages had been booked, it 
 turned the boy's fancy to thoughts of ships and con- 
 versation thereon. 
 
 Later Miss Girdwood plucked at her brother's 
 sleeve. " 'Tis time we was goin', Samuel." 
 
 Jim looked up at her. " I'm not going to pack 
 Mr. Fun-Owl, Mrs. Sammy. I'm going to carry 
 him all the way to Africa. I 'spect he'll be glad 
 to get back to Africa. I'm glad Mr. Sammy hadn't 
 to eat him aren't you? " 
 
 " Surely, dearie. I doubt an owl'd be poor 
 eatin'. I'm thinkin' Samuel couldna ha' ett it any- 
 way." 
 
 Jim turned to Mr. Girdwood. " Did you 
 
 never eat an owl, Mr. Sammy? You once told 
 
 )> 
 me 
 
 " Ay," said Mr. Girdwood firmly, " I've ett hun- 
 derds in my time."
 
 Until the Spring 149 
 
 " You see, Mrs. Sammy, you don't know very 
 much about Mr. Sammy's adventures." 
 
 " Nor about his feastings," interposed Nevis. 
 " Come, Jim Crow, we'll just go to the gate with 
 our friends, and then you must get off to bed." 
 
 Mr. Girdwood rose from the seat with obvious 
 reluctance. 
 
 " I'll ha' some rare stories for ye when ye come 
 back, James Crow," he said. 
 
 " I 'spect you will, Mr. Sammy. I'm going to 
 have some adventures, too; and I'm going to ask 
 all the people in Africa about you, and tell them 
 how brave you were." 
 
 " Aw," Mr. Girdwood murmured doubtfully, " I 
 I never done anything worth the speakin' about. 
 An' an' Africa's a big place," he added, a trifle 
 more confidently ; " ye'll not likely see anybody that 
 kent me." 
 
 " That's truth, anyway," remarked Miss Gird- 
 wood the least thing dryly. But she patted her 
 brother's arm. 
 
 " I'm going to tell Mother all about you about 
 you both," said Jim. " And you'll see her when 
 we come back in the Spring." 
 
 " In the Spring," murmured Mr. Girdwood. 
 
 " In the Spring," his sister echoed. 
 
 And now they were come to the gate-
 
 150 Jim 
 
 About nine o'clock the following morning a 
 wagonette was being driven smartly along the high- 
 road. In it Nevis sat with his arm round his boy, 
 who embraced Mr. Fun-Owl. Jim looked radiantly 
 happy, and perhaps his father's gravity was only of 
 the moment. 
 
 " There they are ! " said Nevis, as the wagonette 
 turned a bend of the road. " Wave to them, Jim 
 Crow. We owe them a good deal, don't we?" 
 
 " We do, Doody," Jim agreed, with an affection- 
 ate glance at his owl which he was now holding 
 aloft. 
 
 At the foot of the green slope Mr. and Miss 
 Girdwood stood by the little rickety gate. They 
 waved a table-cloth between them; they waved it 
 earnestly, faithfully, until the wagonette passed 
 from their view. Then, somehow, they both let go, 
 and it fell at their feet unnoticed. 
 
 They stood gazing at the empty road until with 
 one accord came their whispers 
 
 " In the Spring." 
 
 It's an old heart that cannot look forward. 
 
 THE END
 
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