"Oh, that will be nice for it," he said. "It will smell the chocolate."
"It can't; it's dead," said hopeless Jeannie.
But Blessington understood better.
"Yes, dear, the chocolate will be nice for it," she said, "and then we'll cover it up with leaves and put the lid on."
"Oh, and may it have a cris – a crisantepum?" said Archie. "May I pick one?"
"Yes, just one."
Archie laid this above the bird's head, and the lid was put on.
"Oh, and let's have a procession to the tool-shed to get a trowel," said
Jeannie.
"Yes!" squealed Archie, now thoroughly immersed in the fascinating ritual. "And I'll carry the coffin and go first, and you and Blessington shall walk behind and sing."
"Well, we must be quick," said Blessington.
"No, not quick," said Jeannie. "It's a funeral. What shall we sing?"
"Oh, anything. 'The Walrus and the Carpenter.' That's sad, because the oysters were dead."
So, to the moving strains, the procession headed across the lawn, and found a trowel in the tool-shed, and excavated a grave underneath the laurestinus. The coffin was once more opened to see that the thrush was quite comfortable, and then deposited in its sepulchre, and the earth filled in above it. But Archie felt that the ceremony was still incomplete.
"Ought we to say a prayer, Jeannie?" he said.
"No, it's only a thrush."
Archie considered a moment.
"I don't care," he said. "I shall all the same."
He took off his sailor cap and knelt down, closing his eyes.
"God bless the poor thrush," he said. "Good-night, thrush. I can't think of anything more. Amen. Say Amen, Jeannie."
"Amen," said Jeannie.
"And do get up from that damp earth, dear," said Blessington. "And let's see who can run the fastest back to the house."
Blessington ran the least fast, and Archie tripped over a croquet-hoop, and so Jeannie won, and very nearly began telling her mother about it all before Archie arrived. But, though breathless, he shrilly chipped in.
"And then I picked a crisantepum, and we had a procession across the lawn, and made a lovely grave by the tool-house, and I said prayers, though Jeannie told me you didn't have prayers for thrushes. Mummy, when I grow up, may I be a clergyman?"
"Why, dear?"
"Don't they have lots of funerals?"
"Pooh; that's the undertaker," said Jeannie. "Besides, I did say Amen,
Archie."
"I know. But mummy, why did Cyrus kill the thrush? Why did he want to hurt it and kill it? That was the part I didn't like, and I expect the thrush hated it. Wasn't it cruel of him? But if he kills another, may we have another funeral?"
He stood still a moment, cudgelling his small brain in order to grasp exactly what he felt.
"The poor thrush!" he said. "I wish Cyrus hadn't killed it. But, if it's got to be dead, I like funerals."
Tea, on such solemn occasions as birthday feasts, took place for Archie, not in the nursery, but in the drawing-room, as better providing the proper pomp. He appreciated that, and secretly was pleased that Harry Travers should be ushered by William into the drawing-room, and have the door held open for him, and be announced as Mr. Travers. With that streak of snobbishness common to almost all small boys Archie thought it rather jolly, without swaggering at all, to be able to greet his friend in the midst of these glories, so that he could see their splendour for himself. In other ways, he would have perhaps preferred the nursery, and certainly would have done so when the moment came for him to cut his birthday-cake, for the sugar on the side of it cracked and exploded, as such confectionery will do, when Archie hewed his way down that white perpendicular cliff, and (a number of fragments falling on the floor), he had to stand quite still, knife in hand, till William got a housemaid's brush and scoop and removed the debris, for fear it should be trodden into the carpet.
Marjorie had not appeared at tea at all, and when this sumptuous affair was over, Jeannie and Harry and Archie gathered round Lady Davidstow on the hearthrug with a box of chocolates planted at a fair and equal distance between them, and she told them the most delicious story about a boy whose mother had lost his birthdays, so that year after year went by without his having a birthday at all. The lights had been put out, and only the magic of leaping fire-light guided their hands to the chocolate-box, and every moment the phantasy of the story got more and more interwoven with the reality of the chocolates. Eventually, while the birthday-less boy's mother was clearing out the big cupboard underneath the stairs, she came across all his birthdays put away in a purple box with a gold lock on it.
"Was it the cupboard underneath the stairs in the hall here?" asked
Archie, for questions were permitted.
"Yes. There they all were: eight birthdays in all, so he had one every day for more than a week. My dears! What's that?"
It certainly was very startling. A noise like a mixture between the Chinese gong and the bell for the servants' dinner broke in upon the quiet, with the most appalling clamour. Archie swallowed a chocolate whole, and Harry, with great prudence, took two more in a damp hand to sustain him in these rather alarming occurrences.
"It sounds as if it was in the hall," said Lady Davidstow. "Harry, will you open the door and see what it is?"
"Yes, I'll go," he said firmly. "But – but shan't Archie come too?"
The noise ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and with a pleasing sense of terror the two boys went to the drawing-room door and opened it.
"But it's quite dark," said Archie. "Oh, mummy, what is happening?"
"I can't think. I only know one person who makes a noise the least like that."
"Oh, is it Abracadabra?" asked Archie excitedly, finding that his scepticism of the day before had vanished like smoke. It had occurred to him that Abracadabra was his mother, but here was his mother telling them stories.
"Well, the only time I ever heard her sneeze it was just like that," said Lady Davidstow.
Archie came running back, shrieking with laughter.
"And what does she do when she blows her nose?" he asked.
The words were hardly out of his mouth when a piercing trumpet-blast sounded, and his mother got up.
"She did it then," she whispered. "What had we better do? Shall we go into the hall? She would like us to be there to meet her, perhaps, if she's coming."
She went to the door, followed by the children, and they all looked out into the black hall. The wood-fire in the hearth there had died down to a mere smoulder of red, which sent its illumination hardly farther than the stone fender-curb.
"But there's something there," said Lady Davidstow in an awe-struck whisper. "There's something sitting in the chair."
"Oh, mummy," said Archie, coming close to her. "I don't think I like it."
"I'm sure there's nothing to be frightened at, Archie," said she. "Which of us shall go and see what it is?"
There was no volunteer for this hazardous job, for now, with eyes more accustomed to the faint light, they could all see that it was not Something there, but Somebody. The outlines of a head, of a body, of legs all clothed in black, could be seen, and Somebody sat there perfectly still…
Then all of a sudden the gong and the bell and the trumpet broke out into a clamour fit to wake the dead, the great chandelier in the hall flared into light, and the black figure sprang up, throwing its darkness behind it, and there, glittering with silks and gems and gold and the flowers of fairyland, stood Abracadabra. She had on a huge poke-bonnet which cast a shadow