The Railway Children (With All Original Illustrations). Edith Nesbit

cup was full. He had mined for coal, he had struck coal, he had been caught, and now he learned that his sisters had ‘humoured’ him.

      “Don’t hold me!” he said. “I won’t run away.”

      The Station Master loosed Peter’s collar, struck a match and looked at them by its flickering light.

      “Why,” said he, “you’re the children from the Three Chimneys up yonder. So nicely dressed, too. Tell me now, what made you do such a thing? Haven’t you ever been to church or learned your catechism or anything, not to know it’s wicked to steal?” He spoke much more gently now, and Peter said:—

      “I didn’t think it was stealing. I was almost sure it wasn’t. I thought if I took it from the outside part of the heap, perhaps it would be. But in the middle I thought I could fairly count it only mining. It’ll take thousands of years for you to burn up all that coal and get to the middle parts.”

      “Not quite. But did you do it for a lark or what?”

      “Not much lark carting that beastly heavy stuff up the hill,” said Peter, indignantly.

      “Then why did you?” The Station Master’s voice was so much kinder now that Peter replied:—

      “You know that wet day? Well, Mother said we were too poor to have a fire. We always had fires when it was cold at our other house, and —”

      “DON’T!” interrupted Bobbie, in a whisper.

      “Well,” said the Station Master, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll look over it this once. But you remember, young gentleman, stealing is stealing, and what’s mine isn’t yours, whether you call it mining or whether you don’t. Run along home.”

      “Do you mean you aren’t going to do anything to us? Well, you are a brick,” said Peter, with enthusiasm.

      “You’re a dear,” said Bobbie.

      “You’re a darling,” said Phyllis.

      “That’s all right,” said the Station Master.

      And on this they parted.

      “Don’t speak to me,” said Peter, as the three went up the hill. “You’re spies and traitors — that’s what you are.”

      But the girls were too glad to have Peter between them, safe and free, and on the way to Three Chimneys and not to the Police Station, to mind much what he said.

      “We DID say it was us as much as you,” said Bobbie, gently.

      “Well — and it wasn’t.”

      “It would have come to the same thing in Courts with judges,” said Phyllis. “Don’t be snarky, Peter. It isn’t our fault your secrets are so jolly easy to find out.” She took his arm, and he let her.

      “There’s an awful lot of coal in the cellar, anyhow,” he went on.

      “Oh, don’t!” said Bobbie. “I don’t think we ought to be glad about THAT.”

      “I don’t know,” said Peter, plucking up a spirit. “I’m not at all sure, even now, that mining is a crime.”

      But the girls were quite sure. And they were also quite sure that he was quite sure, however little he cared to own it.