Part 12 (1/2)

”Could ye--could ye get one for the price of a penny?” Bridget considered her own question, and coupled it with something she remembered Sandy had been wis.h.i.+ng for back in Ward C. ”Wait a minute; I'll ask ye another. Could ye be buyin' a home for childher an' dogs for the price of a penny?”

The queen nodded.

”Would it be big enough for nine childher--an' one dog; an' would it be afther havin' all improvements like Miss Peggie an' the House Surgeon?”

Again the queen nodded.

Bridget lowered her voice. ”An' could we put up a sign furninst, 'No Trusters Allowed'?”

”I shouldn't wonder.”

”Then,” said Bridget, with decision, ”I've thought all round it twict an' my mind's been made to stay; we'll buy a home.”

She made a hollow of her two hands and called, ”Whist--whist there, all o' yez! Pether an' Pancho--Michael--Susan--do ye hear!” And when she had them rounded up, she counted them twice to make sure they were all present. ”Now ye listen.” Bridget raised a commanding finger to the circle about her while she exhibited the golden penny. ”Is there any one objectin' to payin' this down for a home?”

”What kind of a home?” asked Susan, shrewdly.

”Sure the kind ye live in--same as other folks have that don't live in horspitals or asylums.”

”Hurrah!” chorused everybody, and Bridget sighed with relief.

”Faith, spendin' money's terrible easy.”

She put the penny in the queen's out-stretched hand. ”Do I get a piece o' paper sayin' I paid the money on it?” she demanded, remembering her responsibility.

This time the queen shook her head. ”No; I give you only my promise; but a promise made across a primrose ring is never broken.”

”And Toby?” Peter asked it anxiously.

”You must leave him behind. You see, if you took him back over the River of Make-Believe he would have to turn back into a make-believe dog again; but--I promise he shall be waiting in the home for you.”

The queen led them down the hill to the sh.o.r.e again; and there they found the ferry-man ready, waiting. It is customary, I believe, for every one to be ferried home. The river, that way, is treble as wide, and the sandman is always wandering up and down the brink, scattering his sand so that one is apt to get too drowsy to swim the whole distance. The children piled into the boat--all but Michael; he stood clinging fast to the queen's gray dress.

”Don't you want to go back?” she asked, gently.

”Nyet; the heart by me no longer to b.u.mp--here,” and Michael pointed to the pit of his stomach.

”Aw, come on,” called Peter.

But Michael only shook his head and clung closer to the gray dress.

”All right, ferryman; he may stay,” said the queen.

”Good-by!” shouted the children. ”Don't forget us, Michael.”

”Nyet; goo'-by,” Michael shouted back; and then he laughed. ”You tell Mi' Peggie--I say--Go' blees you!”

And this was Michael's patch.

The ferryman stood in the stem and swung his great oar. Slowly the boat moved, scrunching over the white pebbles, and slipped into the water. The children saw Michael and the queen waving their hands until they had dwindled to shadow-specks in the distance; they watched the wake of stars.h.i.+ne lengthen out behind them; they listened to the ripples lapping at the keel. To and fro, to and fro, swayed the ferryman to the swing of his oar. ”Sleep--sleep--sleep,” sang the river, running with them. Bridget stretched her arms about as many children as she could compa.s.s and held them close while eight pairs of eyes slowly--slowly--shut.