Part 4 (1/2)
And they never have.
CHAPTER II
GOLDEN GUINEAS
Anthea woke in the morning from a very real sort of dream, in which she was walking in the Zoological Gardens on a pouring wet day without an umbrella. The animals seemed desperately unhappy because of the rain, and were all growling gloomily. When she awoke, both the growling and the rain went on just the same. The growling was the heavy regular breathing of her sister Jane, who had a slight cold and was still asleep. The rain fell in slow drops on to Anthea's face from the wet corner of a bath-towel out of which her brother Robert was gently squeezing the water, to wake her up, as he now explained.
”Oh, drop it!” she said rather crossly; so he did, for he was not a brutal brother, though very ingenious in apple-pie beds, b.o.o.by-traps, original methods of awakening sleeping relatives, and the other little accomplishments which make home happy.
[Ill.u.s.tration: The rain fell in slow drops on to Anthea's face]
”I had such a funny dream,” Anthea began.
”So did I,” said Jane, wakening suddenly and without warning. ”I dreamed we found a Sand-fairy in the gravel-pits, and it said it was a Sammyadd, and we might have a new wish every day, and”----
”But that's what _I_ dreamed,” said Robert; ”I was just going to tell you,--and we had the first wish directly it said so. And I dreamed you girls were donkeys enough to ask for us all to be beautiful as day, and we jolly well were, and it was perfectly beastly.”
”But _can_ different people all dream the same thing?” said Anthea, sitting up in bed, ”because I dreamed all that as well as about the Zoo and the rain; and Baby didn't know us in my dream, and the servants shut us out of the house because the radiantness of our beauty was such a complete disguise, and”----
The voice of the eldest brother sounded from across the landing.
”Come on, Robert,” it said, ”you'll be late for breakfast again--unless you mean to s.h.i.+rk your bath as you did on Tuesday.”
”I say, come here a second,” Robert replied; ”I didn't s.h.i.+rk it; I had it after brekker in father's dressing-room because ours was emptied away.”
Cyril appeared in the doorway, partially clothed.
”Look here,” said Anthea, ”we've all had such an odd dream. We've all dreamed we found a Sand-fairy.”
Her voice died away before Cyril's contemptuous glance.
”Dream?” he said; ”you little sillies, it's _true_. I tell you it all happened. That's why I'm so keen on being down early. We'll go up there directly after brekker, and have another wish. Only we'll make up our minds, solid, before we go, what it is we do want, and no one must ask for anything unless the others agree first. No more peerless beauties for this child, thank you. Not if I know it!”
The other three dressed, with their mouths open. If all that dream about the Sand-fairy was real, this real dressing seemed very like a dream, the girls thought. Jane felt that Cyril was right, but Anthea was not sure, till after they had seen Martha and heard her full and plain reminders about their naughty conduct the day before. Then Anthea was sure.
”Because,” said she, ”servants never dream anything but the things in the Dream-book, like snakes and oysters and going to a wedding--that means a funeral, and snakes are a false female friend, and oysters are babies.”
”Talking of babies,” said Cyril, ”where's the Lamb?”
”Martha's going to take him to Rochester to see her cousins. Mother said she might. She's dressing him now,” said Jane, ”in his very best coat and hat. Bread-and-b.u.t.ter, please.”
”She seems to like taking him too,” said Robert in a tone of wonder.
”Servants _do_ like taking babies to see their relations,” Cyril said; ”I've noticed it before--especially in their best clothes.”
”I expect they pretend they're their own babies, and that they're not servants at all, but married to n.o.ble dukes of high degree, and they say the babies are the little dukes and d.u.c.h.esses,” Jane suggested dreamily, taking more marmalade. ”I expect that's what Martha'll say to her cousin. She'll enjoy herself most frightfully.”
”She won't enjoy herself most frightfully carrying our infant duke to Rochester,” said Robert; ”not if she's anything like me--she won't.”