Part 44 (2/2)
But Bobbie said, ”Don't you think the old gentleman's waves seemed more significating than usual?”
”No,” said the others.
”I do,” said Bobbie. ”I thought he was trying to explain something to us with his newspaper.”
”Explain what?” asked Peter, not unnaturally.
”_I_ don't know,” Bobbie answered, ”but I do feel most awfully funny. I feel just exactly as if something was going to happen.”
”What is going to happen,” said Peter, ”is that Phyllis's stocking is going to come down.”
This was but too true. The suspender had given way in the agitation of the waves to the 9.15. Bobbie's handkerchief served as first aid to the injured, and they all went home.
Lessons were more than usually difficult to Bobbie that day. Indeed, she disgraced herself so deeply over a quite simple sum about the division of 48 pounds of meat and 36 pounds of bread among 144 hungry children that Mother looked at her anxiously.
”Don't you feel quite well, dear?” she asked.
”I don't know,” was Bobbie's unexpected answer. ”I don't know how I feel. It isn't that I'm lazy. Mother, will you let me off lessons to-day? I feel as if I wanted to be quite alone by myself.”
”Yes, of course I'll let you off,” said Mother; ”but--”
Bobbie dropped her slate. It cracked just across the little green mark that is so useful for drawing patterns round, and it was never the same slate again. Without waiting to pick it up she bolted. Mother caught her in the hall feeling blindly among the waterproofs and umbrellas for her garden hat.
”What is it, my sweetheart?” said Mother. ”You don't feel ill, do you?”
”I DON'T know,” Bobbie answered, a little breathlessly, ”but I want to be by myself and see if my head really IS all silly and my inside all squirmy-twisty.”
”Hadn't you better lie down?” Mother said, stroking her hair back from her forehead.
”I'd be more alive in the garden, I think,” said Bobbie.
But she could not stay in the garden. The hollyhocks and the asters and the late roses all seemed to be waiting for something to happen. It was one of those still, s.h.i.+ny autumn days, when everything does seem to be waiting.
Bobbie could not wait.
”I'll go down to the station,” she said, ”and talk to Perks and ask about the signalman's little boy.”
So she went down. On the way she pa.s.sed the old lady from the Post-office, who gave her a kiss and a hug, but, rather to Bobbie's surprise, no words except:--
”G.o.d bless you, love--” and, after a pause, ”run along--do.”
The draper's boy, who had sometimes been a little less than civil and a little more than contemptuous, now touched his cap, and uttered the remarkable words:--
”'Morning, Miss, I'm sure--”
The blacksmith, coming along with an open newspaper in his hand, was even more strange in his manner. He grinned broadly, though, as a rule, he was a man not given to smiles, and waved the newspaper long before he came up to her. And as he pa.s.sed her, he said, in answer to her ”Good morning”:--
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