Marion St. John Webb

“ Caroline, who was examining everything in the bath-room closely and minutely, as was her habit, raised her head as if to speak, but Pamela, who had her back turned to her and did not see her mouth open, replied:
"I don't know. I'm afraid I'm not an expert on dreams—I hardly ever dream myself."
"Wouldn't it be fun," suggested Isobel, as they all made their way downstairs again, "if each of us tried hard to dream what was inside the room—and then tell each other what dreams we had had, in the morning—and when Miss Crabingway comes back we will see if any of us are right." ”

“ Never before in all her short life had Molly dressed so quickly.
Meanwhile the Grey Pumpkin was making its way along the moonlit landing to the top of the stairs. She heard it begin to descend—thud, thud—as she whisked into Jack’s room.
“Jack! Jack!” she called in a loud whisper. “Don’t be frightened; it’s only me—Molly. Hush! Are you awake? Oh, Jack, hush!” as Jack uttered a sound between a loud yawn and a groan. “Get up quickly. It’s all right. Only do be quick, quick!” ”

“ From the window, or for the matter of that from the green or the road that encircled the green, little could be seen of the house, as the high ivy-topped walls which surrounded the garden guarded it jealously from prying eyes. It was only through the tall iron-rail gate set into an arch in the stone wall that you could ascertain that the house was flat-fronted and square, a house entirely covered with ivy, out from whose dark, rustling leaves many windows peered like deep-set eyes. A broad gravel path swept from the gate to a flight of white steps that led up to the front door. ”

“ Pamela observed that the wallpaper was an all-over floral design in various shades of green and raised gold roses; the gloomy, old-fashioned fireplace, with its marble mantelpiece, on which were arranged a score of old china ornaments and photo frames, and a massive marble clock, was the chief feature of the wall opposite the wardrobe. The window-curtains, the duchess set on the dressing-table, and the coverlet on the bed were the only touches of white to relieve the general sombreness that prevailed. ”

“ Molly lay there snug, drowsily planning out lovely rides that she and Jack would go as soon as they had both learnt how to manage their cycles; the thought of her bicycle sent a warm thrill through her heart and a smile of content hovering about her mouth.
She could hear Jack in the next room moving noisily about; he always made a dreadful noise in [15] his room, thumping and banging things down and whistling shrilly, until he got into bed. And to-night the extra excitement of having a birthday seemed to make the thumping extra heavy and the whistling extra shrill. ”

“ Poor Caroline! She felt both ashamed and sorry for herself. "I knew I should never remember that part," was all she could say—and thereafter remained quiet and sulky, brooding over the 'ridiculous sketch' she must have looked before all that laughing audience. "I never did like dancing," she said to herself later, "and now I hate it."
Fortunately Madame Clarence's own dance followed soon after Caroline's blunder, and the impression made by Madame was such as to sweep everything else into the background for the time being. ”

“ No birds sang or fluttered overhead; no little wood animals scurried through the dry, dead leaves on the ground; no breeze rustled the golden leaves on the trees; the sun shone softly through the branches and cast a strange orange-coloured shimmer over the scene—which accounted for the name by which the wood was known. As Jack and Molly went along they found themselves talking to each other in whispers, afraid to disturb the brooding quietness of the wood ”

“ She tried to conjure up visions of rapturously applauding audiences encoring an embroidered tea-cosy, but it was impossible to picture it, and she sighed heavily. "And yet the tea-cosy is much more useful than a dance," she thought. Isobel might have argued that a dance, in giving a hundred people a few minutes' genuine pleasure and happiness was of more use than a tea-cosy, but Caroline would never have agreed with her. ”

“ Isobel took Pamela's outstretched hand, but her dignity was still a little ruffled.
"Beryl seems to have made a lot of fuss—if there's nothing to hide," she said in a slightly offended tone.
"Oh, she's only extra sensitive.... Why ever should there be anything to hide!" repeated Pamela, feeling as if she had not been quite successful in convincing Isobel. "It's only that she's been unhappy—and she's been poor. Lack of money makes such a difference in one's confidence in one's self. ”

“ They waited. Glan called “Nancy!” and “Is any one in?” but as there was still no answer he lifted the latch, and discovered that the door was unbolted. He pushed it open.
They found themselves in an old-fashioned, low-ceilinged room, full of shadows cast by the flickering firelight. The trees outside the house excluded the faint sun-glow, so that the room was dim and nothing could be clearly defined in the farther corners. A quaint red-brick fireplace took up nearly one side of the room, and in a chair by the hearth there sat a huddled-up figure. ”

“ That same day, in the afternoon, a group of happy people were gathered on the lawn chatting together in Miss Crabingway's garden—for the guests she had invited were no others than Pamela's mother and Michael and Doris; Isobel's mater and brother Gerald, and Lady Prior and her two daughters; and Caroline's mother—a plump, placid little soul, remarkably like her daughter in appearance. Miss Crabingway had thought this little surprise would please the girls—and it would be nicer for them to travel home with their own people. ”

“ The dwarf kept his vow, and made us suffer. Somewhere, down in that dark forest, he got hold of some black magic—no one knows how, or who helped him. All we know is that since that time he has become possessed of certain magic powers, and that one misfortune after another has overtaken our country—all caused by the Pumpkin. Wherever he goes he makes misery and mischief: I cannot tell you all the horrible things he has done, he and his little band of followers—those faithful few who helped him in the beginning to destroy the pumpkins, you remember. ”

“ Beryl explained in a confused way. "I care much more what you think about me than I do what Isobel thinks about me. It's what I do, when she keeps questioning me, that upsets me." Beryl paused, and rubbed her eyes with her handkerchief, then said suddenly, "When she bothers me with questions I—it makes me tell lies! ... And, oh, Pamela," she sobbed, "I do hate myself for doing it." ”

“ A sorrowful look came over Old Nancy’s face. “And to-night,” she said, “I failed to say the magic words at sunset—and he has come back. I am certain it is one of the Pumpkin’s followers who has foiled me; though how—I do not know.”
“Can’t you use the spell and turn him into a pincushion again?” asked Jack.
“No,” said Old Nancy, shaking her head. “That spell could only be used once, and once only; and I know no others.”
“Then however can we——” began Jack.
“Patience,” said Old Nancy. “There is one way of thwarting the Pumpkin which everybody in our country knows of. ”

“ Isobel, who was some way in front of Caroline, was passing a low thick bush half-way along the path to the gate, and had turned to make some laughing remark, and wave her hand to Pamela at the front door, when suddenly a pailful of garden rubbish—mostly weeds with black, wet soil clinging to their roots—came shooting over the bush, and descended in a shower all over Isobel and her pretty white silk frock. ”

“ Old Nancy said simply. “And now, if either of you should be lucky enough to find the Black Leaf remember what to do. Pluck it immediately, and stand with your face toward the West, and say: ‘Come to me, Grey Pumpkin! I command you by the Black Leaf!’ ... You can remember that?”
Jack and Molly repeated it to make sure, and then Old Nancy went on,
“When the Pumpkin appears—as he must appear—rolling toward you, touch him with the Leaf, quickly, before he can touch you. Then he cannot harm you, but will be compelled to follow you wherever you lead him.” ”

“ In another train Caroline and her mother journey back to the busy little provincial town where they live. While Isobel, seated beside her mater, with a cosy coat wrapped round her, whirls along the country lanes in the motor which brother Gerald is driving.
An old gentleman climbs into a crowded bus at Charing Cross; he has a remarkably high, bald forehead, which becomes visible when he removes his hat; he stands holding on to a strap in the bus, his thoughts far away. He is thinking of a little country village, and in the midst of all the bustle and life of London he feels suddenly lonely. ”

“ Jack and Molly often wonder where the Grey Pumpkin and his spies are. They have never seen any of them yet, though Molly has seen a ticket-collector who reminds her somewhat of the old watchmaker. Both children keep a watchful eye on all shops that sell hassocks, and always glance eagerly round the room when they are invited out to tea anywhere, but so far they have not come across the Grey Pumpkin. ”

“ Don’t be afraid of the dog; he won’t hurt you if I speak to him. There, Percy, there! Down, sir! There’s a good dog!”
Jack and Molly looked round wonderingly, but could not see any signs of a dog, till their eyes caught sight of a black smudge of paint, which proved on closer acquaintance to be a black dog chained to a red kennel—both painted flat on the ground a few feet inside the gate. The children gazed at each other questioningly; then Glan’s words came back to them, “Humour him, he’s a queer old soul.” ”

“ It was fear, fear of some one or something, that made people deceitful and made them tell untruths. Miss Crabingway felt a rush of keen disappointment that her plans had been spoilt, that the one girl for whom she had taken so much trouble had failed her. And yet Miss Crabingway felt that she herself was more to blame than Beryl. She might have known that Beryl's aunt would try to obtain money from the child, if she thought she had any. ”

“ Molly ran downstairs.
“Oh, Miss Lydia, Miss Lydia!” she whispered, excitedly. “Do you know why they’re all round this house?—the spies, and the Pumpkin himself—yes, it is he—oh, hush, Miss Lydia! Do you know the reason? The Black Leaf is growing in your garden! ”

“ Pamela's friendship with the Bagg family developed rapidly, and she became a frequent visitor to 'Alice Maud Villa'—much to Isobel's amazement; Isobel was more than amazed, she was scandalized.
"I simply can't understand Pamela," confided Isobel to Caroline. "What can she find in those Baggs? Even if Elizabeth Bagg can sketch a bit—it's no excuse; they're not the sort of people Pamela should like to mix with. After all, Tom Bagg is only the village cabman! You can't get away from the fact, can you now? You know what I mean—they're not Pamela's sort somehow—I really am surprised at her taste." ”

“ The bus rattles on toward the Temple—and he thinks of his deserted, paper-strewn room in Fig Tree Court, and he is overcome by a great wave of pity for himself; he begins to feel exceedingly sorry for himself. Suddenly his expression changes to one of dismay and exasperation—he has remembered that he must visit a photographer to-morrow.
At the same moment, far away down at Barrowfield, there is a light in the drawing-room of Chequertrees, and some one is playing softly on the piano. Miss Crabingway sits on the couch by the fire, a book in her hands—but she is not reading. ”

“ Molly agreed readily. Remembering that it was rumoured that the wood was full of the Pumpkin’s spies, the children had great hopes that it was the Black Leaf in Mr Papingay’s plant-pot; for the spies would surely be stationed all around the place where the Black Leaf grew, to guard it.
“Thank goodness we know we can trust Mr Papingay,” said Molly. “If we can only find him. Oh, Jack, if only it is the Leaf, won’t it be splendid!” Molly broke off and glanced over her shoulder. “How awfully quiet everything is, Jack—just as if the wood were listening!... Oh! ”

“ It's easier to do it for another person than it is for oneself," said Pamela. "And now you must go to sleep—you'll look all washed out in the morning if you don't. And, remember, we've got to enjoy our stay in this house—let's get all the fun out of it we can, shall we? ... Don't worry any more about Isobel—it'll be all right, you just see! ... Good-night, Beryl. And—Beryl—thank you for showing me your mother's letter."
When Pamela had gone Beryl cried a little more, but they were a different kind of tears this time, because she had found a friend, and her heart was full of gratitude. ”