Penelope and the Others Part 29

"Suppose," said Ambrose, "that it should fall just as father and mother drive through. And I don't believe," he added, "that Andrew, on the box, with his tall hat on, will be able to drive through without touching the top."

This seemed so likely, and was such an awful thought, that the children were silent for a moment. If Andrew's tall hat did knock against the arch it would certainly fall, and perhaps hurt the whole party.

"We must tell him to be sure to bend his head," said Pennie at last, "or it would be still better if he would take off his hat, but I'm afraid he wouldn't do that."

"Well, anyhow," said Nancy, "we can't alter it now, because we've got all the house to do. We must just leave it to chance."

Nancy was fond of leaving things to chance, and though this was a more serious matter than usual, the children at last agreed that there was nothing else to be done. The rest of the morning was spent in putting ivy and holly wherever it could be put, especially on the staircase leading up to the museum. David with his hammer nailed up wreaths and sprays as fast as Pennie and Nancy could make them, till the bare white walls were almost covered and had a very fine effect.

Ambrose meanwhile had shut himself into the school-room to carry out what he hoped would be the best idea of all. He wanted to draw the two first letters of his mother's name, MH, on cardboard, which were to be cut out, covered with ivy leaves, and put over the entrance to the museum. He could not, however, get it to look quite right, and was so long about it that the decorations upstairs were nearly finished.

"How are you getting on?" said Nancy, rus.h.i.+ng in. You've been long enough to draw all the alphabet. "Well," she continued, looking over her brother's shoulder, "the H isn't so bad, but I shouldn't know what the other's meant for. It looks like a sort of curly insect."

"They're old English letters," said Ambrose proudly.

"Then you'd better have drawn new English ones," said Nancy, "no one will know what they mean."

"Mother will know," said Ambrose, "she's not a silly little girl like you."

"I hope she will," replied Nancy, "for it's just dinner-time, and you can't do any more. I'll help you to stick on the ivy leaves."

Nancy was always good-natured, although she said such tiresome things.

The letters were not quite so plain to read as Ambrose had hoped, when they were put up over the museum door, but still they had an ornamental look, and gave a finis.h.i.+ng touch to the decorations.

Nothing remained after dinner was over but to wait until four o'clock, by which time the carriage might be expected to arrive from Nearminster station. Long before that the children were ready in their places, standing two on each side of the "triumphant" arch, which nodded proudly over the white gate.

"They've lost the train, I expect," said Ambrose, "and Andrew's waiting for the next."

"I sha'n't give them up yet," said Nancy, "because the church clock hasn't struck four."

"There it is!" exclaimed Ambrose as the first strokes of the hour sounded deeply from the tower near.

"Now they may be here any minute," said David solemnly, "now, don't let us forget about Andrew's hat."

But it was yet another quarter of an hour before Ruby's white nose was seen coming steadily down the road. As it got nearer the excitement at the gate grew so high that it did not seem likely anyone would think about Andrew's hat, or of anything beside shouts of welcome, and exclamations.

"There's d.i.c.kie on the box; she's holding the whip. Mother's got baby on her knee. They've seen us. They've seen the arch, hurrah!"

Now they were quite near, and now it suddenly appeared that one person's feelings about pa.s.sing through the "triumphant" arch had not been considered. This was Ruby. In all his long life he had gone many and many a time through the white gate, but never had he seen it adorned by bunches of green bushy things which shook in the wind. He did not mind the jumping shouting little figures on each side of it in the least, but the "triumphant" arch was an insult to a horse who had lived many years at the vicarage, and knew every stick and stone near it. He planted his fore feet firmly on the ground, put his head down, and refused to stir.

"Come, my lad," said Andrew, "it's nowt to harm ye."

But Ruby would not be reasoned with, or coaxed, or forced with the whip.

It a little spoiled the triumph of the arrival, and Mr and Mrs Hawthorne sat laughing in the carriage, while Andrew went through all the forms of persuasion he knew. But at last Mrs Hawthorne had a good thought.

"Never mind, Andrew," she said, "we will all get out here, and walk through this beautiful arch. Then you can drive round the other way to the stable with the luggage."

So after all it had not been made in vain, though to walk through it was perhaps not quite so triumphant as driving would have been. It had, however, some advantages. It was easier to tell all the news and to ask all the questions as they walked up to the house together, than to shout them out running by the side of the carriage.

"_I_ thought of the decorations," said Nancy as they entered the house, "and we all helped to put them up."

"But," added David, "we shouldn't have been able to get them at all, if Dr Budge hadn't helped us."

The decorations were very much admired, and Ambrose, who was nervously impatient to show the museum, soon thought that more than enough attention had been given to them. He grew quite vexed with Pennie and Nancy as they pointed out fresh beauties.

"Let mother and father come upstairs now," he said impatiently.

And at last they were on their way.

"What can you have to show us at the very top of the house?" asked their father as he climbed the last flight of steep stairs.

Ambrose and David had run on before, and now stood one on each side of the entrance, their whole figures big with importance, and too excited even to smile. Ambrose had prepared a speech, but he could not remember it all.

"We are glad to welcome you to the new museum at Easney," he said to his mother, "and, and--"

"And we hope," added David, "that you will declare it open, and allow it to be called the _Mary Hawthorne Museum_."

It was a moment which had been looked forward to with eagerness and delight during the past weeks, but when it really came it was even more satisfactory. When Mr and Mrs Hawthorne had left home the museum was a dusty neglected place which no one cared to enter; its very name seemed to mean trouble and disgrace; its empty shelves were like a painful reproach.

How different it looked now! Bright, clean, prosperous, with not a speck of dust anywhere, and as full as it could be of really interesting specimens. The proud little owners displayed its treasures eagerly, and there was a great deal to be told of how Dr Budge did this, and found that; his name came so often that Mrs Hawthorne said:

"I think it ought to be called the 'Budge' Museum, for the doctor seems to have had a great deal to do with it."

"He's had everything to do with it," said David; "but you see, we helped him first to find his jackdaw. That's how it all began."

"Well," said Mr Hawthorne putting his hand on Ambrose's shoulder, "I think it all began in another way. I hear that Dr Budge has had a good and industrious pupil while I have been away, and that has made him so willing to help you. I know now that I can trust Ambrose to do his best, even though he cannot quite learn Latin in a month."

There was only just room in the museum for the two boys and their father and mother, but the other children stood outside peeping in at the open door, and adding remarks from time to time.

"You didn't present mother with the key," said Nancy, "and she hasn't declared it open."

"Here it is!" said David hurriedly. He pulled a large rusty key out of his pocket.

"It's the apple-closet key _really_," he said in a low tone to his mother, "this door hasn't got one. You must just pretend to give it a sort of twist."

The party squeezed itself into the pa.s.sage again, and Mrs Hawthorne with a flourish of the big key threw open the door and exclaimed:

"I declare this museum to be open, and that it is to be henceforth known as the _Mary Hawthorne Museum_."

The evening that followed the opening of the museum was counted by the children as one of the very nicest they had ever had. It was celebrated by sitting up to supper with their father and mother, and by telling and hearing all that had pa.s.sed while they had been away.

"Nancy," said Pennie to her sister when it was all over and the two little girls were in bed, "all our plans are finished; we've done all we can for Kettles, and the boys have opened the museum. What shall we think of next?"

"Well, you're not sorry they're finished, are you?" said Nancy, for Pennie had spoken sadly; "that's what we've been trying to do all the time."

"Of course I'm glad," said Pennie, "and yet I'm sorry too. It's like reading a book you like very much. You want to finish it, but how sorry you are when you come to the end."