按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
of real estate； might patronize a little at times； but it was
tacitly understood that her 〃title 〃 was only a drawing…room one。
Why does a coming bereavement project no thin faint voice； no
shadow of its woe； to warn its happy； heedless victims？ Why
cannot Olympians ever think it worth while to give some hint of
the thunderbolts they are silently forging？ And why； oh； why did
it never enter any of our thick heads that the day would come
when even Charlotte would be considered too matronly for toys？
One's so…called education is hammered into one with rulers and
with canes。 Each fresh grammar or musical instrument； each new
historical period or quaint arithmetical rule； is impressed on
one by some painful physical prelude。 Why does Time； the biggest
Schoolmaster； alone neglect premonitory raps； at each stage
of his curriculum； on our knuckles or our heads？
Uncle Thomas was at the bottom of it。 This was not the first
mine he had exploded under our bows。 In his favourite pursuit of
fads he had passed in turn from Psychical Research to the White
Rose and thence to a Children's Hospital； and we were being daily
inundated with leaflets headed by a woodcut depicting Little
Annie （of Poplar） sitting up in her little white cot； surrounded
by the toys of the nice； kind； rich children。 The idea caught on
with the Olympians； always open to sentiment of a treacly；
woodcut order； and accordingly Charlotte； on entering one day
dishevelled and panting； having been pursued by yelling Redskins
up to the very threshold of our peaceful home； was curtly
informed that her French lessons would begin on Monday； that she
was henceforth to cease all pretence of being a trapper or a
Redskin on utterly inadequate grounds； and moreover that the
whole of her toys were at that moment being finally packed up in
a box； for despatch to London； to gladden the lives and bring
light into the eyes of London waifs and Poplar Annies。
Naturally enough； perhaps； we others received no official
intimation of this grave cession of territory。 We were not
supposed to be interested。 Harold had long ago been promoted to
a knifea recognized； birthday knife。 As for me； it was known
that I was already given over； heart and soul； to lawless
abandoned catapultscatapults which were confiscated weekly for
reasons of international complications； but with which Edward
kept me steadily supplied； his school having a fine old tradition
for excellence in their manufacture。 Therefore no one was
supposed to be really affected but Charlotte； and even she
had already reached Miss Yonge； and should therefore have been
more interested in prolific curates and harrowing deathbeds。
Nothwithstanding； we all felt indignant； betrayed； and sullen to
the verge of mutiny。 Though for long we had affected to despise
them； these toys； yet they had grown up with us； shared our joys
and our sorrows； seen us at our worst； and become part of the
accepted scheme of existence。 As we gazed at untenanted shelves
and empty； hatefully tidy corners； perhaps for the first time for
long we began to do them a tardy justice。
There was old Leotard； for instance。 Somehow he had come to be
sadly neglected of late yearsand yet how exactly he always
responded to certain moods！ He was an acrobat； this Leotard； who
lived in a glass…fronted box。 His loosejointed limbs were
cardboard； cardboard his slender trunk； and his hands eternally
grasped the bar of a trapeze。 You turned the box round swiftly
five or six times； the wonderful unsolved machinery worked； and
Leotard swung and leapt； backwards； forwards； now astride the
bar； now flying free； iron…jointed； supple…sinewed； unceasingly
novel in his invention of new； unguessable attitudes； while
above； below； and around him； a richly…dressed audience； painted
in skilful perspective of stalls； boxes； dress…circle； and
gallery； watched the thrilling performance with a stolidity which
seemed to mark them out as made in Germany。 Hardly versatile
enough； perhaps； this Leotard； unsympathetic； not a companion for
all hours； nor would you have chosen him to take to bed with you。
And yet； within his own limits； how fresh； how engrossing； how
resourceful and inventive！ Well； he was gone； it seemed
merely gone。 Never specially cherished while he tarried
with us； he had yet contrived to build himself a particular niche
of his own。 Sunrise and sunset； and the dinner…bell； and the
sudden rainbow； and lessons； and Leotard； and the moon through
the nursery windowsthey were all part of the great order of
things； and the displacement of any one item seemed to
disorganize the whole machinery。 The immediate point was； not
that the world would continue to go round as of old； but that
Leotard wouldn't。
Yonder corner； now swept and garnished； had been the stall
wherein the spotty horse； at the close of each laborious day； was
accustomed to doze peacefully the long night through。 In days of
old each of us in turn had been jerked thrillingly round the room
on his precarious back； had dug our heels into his unyielding
sides； and had scratched our hands on the tin tacks that
secured his mane to his stiffly…curving neck。 Later； with
increasing stature； we came to overlook his merits as a beast of
burden； but how frankly； how good…naturedly； he had recognized
the new conditions； and adapted himself to them without a murmur！
When the military spirit was abroad； who so ready to be a
squadron of cavalry； a horde of Cossacks； or artillery pounding
into position？ He had even served with honour as a gun…boat；
during a period when naval strategy was the only theme； and no
false equine pride ever hindered him from taking the part of a
roaring locomotive； earth…shaking； clangorous； annihilating time
and space。 Really it was no longer clear how life； with its
manifold emergencies； was to be carried on at all without a
fellow like the spotty horse； ready to step in at critical
moments and take up just the part required of him。
In moments of mental depression； nothing is quite so
consoling as the honest smell of a painted animal； and
mechanically I turned towards the shelf that had been so long the
Ararat of our weather…beaten Ark。 The shelf was empty； the Ark
had cast off moorings and sailed away to Poplar； and had taken
with it its haunting smell； as well as that pleasant sense of
disorder that the best conducted Ark is always able to impart。
The sliding roof had rarely been known to close entirely。 There
was always a pair of giraffe…legs sticking out； or an elephant…
trunk； taking from the stiffness of its outline； and reminding us
that our motley crowd of friends inside were uncomfortably
cramped for room and only too ready to leap in a cascade on the
floor and browse and gallop； flutter and bellow and neigh； and be
their natural selves again。 I think that none of us ever really
thought very much of Ham and Shem and Japhet。 Th