The Box of Delights (5 page)

‘I get a little out of my reckoning,’ he answered. ‘First there were pagan times; then there were in-between times; then there were Christian times; then there was another
in-between time; then there was Oliver’s time; and then there was pudding time: but there’ve been a lot since then and more coming: but the time I liked best was just before the
in-between time, what you might call Henry’s time.’

Kay didn’t know what the old man was talking about, but by this time, he had brushed off the snow and was ready to begin his play: so, as soon as the room was ready, and everybody
comfortable on the floor, he came in and played his Punch and Judy play.

‘And now, Master Harker and friends,’ he said, coming outside his stand, ‘now that I’ve played my play, I’ll play more than my Punch and my Judy, for a travelling
man collects as he goes, or doesn’t he?’

‘He does,’ little Maria said.

‘Ah, he does, the bright Miss Maria says,’ he repeated. ‘He collects: and what he collects he shows.’

He propped his theatre against a bookcase, sat cross-legged in front of the door and produced a little white ball, which he tossed into the air. It broke into two balls while it was aloft, he
tossed them repeatedly, till they broke into four balls, which shone as they flickered up and down. Presently, while three of the balls were in the air, he beat the fourth into the ground, where it
became a little bright mouse which ran away into a hole: then he tossed another ball to the ceiling where it became a shining bird which flew away: then he caught the remaining two balls one in
each hand: one turned into a red rose which he gave to Jemima, the other to a white rose which he gave to Susan.

‘These are all little things,’ he said, ‘which a travelling man collects as he goes.’

After this, he turned to Maria, who was the smallest person there. ‘And you, Miss Maria,’ he said, ‘I’m told you are fond of guns and that, so shall I see what will
happen if I blow my bugle? But first I must tap the wainscot, to see if there’s any gate there.’

He walked across to the western wall and tapped the wainscot. It was all dark old wood there, with no hole or cranny in it, yet now, after he had touched it, there was a tiny double gate of
bronze, with gilded pinnacles, in the wood. As they all watched this, the old man blew a little bugle, and instantly from within the wainscot a little bugle answered. Then suddenly a little tiny
voice called out an order from inside the wainscot, and instantly two little tiny men pushed the double gates open and stood aside. Then a lot of little drums and fifes and trumpets struck up a
march, and out came a band of soldiers headed by a drum-major. There must have been at least a hundred of them. They had big drums as big as walnuts and little drums as little as filberts; and tiny
white ivory fifes and lovely little brass trumpets. They were playing
Green Sleeves
. They wore scarlet coats, with white facings, and neat little black trousers, but the beautiful thing was
the way they marched. Then after them, there came a regiment of foot-soldiers, then a regiment of cavalry on little horses, and the horse of the Colonel, which was a white charger, shied at little
Maria: then after these there came a regiment of artillery with guns and ammunition waggons: then after these there came waggons full of supplies of all sorts. The band halted in the middle of the
room: but went on playing while the army marched about. Then presently, the army halted: the foot-soldiers piled their arms: the cavalry dismounted and tethered their horses; the artillery men
parked their cannon and put their horses into lines; then they unpacked the waggons and put up tents, unrolled blankets, lighted camp-fires, cooked their suppers and went into the tents to sleep,
except the sentries who marched about, and sometimes said ‘Who goes there?’ Presently the buglers came to the tent doors to blow the waking call. Everybody sprang at once to work: some
struck the tents: others lit fires and cooked bacon and made coffee, or loaded up the waggons, or rubbed down and harnessed the horses, after giving them their feed. Then, when the men had
breakfasted, they all fell in, the horsemen mounted, the artillery men climbed on to their guns, and away they all marched as the band played, three times round the room and then through the double
bronze gates which closed behind them. After they had closed, the children heard the band fading away into the distance till it was silent. As they looked at the little gates, they began to fade,
till in a minute no trace of them was there: the wainscot was old, dark wood, in a solid panel.

‘That was lovely,’ Maria said.

The old Punch and Judy man said, ‘I seem to remember that little Miss Susan was once very fond of butterflies. I’ll see if I can’t call a few, in spite of the cold.’

He began to blow a low note upon his pan-pipes. Presently he said, ‘The leaves are falling. All the cocoons are in the leaves.’ It seemed to the children that the ceiling above them
opened into a forest in a tropical night: they could see giant trees, with the stars in their boughs and fireflies gleaming out and ceasing to gleam among the lower sprays. Heavy leaves began to
waver down on to the floor, where they lay crackling, till it grew brighter, when lo, the sun was shining among the treetops, green and grey parrots and scarlet cardinal birds came pecking the
fruits, and now, out of the fallen leaves, there came butterfly after butterfly, bursting out of cocoons and chrysalides of many strange forms into images of lively beauty, bright as jewels. They
sunned themselves for a moment, then leaped into the air and flew about. ‘Put a little sugar from the bowl into your hands,’ the old man said to the children, ‘then they will
perch on your hands.’ The children put sugar into their hands, moistening it from the milk-jug, and lo, the lovely gleaming blue and scarlet and golden creatures perched on their hands and
glistened and quivered there, as they thrust long snouts into the sweetness. Little Susan had as many as nine on her hand at once, as well as a big shining blue one which perched on her hair. When
all the butterflies had had some sugar, they flew up into the air, and danced in and out in a maze, as gnats will, but the maze danced by them was all in order and very beautiful. At last they all
went spiring up into the bright tropic day, and flickered away among the trees, going round and round and round till they were out of sight, so far up. Then the tropic forest disappeared: it was
the study ceiling again.

‘And now,’ the old man said, ‘I’ll show you yet another little play, which many an ancient queen has watched, in her palace by the banks of the Nile.’ He produced
two cubes of ivory, one red, one white: they looked like dice.

‘Now,’ he said, taking one in each hand and shaking them, ‘look at these.’

He was shaking the dice in a strange way, so that suddenly the moving rhythm of the hands became waves of the sea; the little red cube was a tiny little red shark, snapping after a little white
skate; he swam round and round the room after it, always just missing it, and at last, when he had almost caught it, the skate turned into a skylark and went up singing to the ceiling. Instantly
the shark turned into a hawk and went after her. They went round and round the room up and down: always the hawk nearly caught her, and once it seemed had caught her, but the lark turned into a
little deer and ran among the children. The hawk turned into a wolf and chased her; yet just as he was about to pounce, the deer turned into a princess on a little white pony, and galloped away.
The wolf turned into a red knight who called for a black horse and presently galloped away after her. The children could hear the hoofs dying away and away and away. A lot of little green fairies
came dancing down on to the forest track by which the riders had gone. They pulled the sides of the forest inwards, so that at last there was the study wall again.

‘Now,’ the old man said, ‘if you’ve been pleased with my shows, if I may have my silver shillings, my biscuit for my Toby, my egg and my bacon for myself, I will be
taking my way.’

Kay paid him the silver shillings, and brought in biscuits and some good meaty bones for Toby, and then a supper of eggs and bacon, with hot buttered toast, and a jug of sweet chocolate.

The old man seemed suspicious about the French window. Before he sat to his supper at the table, he went to it, to make sure that the curtains were drawn completely across it.

While he ate, the children sat round the fire, talking of the wonderful show, and telling each other what they would like to see again. Suddenly the dog Barney pricked his ears and from just
outside the French window two key bugles and an oboe struck up the tune of ‘O come, all ye Faithful.’ Some twenty singers outside in the snow broke into the hymn.

‘Carol-singers,’ Kay said, ‘and very good ones. How silently they came up. I didn’t hear a single step.’

Peter went to the window and twitched back the curtain a little. ‘It’s deep snow already,’ he said peering out. ‘They have got Japanese lanterns. Do look how beautiful
they are!’

Outside was a party of twenty men and women wrapped against the snow, and bearing big Japanese lanterns hung upon sticks. Snow was whirling all about them. Their shoulders were covered white
with snow. Their faces glowed in the lantern-light. The musicians had music stands with electric torches.

‘That’s not the Condicote Choir. We’ve not got a style like that. Who are they?’ Kay said.

‘That’s the Cathedral Choir from Tatchester,’ Caroline Louisa said. ‘There are the Canons and the Precentor, and that’s the Bishop himself.’

When the hymn had finished Kay and Caroline Louisa went into the hall to the side door. The Bishop and his singers moved towards them as they opened.

‘Good evening, Bishop,’ Caroline Louisa said, ‘come in into the warmth, while we brew some cocoa for you.’

The party came in stamping the snow on to the doormats. They stood in the hall while Kay ran to fetch Jane, Ellen and Joe. Then they all sang ‘Good Christian Men, Rejoice’,
‘Christians Rejoice’, ‘Deep was the Night’, ‘O Night peaceful and blest’ and ‘Noël’.

When they had sung, Kay and the others brought buns and hot cocoa for the singers. They sat about in the hall and ate and drank.

‘And now,’ the Bishop said, ‘we have finished our tour here and must be thinking of getting back. I want you all to come tomorrow night to the Palace at Tatchester. We are
having a children’s party, with a Christmas Tree, at five o’clock, and I shall expect you all.’

The children said that they would be delighted and thanked him for the thought.

‘Then, another thing,’ he said: ‘I want you all to come on Christmas Eve to the Midnight Service of the Thousandth Christmas Celebration in Tatchester Cathedral. There has been
a midnight celebration every Christmas Eve since the Foundation. We wish this Thousandth Festival to be really memorable.’

The children loved any festival which would keep them out of bed at midnight like grown-ups. They said that they would love to come.

He looked about the faces gathered in the hall: ‘Ha,’ he said, ‘I think I have seen that face before. Aren’t you my little friend, Miss Maria? Well, I am glad to see you
again.’

Little Miss Maria showed some small confusion, for once, only a year before, she had started the Bishop’s motor car and driven it into a lamppost. However, the Bishop seemed inclined to
forgive and forget.

A moment later he caught sight of the Punch and Judy man, who was packing his puppets into a box.

‘Ha,’ he said, ‘isn’t this the famous Punch and Judy man, Cole Hawlings? We have met before, I think.’

‘You’ve seen me a many times,’ the old man answered. ‘Yes, Your Grace.’

‘And you’re just the very man I was hoping to see; a Punch and Judy showman,’ the Bishop said. ‘At this party tomorrow we shall have a great many children. Would you
consent to come to play for them?’

‘Right gladly,’ the old man said. ‘I will bring my Punch and my Judy and my dog, Toby; for I have played a Christmas play on that Night ever since pagan times, so to
speak.’

‘Thank you,’ the Bishop said. ‘Will you be at the Palace at half-past four, then, tomorrow? Good. And now “Good Night to all of you; a merry Christmas and a most happy
New Year, and many, many thanks for your most warm welcome.”’

As the members of the Choir swathed themselves up against the snow before venturing forth, most of the children scattered upstairs. Kay waited to open the door for the Choir and, while standing
near the door, he heard, or thought that he heard, the noise of swift padding feet. The thought flashed into his mind, he did not know why, that these were the Alsatian dogs again. ‘They move
just like wolves,’ he thought. The noise ceased and he thought that he must have been mistaken. Then he saw that the dog, Barney, had pricked his ears and was staring towards the door. Barney
uttered a little yap.

‘There was something passing,’ Kay said to himself.

But now the Choir was ready to start. He opened the door and, as he opened it, he saw that three men were there at the French window which led into the study. Undoubtedly, they were trying to
peer in through the window; as the door opened they wheeled round.

One of the first of the Choir to leave the house was the Precentor who lifted his Japanese lantern to see who the men were, and Kay saw that one of the men was the foxy-faced man who had done
the card trick in the train.

He cried, ‘Aha, Precentor, we were just too late for your concert, what?’

He and the other two caught step with the Precentor and passed along with him. Kay could not hear what the Precentor called them nor what they talked about, for the other members of the Choir
were filing past, each saying something, such as: ‘Burr-r-r, what a night!’ ‘I say, isn’t it snowing!’ ‘Don’t you stop at the door, Kay. You’ll catch
cold,’ etc., etc.

Kay noticed that Cole Hawlings came to the door as the last of the Choir passed out; he leaned from it to watch the departing party. As he turned back into the house, Kay thought that his face
was very white. He noticed that he walked somewhat unsteadily back into the study. ‘He didn’t like those three men,’ he thought.