CHAPTER III
A HOLIDAY
The next morning when Poppy woke she felt as if she had had a bad dream. Her mother's words the night before came back to her mind. 'I think I am going to die and leave you all.' It could not be true, surely! She raised herself in bed and looked round. Her mother was up already; she could hear her moving about downstairs, and she had lighted the fire, for Poppy could hear the sticks crackling in the grate. The twins were still asleep, lying in bed beside her, and the child peeped at their little peaceful faces, and stooped to kiss Elijah's tiny hand, which was lying on the coverlet of the bed. They knew nothing about it, poor little things. It could not be true, Poppy said to herself; her mother could not be going to die; she must have dreamt it all.
She crept out of bed very quietly, so as not to wake the babies, dressed herself, and went downstairs to help her mother to get breakfast ready. But she found everything done when she got into the kitchen, the cloth was on the table, and a cup for Poppy, and another for her mother, and two slices of bread, and two cups of tea.
'Oh, mother,' said Poppy, 'I didn't know I was so late.'
'You're going to have a holiday to-day, Poppy,' said her mother; 'do you know it's your birthday?'
'My birthday, mother?' repeated the child.
'Yes, you're nine years old to-day, my poor little lass,' said her mother; 'I reckoned that up as I was walking about with the babies last night, and I mean you to have a rest to-day; you've been a-toiling and a-moil-ing with them babies ever since they was born; it's time you had a bit of quiet and peace.'
'But you're poorly, mother,' said the child.
'No worse nor usual,' said her mother, 'and I've got no work to-day. Mrs. Peterson isn't going to wash till to-morrow, so you're to have a real quiet day, Poppy.'
But Poppy, like a good child, could not sit idle when she saw her mother working, and so in the afternoon, as soon as dinner was over, her mother sent her out for a walk, and told her not to come home till tea-time.
'There's Jack and Sally, they've got holidays, Poppy; get them to go with you,' she said.
Jack and Sally lived in a house on the opposite side of the court; they went to the same school to which Poppy had gone before the babies came, and they had always played together since they were tiny children.
So Poppy put on her scarlet cloak, and the three children started in fine spirits. It was such a bright, sunny day, and everything looked cheerful and happy. There had been a hard frost the night before, and the road was firm and dry under their feet, and the three children ran along merrily. They went a long way outside the walls till they came to a river, by the side of which was a small footpath following the river in all its windings, and leading across grassy fields, which in summer time were filled with wild flowers, and which were now covered with pure white snow.
Oh, how much Poppy enjoyed that walk! She had been so long shut up in that tiny house, she had so long been imprisoned like a wild bird in a small cage, that now, when she found herself free to run where she liked in the clear, frosty air, she felt full of life and spirits.
She had forgotten for a time the sorrow of the night before. All was so bright and beautiful around her, there was nothing to remind her of sickness or of death. She was very happy, and skipped along like a little wild goat.
They walked more slowly when they got into the city again, for they were tired with their long walk, and as they passed the great cathedral Jack proposed that they should go inside and rest for a little time on the chairs in the nave.
'There's lots of time yet, Poppy,' he said; 'it isn't tea-time, I'm sure.'
It was getting dark for all that, and the lamps were lighted in the cathedral. Jack took off his hat as he pushed open the heavy oaken door, and the little girls followed him. Service was going on in the choir, and they could hear the solemn tones of the organ pealing through the building, and with them came the sweet sound of many voices singing.
'Isn't it beautiful?' said Poppy; 'let us sit down and listen.'
They were very quiet until the service was over, and when the last Amen was sung, and the doors of the choir were thrown open for the people to leave, they got up to go home.
But as they were walking across the cathedral to the door which stood nearest the direction of their home, Jack suddenly stopped.
'Hullo, Poppy,' he whispered, 'look here,' and he pointed to a little door in the wall which stood ajar.
'What is it, Jack?' said both little girls at once; 'where does it go to? Is it a tomb?'
'Oh, no,' said Jack; 'it's the way folks go up to the top of the tower; you know we often see them walking about on the top; my father went up last Easter Monday. I always thought they kept it locked; let's go a bit of the way up, and see what it's like.'
'Oh, no, Jack,' said Sally; 'it looks so dark in there.'
'Don't be a silly baby, Sally,' he said. 'Poppy isn't afraid; are you, Poppy?'
'No,' said Poppy, in a trembling voice; 'no, I'm not frightened, Jack.'
'Come in then, quick,' said the boy; 'I'll go first, and you can follow me.'
'But isn't it tea-time?' said Poppy.
Jack did not stop to answer her; he led the way up the steep, winding stone steps, and the two little girls followed.
'Jack, Jack, stop a minute!' said Poppy, when they had wound round and round three or four times; 'I don't think we ought to go.'
'I believe you're frightened now, Poppy,' he said; 'I thought you'd more pluck than that! We won't go far. I just want to get to that place on the roof where we see the people stand when they're going up; it's only about half way to the top; come on, we shall soon be there!'
It took a longer time than Jack expected, however, for the steps were very steep, winding round and round like a corkscrew, and the children were tired, and could not climb quickly. They stood for a few moments on the roof outside and looked down into the city, but they could not see much, for it was getting very dark, and even Jack was willing to own that it was time to go home.
It did not take them quite so long to go down the steps as it had taken them to go up, but they were slippery and much worn in places, and the little girls felt very much afraid of falling, and were very glad when Jack, who was going first, said they were near the bottom.
But Poppy and Sally a moment afterwards were very much startled, for Jack gave a sudden cry of horror as he reached the bottom step.
The little door through which they had come was closed. Jack shook it, and hammered it with his fists, but he could not open it; it was locked, and they were prisoners in the tower. The verger who had the charge of the door had remembered that he had left it unfastened, and had turned the key in the lock soon after the children had entered the tower. No one had been near when they had crept inside, and so the verger had no idea that any one had gone up the steps.
'Oh! Jack, Jack, Jack, what shall we do?' said Poppy.
CHAPTER IV
A LONG NIGHT
Yes, they were locked in, there was no doubt about it!
'But don't cry, Poppy,' said Jack, as she burst into tears, 'we'll soon make them hear; the verger sits on that bench close by.'
Jack hammered with his fists on the door, and the sound echoed through the hollow building. Then the three children waited, and listened, hoping to hear the verger's footsteps approaching the door. And when some moments had passed and no one came, he knocked again, and once more they waited and listened. But it was all in vain; no one heard the rapping on the door, no one came to let the little prisoners out.
'He must have gone into the crypt,' said Sally; 'he goes down there when folks come to see the cathedral; maybe he'll be back soon.'
But Jack did not answer her; he was on his knees on the ground, peeping under the crack of the door.
'What can you see, Jack?' asked Poppy.
'It's all dark,' said Jack; 'the cathedral lights are out, and everybody's gone home; whatever shall we do?'
The two little girls sat down on the bottom step, and cried and sobbed as if their hearts would break.
'What's the use of crying?' said Jack, rather angrily; 'what we've got to do is to try to get out. Let's climb up again, and get out on the roof; maybe we can make some one hear if we shout loud enough.'
'It's so dark up there now,' said Sally, glancing fearfully at the narrow, winding staircase; 'we can't see our way a bit.'
'Never mind that, we can
feel
,' said the boy; 'come along.'
'Oh! I shall fall—I shall fall!' sobbed Sally.
'You stop down here, then,' said her brother. 'Poppy and I will go.'
'Oh no,—no,—no!' cried the frightened child; 'don't leave me; I don't want to stop here by myself.'
Very slowly and carefully the three children felt their way up the steep steps, and many a tear fell on the old stones as the girls followed Jack. It seemed a long, long way to them, far farther than it had done before; and the wind, which had been rising all the afternoon, came howling and whistling through the narrow window-slits in the tower, and made them cold and shivering.
At last they reached the open place on the roof, but they found it was impossible to stand upon it; such a hurricane of wind had arisen, that they would have been blown over had they tried to leave the shelter of the tower. So all they could do was to remain where they were, and to shout as loudly as they could for help; but the cathedral close was very large, and no one passed through it on that cold, stormy evening, and the street was far away—so far that the voices of the children could not be heard by the passers-by, but were drowned by the noisy, blustering wind. They shouted until they were hoarse, but no help came, and at last even Jack was obliged to acknowledge that he was afraid there was no help for it, but that they must make up their minds to stay there for the night.
'Oh, dear, whatever will mother do without me!' said Poppy; 'she'll have nobody to help her; I
must
get back to my babies. Oh, Jack, Jack, I
must
get back to my babies.'
'But you
can't
get back, Poppy,' said Jack mournfully; 'there's nothing for it but waiting till morning.'
'I'm so cold,' sobbed Sally, 'and I want my tea; whatever shall we do without our tea?'
'It can't be helped,' said Jack, 'and it's no good crying; let's go to the bottom of the tower again, it's not so windy there as it is up here.'
It was hard work getting down in the dark, and with the whistling wind rushing in upon them at every turn; the old stone steps were worn away in many places, for thousands of feet had trodden them since the day they were put in their places, and the children sometimes lost their footing, and would have fallen had they not held so tightly to each other.
When they reached the bottom of the stone staircase they crouched together close to the door, in the most sheltered corner they could find, and tried to keep each other warm. But it was a bitterly cold night, and the rough noisy wind came tearing and howling down the staircase, and found them out in their hiding-place, and made them shiver from head to foot. And as the hours went by, they felt more and more hungry; their long walk had given them a good appetite, and they had had a very early din