For Maria, relentless and unhumbugged, merely walked

away. In the hall she discovered Tim, discreetly hiding. “What’s he come for?” the brother inquired promptly, jerking his thumb towards

the hall.

Maria’s eyes just looked at him.

“To see Mother, I suppose,” he answered himself, accustomed to his

sister’s goblin manners, “and talk about missions and subshkiptions,

and all that. Did he give you anything?”

“No, nothing.”

“Did he call us bonny little ones?” His face mentioned that he

could kill if necessary, or if his sister’s honour required it.

“He didn’t say it.”

“Lucky for him,” exclaimed Tim gallantly, rubbing his nose with the

palm of his hand and snorting loudly. “What did he say,

then—the old Smiler?”

“He said,” replied Maria, moving her head as well as her eyes,

“that I wasn’t really old, and that he knew another little girl who

was nicer than me, and always told the truth, and—”

“Oh, come on,” cried Tim, impatiently interrupting. “My trains are

going in the schoolroom, and I want a driver for an accident. We’ll

put the Smiler in the luggage van, and he’ll get smashed in the

collision, and all the wheels will go over his head. Then he’ll

find out how old you really are. We’ll fairly smash him.”

They disappeared. Judy, who was reading a book on the Apocalypse,

in a corner of the room, looked up a moment as they entered.

“What’s up?” she asked, her mind a little dazed by the change of

focus from stars, scarlet women, white horses, and mysterious

“Voices,” to dull practical details of everyday existence. “What’s

on?” she repeated.

“Trains,” replied Tim. “We’re going to have an accident and kill a

man dead.”

“What’s he done?” she inquired.

“Humbugged Maria with a lot of stuff—and gave her nothing—and

didn’t believe a single word she told him.”

Judy glanced without much interest at the railway laid out upon the

floor, murmured “Oh, I see,” and resumed her reading of the wonderful

book she had purloined from the top shelf of a neglected bookcase

outside the gunroom. It absorbed her. She loved the tremendous words,

the atmosphere of marvel and disaster, and especially the constant

suggestion that the end of the world was near. Antichrist she simply

adored. No other hero in any book she knew came near him.

“Come and help,” urged Tim, picking up an engine that lay upon its

side. “Come on.”

“No, thanks. I’ve got an Apocalypse. It’s simply frightfully

exciting.”

“Shall we break both legs?” asked Maria blandly, “or just

his neck?”

“Neck,” said Tim briefly. “Only they must find the heart beneath

the rubbish of the luggage van.”

Judy looked up in spite of herself. “Who is it?” she inquired, with

an air of weighing conflicting interests.

“Mr. Jinks.” It was Maria who supplied the information.