Chapter 17

THE STORY OF THE PIG

�Now sit down, Bob, and do try to behave yourself; Selina shall sit in my lap if she will promise to be good, and I will tell you a story�Doris, leave the poker alone�Dear me, dear me,� said Miss Lestrange, suddenly assuming a grandmotherly tone, �who�d be worried by children? Where is my snuff-box and my cane?�Well, then, sit still and count ten to yourselves all round whilst I think of a story.�

She was seated in the old broken-down nursery rocking-chair with Selina in her lap; there was no lamp, and the flickering fire-light lit the interminable man driving his pig to market and the broom-like tail of the rocking-horse, whose body was lost in shadow.

�Ten!� suddenly yelled Lord Gawdor.

�I�d only got to nine,� said Doris. �Bob counts so quick. No matter, begin the story.�

�I haven�t thought of one yet,� said Miss Lestrange. �What shall it be? Selina is the youngest, and she shall choose; what would you like a story about, Selina?�

�Pigs!� replied Selina after a moment�s deliberation, during which her eyes had wandered round the walls of the room in search of inspiration.

�I�m afraid I can scarcely rise to pigs,� said Miss Lestrange. �Think again, Selina; shut your eyes and think hard. How would a story about a giant do?�

Selina thought for a moment, and then, with the air of a person who had quite made up her mind:

�I want a �tory about piggy-wiggies.�

�Try a giant, Selina,� said Doris, in the coaxing voice of a nurse offering a delicacy to an invalid.

�Don�t want a giant,� replied the pig fancier. �I want piggy-wiggies.�

�Who�s this that wants piggy-wiggies?� came a voice from the door. �Oh, I beg pardon�thought there was no one here. May I come in?�

�No room, no room,� cried Miss Lestrange; �we are telling stories.�

�There�s plenty of room,� replied Mr Fanshawe, paraphrasing the heroine of �Alice in Wonderland,� and crossing the floor at the same time. �I say, how jolly you all look sitting round the fire!�

Selina, seeing the newcomer, looked at him for a moment critically, forgot pigs completely, and held out her arms to him.

�Selina has never done that to any one before,� said Doris; �she hates strangers, as a rule, and always cries at them.�

�There, take her,� said Miss Lestrange, handing the white bundle to Mr Fanshawe, who sat down with it on the chair vacated by Bob; �but take the responsibility also�you have to tell her a story about a pig.�

�Right,� replied Mr Fanshawe, whilst Selina settled herself to listen; and Bob and his sister, who didn�t care much for stories of Selina�s level, amused themselves on the floor with a clock-work motor-car which Uncle Molyneux had brought them from London.

The whizz and snarl of the motor-car as it made frantic gyrations on the nursery floor half obscured Mr Fanshawe�s voice.

�There was once a little pig,� began Mr Fanshawe, �and he lived in a sty�I say, things were pretty dull in the dining-room when you left. Did you ever hear Boxall on the preferential tariff question?�Boxall with his muzzle off? Uncle�s bad to beat when he�s on the first Sikh war, but Boxall�Yes, yes, Selina, where was I?�There was once a little pig and he lived in a sty and he had bran mash for dinner. He had three little brothers and three little sisters�now count them to yourself, and I�ll give you a penny if you tell me how many little brothers and sisters he had�count them five times over and I�ll give you tuppence�So I just bolted, and Patsy said you were here�Do you know Patsy, the red-headed page-boy?�So I thought I�d come up and see. Oh, Violet�It�s all right, I�m not talking loud enough for them to hear�but I�ve been half cracked for the last few months. This can�t go on, there�s no use talking. Do you know why uncle is trying to separate us? It�s just from viciousness. You don�t know him; he hates me�why? for no reason at all; we don�t get on, that�s all�ever since I was a boy it has been the same. You see, uncle is like nothing so much in the world as a vicious old maid who has been crossed in love and hates to see other people happy. Violet, darling��

�Oh, bother the pigs�Yes, Selina, there were six little pigs, and one had a gun�here, play with my watch�Violet, darling, it has come to this, that both our lives will be wrecked by that old lunatic if we are not careful�the old Seagrave woman is aiding and abetting him. I have lots of money for us both, I love you, you care for me�let�s go in for a bold stroke. Look here, he�s always threatening to put you in Chancery�let�s outwit him. Once you are married he can�t put you in Chancery, �cos you�d be mine then, do you see?�There you are, take the whole watch and chain and play with it�Let�s give them all the slip. I�ll get a special licence, we�ll take the train to Dublin; you can stop at my aunt�s in Merrion Square�she�s a regular sportsman�and before they can stop us we�ll be married. I know it�s awfully sudden my proposing this, but what am I to do? Look at us�we can scarcely speak to each other, unless by strategy. And I know this, unless you do as I say, we will never be married, for you will never have strength to resist uncle; he�ll keep nagging to you till he breaks your spirit. And that beast of a Boxall�suppose he has got seven thousand a year, money isn�t happiness tied to a brute like that. I have three thousand a year myself, and I�ll give up racing, I�ll give up smoking, I�ll give up everything for you. Promise me you�ll think of what I say�Bless you, my darling�Violet, darling, lean your dear head forward�no�well, I won�t�Now what is it, Selina���

�She has dropped your watch,� said Miss Lestrange.

�And smashed it, too,� replied Mr Fanshawe; �and cheap at the price�Bless her, she�s asleep.�

Selina, suddenly overcome, was in the arms of slumber, and at that moment the door leading to the night nursery opened, and Biddy Mahony entered in search of her charge.

�She ought to a� been in bed an hour ago,� said Biddy, as she took Selina from Mr Fanshawe; �but she gets wild when there�s company in the house, and there�s no sootherin� her to slape.�

�Grass-eyes,� muttered Selina, tossing her arms in slumber as Biddy carried her off.

�She�s thinking of Mr. Boxall�s eye,� said Lord Gawdor. �Mr Fanshawe, one of Mr Boxall�s eyes is made of glass.�

�Never mind Mr Boxall�s eyes,� cried Dicky in wild spirits; �come on, and we�ll have a game of Blind-man�s Buff.�

�I say,� said little Lord Gawdor to Doris when Dicky and Miss Lestrange had departed, �when Mr Fanshawe had blinded us both I just lifted the handkerchief a wee peep, and do you know what I saw?�

�I know,� replied Doris, �I heard it; but don�t tell.�

�Think I�m an ass?� said Lord Gawdor.