PAGE 7
The Jungle
by
What happened was truly horrid.
As soon as Daisy saw the tigers she stopped short, and uttering a shriek like a railway whistle, she fell flat on the ground.
“Fear not, gentle Indian maiden,” Oswald cried, thinking with surprise that perhaps after all she did know how to play, “I myself will protect thee.” And he sprang forward with the native bow and arrows out of uncle’s study.
The gentle Indian maiden did not move.
“Come hither,” Dora said, “let us take refuge in yonder covert while this good knight does battle for us.”
Dora might have remembered that we were savages, but she did not. And that is Dora all over. And still the Daisy girl did not move.
Then we were truly frightened. Dora and Alice lifted her up, and her mouth was a horrid violet color and her eyes half shut. She looked horrid. Not at all like fair fainting damsels, who are always of an interesting pallor. She was green, like a cheap oyster on a stall.
We did what we could, a prey to alarm as we were. We rubbed her hands and let the hose play gently but perseveringly on her unconscious brow. The girls loosened her dress, though it was only the kind that comes down straight without a waist. And we were all doing what we could as hard as we could, when we heard the click of the front gate. There was no mistake about it.
“I hope whoever it is will go straight to the front door,” said Alice. But whoever it was did not. There were feet on the gravel, and there was the uncle’s voice, saying, in his hearty manner:
“This way. This way. On such a day as this we shall find our young barbarians all at play somewhere about the grounds.”
And then, without further warning, the uncle, three other gentlemen, and two ladies burst upon the scene.
We had no clothes on to speak of–I mean us boys. We were all wet through. Daisy was in a faint or a fit, or dead, none of us then knew which. And all the stuffed animals were there staring the uncle in the face. Most of them had got a sprinkling, and the otter and the duck-bill brute were simply soaked. And three of us were dark brown. Concealment, as so often happens, was impossible.
The quick brain of Oswald saw, in a flash, exactly how it would strike the uncle, and his brave young blood ran cold in his veins. His heart stood still.
“What’s all this–eh, what?” said the tones of the wronged uncle.
Oswald spoke up and said it was jungles we were playing, and he didn’t know what was up with Daisy. He explained as well as any one could, but words were now in vain.
The uncle had a Malacca cane in his hand, and we were but ill prepared to meet the sudden attack. Oswald and H. O. caught it worst. The other boys were under the tigers–and, of course, my uncle would not strike a girl. Denny was a visitor and so got off. But it was bread and water for us for the next three days, and our own rooms. I will not tell you how we sought to vary the monotonousness of imprisonment. Oswald thought of taming a mouse, but he could not find one. The reason of the wretched captives might have given way but for the gutter that you can crawl along from our room to the girls’. But I will not dwell on this because you might try it yourselves, and it really is dangerous. When my father came home we got the talking to, and we said we were sorry–and we really were–especially about Daisy, though she had behaved with muffishness, and then it was settled that we were to go into the country and stay till we had grown into better children.
Albert’s uncle was writing a book in the country; we were to go to his house. We were glad of this–Daisy and Denny too. This we bore nobly. We knew we had deserved it. We were all very sorry for everything, and we resolved that for the future we would be good.
I am not sure whether we kept this resolution or not. Oswald thinks now that perhaps we made a mistake in trying so very hard to be good all at once. You should do everything by degrees.
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P.S. –It turned out Daisy was not really dead at all. It was only fainting–so like a girl.
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N.B. –Pincher was found on the drawing-room sofa.
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Appendix. –I have not told you half the things we did for the jungle–for instance, about the elephants’ tusks and the horse-hair sofa-cushions and uncle’s fishing-boots.