Anytime Tales (2 page)

He kept a look-out for the bull, which didn’t seem anywhere to be seen, and then began to climb up the tree. He soon reached the boy.

“Look—can’t you put your foot down to this branch?” he said to the boy. “What’s your name? I don’t seem to have seen you before.”

“I’m Robert Trent,” said the boy. “No—I can’t put my foot down to the branch. I tell you, I’m scared. I think I’m going to be sick.”

Michael looked at him. He did look rather green.

“You’re not
really
afraid of falling, are you?” he said anxiously. “Here—hold on to me till you feel a bit better.”

The boy wouldn’t even hold on to Michael. He wouldn’t let go his hold of the branch he was on.

“Isn’t there a ladder I can get down by?” he said desperately. “Surely there’s one at the farm. I know I shall fall soon.”

“I’ll go and run to the farm for help,” said Michael, beginning to climb down again. But the boy cried out at once: “No! Don’t leave me! I shall fall down the tree if you do, I know I shall. Stay with me.”

“But that’s silly,” said Michael, sensibly. “How can I possibly go and get help if you won’t let me leave you?”

“I don’t know,” said the boy, looking greener than ever. “I do feel awful. I daren’t even open my eyes now, because I know I shall feel giddy if I do.”

Michael looked down the tree. It was a long, long way to fall. He began to feel frightened for the boy.

suppose he did fall? He might be killed—or at least break a leg or an arm.

The boy spoke again, his eyes still shut. “Have you got a rope, by any chance? So that you could tie me to this branch? If you could do that I’d feel safer and I’d let you go and fetch help.”

“No, I haven’t a rope,” said Michael. And then a thought struck him. He hadn’t a rope—but he had got a fine, strong leather belt!

He looked down at his belt. He didn’t want to lend it to anyone, not even to Robert. It would probably be rubbed against the tree—some of the brass studs might come out. No, he couldn’t think of lending it to this foolish boy.

But Michael was a kindly boy, and he didn’t go on thinking like this for long. He suddenly unbuckled his belt and slipped it off his shorts.

“I’ll buckle you to the branch with my belt,” he said. “That will keep you safe. It’s very good, strong leather.”

But the belt wasn’t long enough to buckle the boy to a branch. So Michael did the next best thing—he buckled the belt loosely to a near-by bough, and told Robert to slip his arm through it. Then he tightened the belt over the boy’s arm. “There!” he said. “Now even if you do feel yourself falling my belt will hold you up. You needn’t be afraid any more.”

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea,” said the boy, gratefully. “I feel better already. Thanks very much.”

“I’ll go down now and get a ladder or something,” said Michael, and he shinned quickly down the tree,

glad that he had a better head than Robert for climbing! He ran off towards the farm.

It was a long time before he could find anyone to help him. The farmer and his wife were at market. The men were at work in different places. At last Michael found one who listened to his tale.

“What—a boy up a tree and can’t get down!” said the man. “What sort of a boy is that? He’s not worth bothering with!”

“But I know he’ll fall if I don’t get help,” said Michael. “Where’s a ladder? Can I borrow one?”

“No! A youngster like you can’t carry a great heavy ladder to put half-way up a tree,” said the man. “Wait till I’ve finished this job and I’ll come myself.”

So Michael had to wait impatiently till the man finished his work. Then, not hurrying himself at all, he went with Michael to the tree in the field where the bull was. But Robert wasn’t there! He had gone!

“This is the tree,” said Michael. “But the boy’s gone! How queer!”

“Look here,” said the man, “did you make this all up, just to play a trick? Because if you did, I’ll.. .”

“No—I really didn’t,” said Michael hurriedly. “Please believe me, I even lent the boy my best leather belt to hang on to, and tied up my shorts with a bit of string—look.”

“Well—you won’t see you leather belt any more, that’s certain,” said the man, and went off. Michael stood there alone feeling very upset. Was the man right? Had he really lost his belt for good?___________

He saw a man in the field, leading the bull with a stick which he had fastened to a ring at the end of the bull’s nose. He called to him.

“I say! Did you see a boy up a tree here frightened of falling?”

“Yes. I saw him when I came to get the bull,” shouted back the man. “Silly youngster, climbing so high when he’s scared of falling. I got him down all right.”

“Where did he go?” asked Michael. “Did he say anything about a leather belt I lent him?”

“No, he didn’t,” said the man. “He fastened one round his waist—a beauty it was—and off he went over the hill. Just said ‘Thanks very much’ and went.”

“Oh,” said Michael. He was upset and disappointed. He had helped the boy—and all the return he had got was to lose his belt, and not have a single word of thanks!

He went home and told his mother all about it. “If I meet that boy again I’ll fight him!” he said. “He might at least have waited under the tree till I came back, and given me my belt. My beautiful belt! Mother, I’ll never lend anyone my belt again—I won’t lend anyone anything again. I won’t even help people in trouble.”

“Now, that’s not like you, Michael,” said his mother. “You mustn’t think evil of people until you are certain they have done something wrong or unkind. And how foolish to change yourself from a kind, generous boy into an unkind, selfish one just because somebody has behaved badly to you!”

“Oh, well—I expect you’re right as usual, Mother,” said Michael. “I’ll be sensible. But you don’t know how upset I am about my belt.”

Now, a week after that, Michael went shopping in the next town with his mother. As he was walking down the road, a car suddenly stopped just by him and a head popped out. A voice called excitedly:

“I say, I say! Aren’t you the boy who lent me your lovely belt up that tree?” And there was Robert looking out of the car window! Michael nodded, looking rather surly. The boy got out of the car and ran to him.

“A man got me down from the tree after you’d gone. I put on your belt to keep it safe, and then I went off to look for you—but I lost my way and never found you. And ever since I’ve worried and worried as I was afraid you’d think I’d gone off with it and never meant to give it back!”

Michael didn’t know
what
to say! His mother came to the rescue. “Michael is always lending things to others, and he always gets them back.”

A man looked out of the car. “Is this the boy who helped Robert?” he said. “We’ve been making enquiries for him all over the place. Thank you, sonny, for doing your best for him. He’s an idiot to climb trees—he always feels giddy.”

“Here’s your belt,” said Robert, taking a parcel out of the car. “I’ve carried it about with me ever since last week, hoping I’d see you somewhere. Dad, can we take him to the circus with us? Can he come now?”

“Well—we must ask his mother,” said Robert’s

father. You can guess what Michael’s Mother said.

“Of course he can come,” she said. “Do you mean now, this very minute? Oh, what a surprise for you, Michael!”

It certainly was. In a trice he was in the car, sitting beside Robert, speeding off to the circus. What a wonderful time he had!

And now, of course, Robert and Michael are quite inseparable—in fact, Michael’s mother says she never sees one without the other! And will you believe it, Michael lends his belt to Robert whenever he asks him to!

ONCE
upon a time, when your mothers were as small as you, there lived a little girl called Queenie.

She was a queer little girl. She never cried, she never grumbled, she never complained about anything. Well, that sounds as if she was very good, doesn’t it? Yet nobody liked her!

“Queenie’s queer,” said John, who lived next door. “She never feels sorry for anyone! When I fell off the garden wall the other day, and made my head bleed, Queenie just stood and stared at me. It was Elsie who rushed up and helped me.”

“And you know that poor blind man who stands at the corner of the main road, don’t you?” said Katie. “Well, we’ve all given him a penny at times—but Queenie told me she never had. And when I said ‘But aren’t you sorry he’s blind? Don’t you want to help him?’ she said No, she didn’t. She
is
queer.”

“The other day I went to tea with her,” said Lennie. “Her mother had a dreadful headache, so I thought we would play a game that didn’t make much noise. But Queenie shouted and laughed as loudly as anything. And she’s got such a nice, kind mother! I think there’s something the matter with Queenie.”

“It’s what I said,” said John. “She’s never sorry for anyone. She’s not warm-hearted. She’s pretty and clever and neat, and good at games—but you just can’t like her!”

Now one day Queenie’s grandmother came to see her. The poor old lady had fallen down the stairs the day before and had hurt her knee, so she could only just hobble along with a stick. But did Queenie rush to get her a chair, or put her a footstool for her bad leg to rest on? Did she kiss her kind old granny and say she was sorry about her leg?

No, she didn’t. She let her mother get the chair and the footstool. Her granny looked at her then spoke to her mother.

“There’s something wrong with Queenie. She’s never sorry for anyone, so she’s never kind. I think there must be something wrong with her heart. She’s cold-hearted, and that’s a most terrible thing to be, because she will never know what it is to be really happy! You must have a warm heart to be happy.”

Queenie thought her granny was silly. “I am happy,” she said. “And why should I be sorry for people? I am never sorry for myself.”

“You have no need to be,” said her granny, impatiently. “You are pretty and clever; you have nice clothes and good food to eat. You have a kind father and mother, and plenty of toys. You have no cause to be sorry for yourself. But because you are such a lucky little girl you should be grateful, and try to feel sorry for those who are not so well off, and who may be very ill or unhappy.”

“You are always preaching. Granny,” said Queenie, rather crossly.

Her mother was worried to hear what granny said and she made up her mind to take Queenie to the doctor. So the next day she set off with Queenie. The little girl didn’t want to go, and she hung behind all the way. But at last they were there and the wise old doctor was looking at the little girl.

He listened to her heart. He felt all round it. He tapped it. He stroked the skin over it. Then he shook his head.

“It seems all right,” he said, “and yet there certainly is something wrong with it. Bring her again soon and I will try and find out what is the matter. Most extraordinary!”

Queenie’s mother was upset and frightened to hear what the doctor said. As they went through the woods on their way home, she cried and tears ran down her cheeks. Queenie saw them, but she didn’t bother to comfort her mother.

Soon they met a small bent old woman who lived all by herself in the wood. Everyone thought she must be more than a hundred years old. She stopped when she saw Queenie’s mother crying, and asked her what was the matter.

“There’s something wrong with my little Queenie’s heart,” said the little girl’s mother, “but the doctor doesn’t know what it is.”

“Well, maybe
I
can find out!” said the little woman. “There’s many a queer spell I know to put hearts right. I’ll have a look at Queenie’s.”