The Story Of The Treasure Seekers Chapter 4: Bedtime Story

Hello, beloveds.

Welcome to today's reading, The Story Of The Treasure Seekers by Edith Nesbit.

This is a story about a delightful family living in London who fall upon hard times after their Mother's death. The children come up with lots of ideas to restore the family fortunes to their household and, naturally, get into lots of mishaps along the way.

You can find all the chapters on my profile page under 'playlists'.

Transcript

Hello,

Dear ones,

And welcome to today's reading,

The Story of the Treasure Seekers,

By Edith Nesbitt.

Chapter 4.

Good Hunting When we had got that four shillings by digging for treasure,

We ought,

By rights,

To have tried Dickie's idea of answering the advertisement about ladies and gentlemen and spare time and two pounds a week,

But there were several things we rather wanted.

Dora wanted a new pair of scissors,

And she said she was going to get them with her eightpence,

But Alice said,

You ought to get her those,

Oswald,

Because you know you broke the points off hers getting the marble out of the brass thimble.

It was quite true,

Though I had almost forgotten it,

But then it was H.

O.

Who jammed the marble into the thimble first of all,

So I said,

It's H.

O.

's fault as much as mine anyhow,

Why shouldn't he pay?

Oswald didn't so much mind paying for the beastly scissors,

But he hates injustice of every kind.

He's such a little kid,

Said Dickie,

And of course H.

O.

Said he wasn't a little kid,

And it very nearly came to being a row between them,

But Oswald knows when to be generous,

So he said,

Look here,

I'll pay sixpence for the scissors and H.

O.

Shall pay the rest to teach him to be careful.

H.

O.

Agreed,

He is not at all a mean kid,

But I found out afterwards that Alice paid his share out of her own money.

Then we wanted some new paints,

And Noel wanted a pencil and a halfpenny account book to write poetry with,

So somehow or other nearly all the money got spent,

And we agreed that we must let the advertisement run loose a little longer.

I only hope,

Alice said,

That they won't have got all the ladies and gentlemen they want before we have got the money to write for the sample and the instructions,

And I was a little afraid myself because it seemed such a splendid chance,

But we looked in the paper every day and the advertisement was still there,

So we thought it was all right.

Then we had the detective try on and it proved a no-go,

And then when all the money was gone except a halfpenny of mine and twopence of Noel's and threepence of Dickie's and a few pennies that the girls had left,

We held another council.

Dora was sewing the buttons on H.

O.

's Sunday things.

He got himself a little knife with his money and he cut every single one of his best buttons off.

You've no idea how many buttons there are on a suit.

Dora counted them.

There are twenty-four,

Counting the little ones on the sleeve that can't undo.

Alice was trying to teach Pincher to beg,

But he has too much sense when he knows you've got nothing in your hands,

And the rest of us were roasting potatoes under the fire.

We had made a fire on purpose,

Though it was rather warm.

They are very good if you cut away the burnt parts,

But you ought to wash them first,

Or you are a very dirty boy.

Well,

What can we do?

Said Dickie.

You are so fond of saying let's do something and never saying what.

We can't try the advertisement yet.

Shall we try rescuing someone?

Asked Oswald.

It was his own idea,

But he didn't insist on doing it,

Though he is next to the eldest,

For he knows it's bad manners to make people do what you want when they would rather not.

What was Noel's plan?

Alice asked.

A princess or a poetry book?

Said Noel sleepily.

He was lying on his back on the sofa,

Kicking his legs.

Only,

I shall look for the princess all by myself,

But I'll let you see her when we get married.

Have you got enough poetry to make a book?

Dickie asked,

And it was rather sensible of him,

Because when Noel came to look,

There were only seven of his poems that any of us could understand.

So it was quite plain that there wasn't enough poetry for a book.

We might wait a year or two,

Said Noel.

I shall be sure to make some more,

Sometime.

I thought of a piece about a fly this morning that knew condensed milk was sticky.

But we want the money now,

Said Dickie,

And you can go on writing just the same.

It will come in some time or another.

There's poetry in newspapers,

Said Alice.

Down,

Pinscher.

You'll never be a clever dog,

So it's no good trying.

Do they pay for it?

Dickie thought of that.

He often thinks of things that are really important,

Even if they are a little dull.

I don't know,

But I shouldn't think anyone would let them print their poetry without paying.

I wouldn't,

I know.

That was Dora.

But Noel said he wouldn't mind if he didn't get paid,

So long as he saw his poetry printed,

And his name at the end.

Well,

We might try anyway,

Said Oswald.

He is always willing to give other people's ideas a fair trial.

So we copied out the seven poems on drawing paper.

Dora did it,

She writes the best.

And Oswald drew a picture.

It was a full-rigged schooner,

And all the ropes and sails were correct,

Because my cousin is in the Navy,

And he showed me.

We thought for a long time whether we'd write a letter and send it by post with the poetry,

And Dora thought it would be best.

But Noel said that he couldn't bear not to know at once if the paper would print the poetry,

So we decided to take it to the newspaper.

I went with Noel,

Because I'm the eldest,

And he is not old enough to go to London by himself.

Dickie said poetry was rot,

And he was glad that he hadn't got to make a fool of himself.

That was because there was not enough money for him to go with us.

H.

O.

Couldn't come either,

But he came to the station to see us off,

And he waved his little cap and called out,

Good hunting,

As the train started.

There was a lady in spectacles in the corner.

She was writing with a pencil on the edges of long strips of paper that had print all down them.

When the train started,

She asked,

What was that he said?

So Oswald answered,

It was good hunting.

It's out of the jungle book.

That's very pleasant to hear,

The lady said.

I am very pleased to meet people who know the jungle book.

And where are you off to today?

And we were pleased too,

To meet someone who knew the jungle book.

So Oswald said,

We are going to restore the fallen fortunes of the house of Bastable,

And we have all thought of different ways,

And we are going to try them all.

Noel's way is poetry.

I suppose great poets get paid.

The lady laughed.

She was awfully jolly,

And said she was a sort of poet too,

And the long strips of paper were the proofs of her new book of stories.

Because before a book is made into a real book,

With pages and a cover,

They sometimes print it all on strips of paper,

And the writer makes marks on it with a pencil,

To show the printers what idiots they are not to understand what a writer means to have printed.

We told her all about digging for treasure,

And what we meant to do.

Then she asked to see Noel's poetry,

And he said he didn't like it.

So she said,

Look here,

If you show me yours,

I'll show you some of mine,

And so he agreed.

The jolly lady read Noel's poetry,

And she said she liked it very much.

And then she said,

I write serious poetry,

Like yours,

Myself too,

And I have a piece here that I think you will like,

Because it's about a boy.

She gave it to us,

And so I can copy it down,

And I will,

For it shows that some grown-up ladies are not so silly as others.

I like it better than Noel's poetry,

Though I told him I did not,

Because he looked as if he was going to cry.

This was very wrong,

For you should always speak the truth,

However unhappy it makes people.

And I generally do,

But I did not want him crying in the railway carriage.

The Lady's Piece of Poetry Oh,

When I wake up in my bed,

And see the sun all fat and red,

I'm glad to have another day,

For all of my different kinds of play.

There are so many things to do,

The things that make a man of you.

If grown-ups did not get so vexed,

And wonder what you will do next.

I often wonder whether they,

Ever made up our kinds of play,

If they were always good as gold,

And only did what they were told.

They like you best to play with tops,

And toys in boxes bought in shops.

They do not even know the names of really interesting games.

They will not let you play with fire,

Or trip your sister up with wire.

They grudge the tea-tray for a drum,

Or booby-traps when callers come.

They don't like fishing,

And it's true,

You sometimes soak a suit or two.

They look on fireworks,

Though they're dry,

With quite a disapproving eye.

They do not understand the way,

To get the most out of your day.

They do not know how hunger feels,

Nor what you need between your meals.

And when you're sent to bed at night,

They are happy,

But they are not polite.

For through the door,

You hear them say,

He's done his mischief for the day.

She told us a lot of other pieces,

But I cannot remember them,

And she talked to us all the way up,

And when we got nearly to Cannon Street,

She said,

I've got two new shillings here.

Do you think they would help to smooth the path to fame?

Noel said,

Thank you,

And was going to take the shilling.

But Oswald,

Who always remembers what he is told,

Said,

I don't know if I'm going to Thank you very much,

But father told us we ought never to take anything from strangers.

That's a nasty one,

Said the lady.

She didn't talk a bit like a real lady,

But more like a jolly sort of grown-up boy,

In a dress and a hat.

A very nasty one indeed.

But don't you think,

As Noel and I are both poets,

I might be considered a sort of relation?

You've heard of brother poets,

Haven't you?

Don't you think Noel and I are aunt and nephew poets,

Or some relationship of that kind?

I didn't know what to say,

And she went on.

It's awfully straight of you to stick to what your father tells you,

But look here,

You take the shillings,

And here's my card.

When you get home,

Tell your father all about it,

And if he says no,

You can just bring the shillings back to me.

So,

We took the shillings,

And she shook hands with us,

And said goodbye,

And good hunting.

We did tell father about it,

And he said it was all right.

And when he looked at the card,

He told us that we were highly honoured,

For the lady wrote better poetry than any other lady alive now.

We had never heard of her,

And she seemed much too jolly for a poet.

Good old Kipling!

We owe him those two shillings,

As well as the jungle books.