The Time Garden Page 2

  But it was Ann who woke up first the next morning.

  She woke up and got dressed quietly and went downstairs, losing her way several times. In the big front hall she met old Mrs. Whiton. Old Mrs. Whiton was wearing an old-fashioned bathing dress that ought to have looked very funny, but somehow on old Mrs. Whiton it didn't.

  "So it's you, is it?" she said. "Get your bathing things and follow me."

  Ann ran back for her bathing things, still not waking Eliza, and followed Mrs. Whiton. They went down, not through the garden, but by a hidden flight of steps, cut in the face of the cliff.

  "My ancestors built this stairway," said old Mrs. Whiton. "Stone by stone."

  At the foot of the stairway was a tiny beach. The morning was bright and sunny, but there was a wind, and the waves that pounded on the sand were big ones. Ann hung back, but old Mrs. Whiton did not. She plunged boldly in, and after a bit Ann followed. Once the first cold shock was past, the waves were glorious, and the salt taste and the tingling. Ann could have stayed for hours at least, but such was not the order of the day.

  "Breakfast now," said old Mrs. Whiton in her deep voice, after what seemed like only a few seconds had passed. She strode up the beach toward the stone steps, and Ann could only follow.

  In the hall they met Eliza, in bathrobe and slippers.

  "Wretch," she said to Ann. "How dare you get there before me? Wait a minute and I'll fetch my things and we'll go in together."

  "You will not," said old Mrs. Whiton. "Breakfast is in five minutes. See that you appear properly dressed. And wake those slothful boys. Tardiness will not be excused." And she stalked away in the direction of her ground-floor bedroom.

  Eliza made a face behind her back, but she obeyed. Five minutes later all four children were scrubbed and neatly dressed and at the table, which goes to show the power of a strong mind.

  Breakfast was served by an elderly maid called Mrs. Annable, who seemed to be a maid of few words. She did not smile or speak when the four children were introduced. But the breakfast was hearty and delicious, with applesauce and toasted cornbread and cocoa, and oatmeal that was properly stiff and porridgey.

  "No quick-cooking messes," said old Mrs. Whiton. "Inventions of the devil!"

  "Not in my kitchen!" said Mrs. Annable. "Nor none of your nasty frozen vegetables, neither!" Which was her one remark of the morning.

  "And now," said Eliza, when the last crumb had been eaten, and the last drop of buttery cream scraped from the bottom of the last porridge-bowl, "the open sea calls."

  "It may call in vain for the next hour and a half," said old Mrs. Whiton. "No one has had cramps and drowned at this beach yet, and I don't intend one of you to be the first!"

  Four faces fell. Naturally Eliza was the first to say what all the others were thinking. "But we can't wait!" she said.

  "Oh, I think you can," said old Mrs. Whiton. "You've all the time in the world." She started for her room, but in the doorway she seemed to relent a little, and turned. "You can go into the garden while you're waiting," she said. "You may find something to interest you." And she stalked away. A few seconds later the click of a typewriter was heard.

  "Whatever those books are that she writes," said Roger, "they must be for Spartan children."

  "The garden!" said Eliza, in tones of contempt. "What are we supposed to do, make daisy chains?"

  But when the four children wandered willy-nilly out into the sun and through an opening in a boxwood hedge, Ann caught her breath, and Jack wished he had brought his color camera, and even Eliza admitted that it wasn't so dusty.

  The garden was long and rectangular, and every bloom of June brightened its borders. Fragrance hung on the air, birds sang, and from somewhere nearby came a drowsy, humming sound.

  "The murmur of innumerable bees," said Ann, who was liking poetry and big words that year.

  "Though I don't see any immemorial elms," said Roger, who was the family nature-lover. "That's a copper beech." He pointed to the end of the garden.

  Beyond the copper beech was another opening in the boxwood hedge. And in the opening stood a sundial.

  "Look," said Ann, going closer. "There's something written on it, down at the bottom."

  "Don't bother," said Eliza. "It'll just say 'It is later than you think.' They always do."

  "If they don't say 'I count only the sunny hours,'" said Jack.

  But Ann and Roger had never seen a real sundial before, and Ann had to be shown how it worked, and Roger, who had read all about sundials in a book, showed her. Then they bent over the base of the pedestal. The lettering was old and crumbly and hard to read, but Roger finally made it out.

  "It says..." He broke off and looked at the others. "It says 'Anything Can Happen!'"

  "That isn't all," said Ann, who had wandered around to the back of the sundial. "The lettering goes on, around here. It says..." She leaned over to make out the final words. "It says, 'Anything Can Happen When You've All the Time in the World!'"

  "What did I tell you?" Eliza's eyes were glowing now. "That old Mrs. Whiton sent us here on purpose! She's probably a witch! It all connects! It's true! I feel it in my bones! Anything could happen here! Something probably will any minute!"

  As she spoke something flashed through the air and disappeared in the grass at their feet.

  "What was that?" said Ann.

  "It came from the sundial," said Roger. "Something live must have been sitting there, and then it hopped off."

  "There it goes!" said Jack, pointing through the opening in the hedge.

  "Come on!" said Eliza.

  The four children raced through the opening after the hopping thing. Then they stopped short.

  From where they stood a bank led down to the sea, and the bank was all covered with little flat creeping plants that flowed over rock ledges and turned boulders to flowery cushions, for the plants were studded all over with tiny starry blossoms, purple and lavender and white. The smell of the bank was like all the sweetness and spice of the world mixed together. And it was here that the innumerable bees hummed.

  The thing they were following gave another hop and landed just ahead of them. "There it is!" said Ann.

  "Never mind, it's just an old toad," said Eliza. "What's all this wonderful smelly stuff?" And she threw herself down on its redolent pillowiness, and the others followed her example.

  "It smells like turkey stuffing," said Jack.

  "It's some kind of herb," said Roger. He tasted one of the tiny dark green leaves of the purple-flowering kind. "I think maybe it's thyme."

  "You mean it's a bank whereon the wild thyme grows?" said Ann. "That's Shakespeare."

  "That's silly," said Eliza, who was not a botanical girl, nor a poetical one, either. "Time doesn't grow. Time flies."

  "Not this kind of thyme," said Roger.

  "Thyme with an 'h,'" said Jack.

  "T, h, y, m, e," said Ann.

  "The 'h' is silent," said a fifth voice, "as in 'ospital, 'awthorn and 'edge'og."

  The four children looked at each other.

  "Who said that?" said Jack.

  The hopping thing they had been chasing hopped nearer. "I did," it said. "You see," it went on, "anything can 'appen, when you've all the thyme in the world!" And staring at the four children, it slowly winked one eye.

  2. Wild Time

  The four children stared at the toad (if it was a toad).

  "You're magic," said Eliza.

  "Among other things," said the creature (whatever it was).

  "That's funny," said Ann.

  "Not necessarily," said the creature, in rather a huffy voice.

  "I just meant," Ann went on quickly, "I've never met any magic toads before. We've met magic knights, and castles, but never any toads. Of course there's the Wind in the Willows one, but he wasn't magic exactly...."

  "I should think not!" said the creature. "A mere h'upstart of a common or garden toad. I," it announced proudly, puffing itself out, "am a Natterjack."
/>   "What's that?" said Jack.

  "It's what I am, and it's a 'ighly superior thing to be," said the Natterjack.

  "You talk sort of British," said Roger.

  "And why not?" said the Natterjack. "London born an' London bred my granddaddy's granddaddy was. Served 'is apprenticeship in Covent Garden Flower Market. H'emigrated 'ere on a sod o' primroses, 'e did, an' 'im an' 'is descendants 'ave been tending this 'ere garding ever since. Why d'you suppose the posies 'ere bloom prettier 'n elsewhere? Madam may say it's fertilizer and Old 'Enry may say it's deep trenching, but I say it's Natterjacks!" And sticking out its tongue, it consumed a nearby aphid.

  The four children waited in respectful silence for the Natterjack to go on. "Well?" prompted Eliza, after a bit. "What else do you do?"

  "Eh?' said the Natterjack.

  "Where do we come in?" said Eliza. "Do you grant our wishes, or what? You must be going to do something for us, or you wouldn't have appeared. It stands to reason."

  The Natterjack eyed her very much as it had eyed the aphid. "Some people round 'ere," it said, "are so sharp they'll cut theirselves. Grantin' wishes at my time of life, not very likely! Any magic as I 'ave, I puts right into this 'ere garding. Which speakin' o' which, if some people was 'alf so smart as what they thinks they is, when I said the 'h' was silent, they'd 'ave thunk that one through a few times!"

  Eliza stared blankly. But Roger began to think he saw light.

  "You mean," he said excitedly, "that this really is a time garden? The clock kind of time?"

  "Time's time, so far as I ever 'eard," said the Natterjack. "Some may spell it 'h' and some may spell it 'y,' but I spells it not at all, not 'avin' the eddycation. I just magics it!"

  "You mean," said Roger again, "that you put all your magic into the garden? Does that mean that now it's got the magic power?"

  The Natterjack gave a hop. It landed on a flowery patch that was taller and weedier than the rest, and with pale lilac flowers. "If you was to pluck a sprig o' this 'ere," it said, "an' rub it once an' sniff the breathin' essence of it, I wouldn't say what'd 'appen, but it wouldn't be uninterestin'. An' I wouldn't say when the time'd be, but it wouldn't be now!"

  Roger and Ann and Eliza looked at each other with gleaming eyes. Jack chose this moment to act his age.

  "This is silly," he said. "I don't believe it. I'm going back to the house."

  The other three were aghast.

  "Don't you want an adventure?" said Eliza. "Don't you want to tour round olden times and alter history?"

  "Don't you remember last summer," said Roger, "and the Giants' Lair, and Robin Hood?"

  Jack looked tempted. Then he looked stubborn. "Kid stuff," he said. "We probably just dreamed the whole thing. That toad isn't talking now. We just think it is. I'm going back to the house. I have to write a letter to Annie Strong." And he walked away.

  "Let him go," said Eliza. "It'll mean that much more magic for the rest of us! Come on!" And she reached out for the patch of thyme where the Natterjack was sitting, and grabbed so eagerly that a whole rooted tuft came away in her hand.

  "'Ere, 'ere, not so greedy!" said the Natterjack, in what Ann thought sounded like tones of alarm. "A sprig would 'ave been h'ample!"

  But it was too late. Eliza was rubbing the whole tuft between her hands, and now she held them out, and she and Roger and Ann leaned over them and drew the spicy scent deep into their lungs. Then they straightened up and looked around.

  Nothing seemed to have changed. The house was still the same, and so was the garden. And they didn't seem to be in olden times, because Roger was still wearing his patched blue jeans, and Eliza her blue school jumper and Ann her old pink dress with the smocking.

  It was Ann who noticed the different thing first.

  "Look!" she cried. "It's the sun. It's moved. It used to be over there."

  The others looked where she pointed. Sure enough, the sun had changed position and was sinking toward the horizon in a red and yellow glow. Its last long rays touched the house and gilded it for a moment before it set completely.

  "What a hoax!" said Eliza. "All we did was change the time from morning to evening! Now we've lost a whole day out of our lives, and I never did get to have that first swim!"

  As she spoke, the last afterglow faded, and it began growing dark fast.

  "Wait," said Roger. "There must be more to it than that."

  The three children looked around again. This time it was Eliza who saw the odd thing first. The others didn't see it till a second later.

  The odd thing was a shape, just out to sea, that was darker than the rest of the dark around it. The shape was the shape of a large boat or a small ship, with a single sail.

  "A skiff," muttered Eliza, "or a small sloop. We're back in sailing-boat days!"

  "Maybe not," said Roger. "Maybe it's just the South Shore Yacht Club."

  "Without a light showing?" scoffed Eliza. "Not very likely! We're in olden times, I tell you! It's spies! Or smugglers! Or both!"

  Now as they watched, a ship's lantern did suddenly show against the dark, and then another. The skiff (or sloop) was signaling.

  "'One if by land and two if by sea!'" counted Ann. "Maybe it's that olden time."

  "It couldn't be," said Roger. "That's Paul Revere. That's Boston and Lexington and Concord, not the South Shore!"

  "Oh, that old Paul Revere!" said Eliza. "Do you suppose he got to have all the fun? Don't you suppose anybody else got to help spread the news, too? Hark!"

  Everybody harked. There was a sound in the night. And though none of the three children had ever heard that exact sound before, all agreed that it could only be muffled oars! A few seconds later, a prow ground on sand and there came a cautious footfall on the secret stairway in the rock. A light issued forth from a door somewhere in the back of the house, and there was a sound of low voices.

  "Dark deeds," muttered Eliza, "and secret meetings by moonlight. What could be sweeter? Come on. Let's lurk. We're missing it all. Let's deploy about the building."

  "Let's not," said Ann.

  But at that moment the light grew nearer and brighter, and the figure of a woman appeared, silhouetted against the house, a lantern in her hand.

  "Prudence! Deborah! Preserved!" she called.

  "Who's she talking to?" hissed Eliza.

  "I think..." said Ann, timidly. "I think maybe she means us. I think maybe she thinks we're her children."

  And it seemed that the woman did, for now she had seen them and was beckoning.

  "Where do you suppose the real Prudence and the rest of them are?" wondered Roger.

  "Who knows? Probably back in our time, scaring the populace," said Eliza. "Come on."

  She ran forward, eager for whatever was to come, and Roger followed her. Ann tagged along behind, with dubious heart. As she drew near the light, she noticed a small form, hopping along in the grass beside her, and a voice sounded.

  "That's gratitude for you," it said. "Off to your fun an' games with never a 'int of a thank you or a 'elping 'and for me, not that I mind, I'm sure! I'm not one to push myself in where I'm not h'asked!"

  "But I am asking you!" said Ann. "Won't you come along? I'd really rather you did." And she meant it. Because if this were going to be a scary adventure, it might be just as well to have a magic being within call. So she put down a helping hand, and the Natterjack hopped on, and Ann stowed it carefully in her pocket, before running into the house after the others.

  The woman was waiting in the hall. "Come. Quickly," she said, leading the way toward the back of the house.

  "She didn't notice a thing," whispered Roger to Eliza. "Not our modern clothes, or being different, or anything."

  "Probably she didn't see them," whispered Eliza. "Probably to her we're all in olden costume. Linsey-woolsey and stuff like that."

  They followed the woman into the kitchen, and even though Roger was sure by now they'd gone back to olden times, or just about, the room looked almost the same to him as whe
n he'd had breakfast there that morning. Except that in some ways it was different, being seemingly used as kitchen and living room combined.

  A great fire roared in the chimney, and pacing up and down before the hearth was a gentleman in a greatcoat who must be the person who had just arrived in the boat. On a settle by the fire was another gentleman, with a quilt over his knees and a red flannel bandage round his throat.

  "Children," said the woman, "here is Mr. Frothingham arrived from Boston with dreadful news. The Redcoats are coming!"

  "Brave men will ride tonight!" said the gentleman in the greatcoat, pacing faster. "Tell the countryside! Rouse every South Shore village and town!"

  "Naturally," said Eliza.

  "We thought that must be it," said Roger.

  The gentleman looked surprised and impressed at their coolness.

  "And here is your father ill with the quinsy and unable to venture from the house," said the woman.

  The other gentleman, the one with the bandage, smiled at Roger and put a hand on his shoulder. "But my son Preserved here has a fine pair of hands with a horse, ay, and a good strong voice, also, and may more than fitly fill my place," he said.

  Roger, who had seldom been on a horse in his life, gulped, and tried to look ready for anything.

  "What about me?" said Eliza. "Haven't I just as good hands as he has?"

  "Prudence, Prudence," said the woman. "Must you ever belie your name?"

  "If the others are going, I want to go, too!" said Ann, suddenly. She was just as surprised as everyone else was to find herself saying it.

  "Nay, Deborah!" cried the woman. "You are too young for such charades!"

  But the gentleman in the greatcoat smote his thigh in a dashing and hot-blooded way. "By thunder!" he cried. "If the youngest Yankee of them all is not afraid to ride for liberty, then surely the right will prevail. To horse, and quickly!"

  "The groom is readying the steeds now," said the father of Preserved and Prudence and Deborah. There seemed to be a twinkle in his eye. Even as he spoke, a thudding of hoofs was heard from without.