The Boar-Pig

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　

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"There is a back way on to the lawn," said Mrs.Philidore Stossen to her daughter, "through a small grasspaddock and then through a walled fruit garden full ofgooseberry bushes. I went all over the place last yearwhen the family were away. There is a door that opensfrom the fruit garden into a shrubbery, and once weemerge from there we can mingle with the guests as if wehad come in by the ordinary way. It's much safer thangoing in by the front entrance and running the risk ofcoming bang up against the hostess; that would be soawkward when she doesn't happen to have invited us.""Isn't it a lot of trouble to take for gettingadmittance to a garden party?""To a garden party, yes; to the garden party of theseason, certainly not. Every one of any consequence inthe county, with the exception of ourselves, has beenasked to meet the Princess, and it would be far moretroublesome to invent explanations as to why we weren'tthere than to get in by a roundabout way. I stopped Mrs.Cuvering in the road yesterday and talked very pointedlyabout the Princess. If she didn't choose to take thehint and send me an invitation it's not my fault, is it?Here we are: we just cut across the grass and throughthat little gate into the garden."Mrs. Stossen and her daughter, suitably arrayed fora county garden party function with an infusion ofAlmanack de Gotha, sailed through the narrow grasspaddock and the ensuing gooseberry garden with the air ofstate barges making an unofficial progress along a ruraltrout stream. There was a certain amount of furtivehaste mingled with the stateliness of their advance, asthough hostile search-lights might be turned on them atany moment; and, as a matter of fact, they were notunobserved. Matilda Cuvering, with the alert eyes ofthirteen years old and the added advantage of an exaltedposition in the branches of a medlar tree, had enjoyed agood view of the Stossen flanking movement and hadforeseen exactly where it would break down in execution."They'll find the door locked, and they'll jollywell have to go back the way they came," she remarked toherself. "Serves them right for not coming in by theproper entrance. What a pity Tarquin Superbus isn'tloose in the paddock. After all, as every one else isenjoying themselves, I don't see why Tarquin shouldn'thave an afternoon out."Matilda was of an age when thought is action; sheslid down from the branches of the medlar tree, and whenshe clambered back again Tarquin, the huge whiteYorkshire boar-pig, had exchanged the narrow limits ofhis stye for the wider range of the grass paddock. Thediscomfited Stossen expedition, returning inrecriminatory but otherwise orderly retreat from theunyielding obstacle of the locked door, came to a suddenhalt at the gate dividing the paddock from the gooseberrygarden."What a villainous-looking animal," exclaimed Mrs.Stossen; "it wasn't there when we came in.""It's there now, anyhow," said her daughter. "Whaton earth are we to do? I wish we had never come."The boar-pig had drawn nearer to the gate for acloser inspection of the human intruders, and stoodchamping his jaws and blinking his small red eyes in amanner that was doubtless intended to be disconcerting,and, as far as the Stossens were concerned, thoroughlyachieved that result."Shoo! Hish! Hish! Shoo!" cried the ladies inchorus."If they think they're going to drive him away byreciting lists of the kings of Israel and Judah they'relaying themselves out for disappointment," observedMatilda from her seat in the medlar tree. As she madethe observation aloud Mrs. Stossen became for the firsttime aware of her presence. A moment or two earlier shewould have been anything but pleased at the discoverythat the garden was not as deserted as it looked, but nowshe hailed the fact of the child's presence on the scenewith absolute relief."Little girl, can you find some one to drive away -" she began hopefully."Comment? Comprends pas," was the response."Oh, are you French? Etes vous Francaise?""Pas de tous. 'Suis Anglaise.""Then why not talk English? I want to know if - ""Permettez-moi expliquer. You see, I'm rather undera cloud," said Matilda. "I'm staying with my aunt, and Iwas told I must behave particularly well to-day, as lotsof people were coming for a garden party, and I was toldto imitate Claude, that's my young cousin, who never doesanything wrong except by accident, and then is alwaysapologetic about it. It seems they thought I ate toomuch raspberry trifle at lunch, and they said Claudenever eats too much raspberry trifle. Well, Claudealways goes to sleep for half an hour after lunch,because he's told to, and I waited till he was asleep,and tied his hands and started forcible feeding with awhole bucketful of raspberry trifle that they werekeeping for the garden-party. Lots of it went on to hissailor-suit and some of it on to the bed, but a good dealwent down Claude's throat, and they can't say again thathe has never been known to eat too much raspberry trifle.That is why I am not allowed to go to the party, and asan additional punishment I must speak French all theafternoon. I've had to tell you all this in English, asthere were words like `forcible feeding' that I didn'tknow the French for; of course I could have inventedthem, but if I had said nourriture obligatoire youwouldn't have had the least idea what I was talkingabout. Mais maintenant, nous parlons Francais.""Oh, very well, tres bien," said Mrs. Stossenreluctantly; in moments of flurry such French as she knewwas not under very good control. "La, a l'autre cote dela porte, est un cochon - ""Un cochon? Ah, le petit charmant!" exclaimedMatilda with enthusiasm."Mais non, pas du tout petit, et pas du toutcharmant; un bete feroce - ""Une bete," corrected Matilda; "a pig is masculineas long as you call it a pig, but if you lose your temperwith it and call it a ferocious beast it becomes one ofus at once. French is a dreadfully unsexing language.""For goodness' sake let us talk English then," saidMrs. Stossen. "Is there any way out of this gardenexcept through the paddock where the pig is?""I always go over the wall, by way of the plumtree," said Matilda."Dressed as we are we could hardly do that," saidMrs. Stossen; it was difficult to imagine her doing it inany costume."Do you think you could go and get some one whowould drive the pig away?" asked Miss Stossen."I promised my aunt I would stay here till fiveo'clock; it's not four yet.""I am sure, under the circumstances, your aunt wouldpermit - ""My conscience would not permit," said Matilda withcold dignity."We can't stay here till five o'clock," exclaimedMrs. Stossen with growing exasperation."Shall I recite to you to make the time passquicker?" asked Matilda obligingly. " `Belinda, thelittle Breadwinner,' is considered my best piece, or,perhaps, it ought to be something in French. HenriQuatre's address to his soldiers is the only thing Ireally know in that language.""If you will go and fetch some one to drive thatanimal away I will give you something to buy yourself anice present," said Mrs. Stossen.Matilda came several inches lower down the medlartree."That is the most practical suggestion you have madeyet for getting out of the garden," she remarkedcheerfully; "Claude and I are collecting money for theChildren's Fresh Air Fund, and we are seeing which of uscan collect the biggest sum.""I shall be very glad to contribute half a crown,very glad indeed," said Mrs. Stossen, digging that coinout of the depths of a receptacle which formed a detachedoutwork of her toilet."Claude is a long way ahead of me at present,"continued Matilda, taking no notice of the suggestedoffering; "you see, he's only eleven, and has goldenhair, and those are enormous advantages when you're onthe collecting job. Only the other day a Russian ladygave him ten shillings. Russians understand the art ofgiving far better than we do. I expect Claude will netquite twenty-five shillings this afternoon; he'll havethe field to himself, and he'll be able to do the pale,fragile, not-long-for-this-world business to perfectionafter his raspberry trifle experience. Yes, he'll bequite two pounds ahead of me by now."With much probing and plucking and many regretfulmurmurs the beleaguered ladies managed to produce seven-and-sixpence between them."I am afraid this is all we've got," said Mrs.Stossen.Matilda showed no sign of coming down either to theearth or to their figure."I could not do violence to my conscience foranything less than ten shillings," she announced stiffly.Mother and daughter muttered certain remarks undertheir breath, in which the word "beast" was prominent,and probably had no reference to Tarquin."I find I have got another half-crown," said Mrs.Stossen in a shaking voice; "here you are. Now pleasefetch some one quickly."Matilda slipped down from the tree, took possessionof the donation, and proceeded to pick up a handful ofover-ripe medlars from the grass at her feet. Then sheclimbed over the gate and addressed herselfaffectionately to the boar-pig."Come, Tarquin, dear old boy; you know you can'tresist medlars when they're rotten and squashy."Tarquin couldn't. By dint of throwing the fruit infront of him at judicious intervals Matilda decoyed himback to his stye, while the delivered captives hurriedacross the paddock."Well, I never! The little minx!" exclaimed Mrs.Stossen when she was safely on the high road. "Theanimal wasn't savage at all, and as for the tenshillings, I don't believe the Fresh Air Fund will see apenny of it!"There she was unwarrantably harsh in her judgment.If you examine the books of the fund you will find theacknowledgment: "Collected by Miss Matilda Cuvering, 2s.6d."

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