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Page 9
Books on horses, a treatise on bulldogs, the New Testament, essays in
French and in German, the History of Egypt in Arabic, Budge's "Book of
the Dead," and "King Solomon's Mines."
"But what am I do _meanwhile_, Dads?" and the girl threw out her hands
imploringly.
"Be cold, deaf or brave, Golliwog, as I have suggested."
"But I've been all that, and it's quite useless. Do you think it would
help if I let my hair grow and did it up in a tight knob?"
"I think it would help a lot if you shaved your head entirely, kiddie."
And the man leant forward and ran his hand through the red curls.
Once upon a time Damaris had read the advertisement of a certain powder
guaranteed to darken hair of any colour, and life having been one long
torment owing to her violent colouring, she had, greatly daring,
acquired a packet; had followed the directions by mixing the powder
with water and covering her head with the muddy result, and, "to make
assurance doubly sure," had sat with her clay pate for an hour instead
of ten minutes near a fire; had cracked the clay, washed her head, and
found her hair grass-green.
She had chopped the verdant masses off without a thought, and had ever
after refused to allow it to grow to hairpin length, and to her father
only had granted the privilege of calling her by the pet name of
Golliwog.
"Would you like to travel a bit, pet?" And the man smiled, though his
heart was heavy at the thought of the blank which his Golliwog's
departure would leave in the home and the daily round.
"Travel! Travel! Oh! darling--to Egypt?
"Why Egypt? Why not France or--or Italy?"
"Because I've _got_ to go to Egypt sometime or another, Dads. I've got
to see the desert and the mosques and the whites and blues and oranges
and camels. It's _in_ me _here_," and she thumped her nightgown above
her heart. "I shall never be happy until I have seen them all. Oh!
Dads, I wonder if you can understand; it--it sounds so--so silly------"
"Tell me," and the man moved over to the head of the bed and took his
daughter gently in his arms.
"I'm so out of the picture, somehow, here, dearest," said the child,
striving as best she could to describe what was really only the passing
of the border-line between girl and womanhood. "This terrible
colouring of mine, for one thing. Why, amongst other girls, I am like
a Raemaeker stuffed into a Heath Robinson folio, like a palette daubed
with oils hung amongst a lot of water-colours. I want to find my own
nail and hang for one hour by myself, if it's on a barn-door or the
wall of a mosque--as long as I am by myself."
"Good Lord!" said the man inwardly, as he patted his daughter's arm;
then, aloud. "As it happens, Golliwog darling, I had a letter from
_Marraine_ yesterday, asking me to let you go out to her in Cairo for
the winter and see as much as possible of the ordinary sights. We'll
talk it over with Mother to-morrow."
"Oh, Dads--how wonderful! And can't you and Mother come? And oh!
_can_ I take Wellington?"
"I think so, dear, if he hasn't hydrophobia," and the man bent to pat
the head of the great dog which had crept from under the bed at the
sound of his name.
And later Dads stood at his window, smoking two last pipes, whilst a
glimpse into the future was allowed him.
"Can it be--can it possibly be," he said, puffing clouds of smoke into
the creeper, to the annoyance of many insects, "Big Ben Kelham?--and
the estates run alongside. Wonder if Teresa has noticed anything.
And--by Jove!--of course!--he's at Heliopolis, getting over his hunting
accident. I wonder------"
And Damaris sat at her window, with her arms round the dog, who longed
inordinately for his mat.
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