THE RAILWAY CHILDREN

By E. Nesbit

To my dear son Paul Bland, who knows all about trains — much more than I do.

Contents

1. The beginning of things.
2. Peter's coal-mine.
3. The old gentleman.
4. The engine-burglar.
5. Prisoners and captives.
6. Saviours of the train.
7. For valour.
8. The amateur fireman.
9. The pride of Perks.
10. The terrible secret.
11. The hound in the red jersey.
12. What Bobbie brought home.
13. The hound's grandfather.
14. The End.

Chapter I. The beginning of things.

At the start of our story, these children were not "railway children" at all. They probably never thought much about trains, except as a way to get to fun places like the zoo or a wax museum. They were just ordinary children who lived in the suburbs with their Mother and Father, in an ordinary brick house with colored glass in the front door, a fancy tiled hallway, a bathroom with hot and cold water, and lots of white paint — the kind of house that had "every modern comfort," as house sellers like to say.

There were three children. Roberta was the oldest. Mothers say they never have favorites, but if their Mother had one, it might have been Roberta. Next came Peter, who wanted to be an engineer (someone who builds and fixes machines) when he grew up. The youngest was Phyllis, who always meant well, even if things didn't always turn out right.

Mother did not spend her days visiting boring ladies or waiting for boring ladies to visit her. She was almost always home, playing with the children, reading to them, and helping with homework. She even wrote stories for them to enjoy after school, and read them aloud after tea. She also made up funny poems for their birthdays and other special days — like when the new kittens were named, or when the dollhouse got new furniture, or when the children were getting over the mumps.

These three lucky children had everything they needed: nice clothes, warm fires, a lovely playroom full of toys, and cheerful wallpaper with pictures from nursery rhymes. They had a kind nursemaid to look after them, and a dog named James who belonged just to them. Best of all, they had a father who was almost perfect — never cross, never unfair, and always ready to play. Even on the rare times he couldn't play, he explained his reasons so well and so funnily that the children understood right away.

You might think they must have been very happy. And they were — but they didn't realize how happy until their comfortable life in the Red Villa ended, and a very different life began.

The terrible change happened quite suddenly.

Peter had a birthday — his tenth. Among his gifts was a toy model train engine, more wonderful than anything you could imagine. All his other presents were great, but this one was the best of all.

Its glory lasted exactly three days. Then — maybe because Peter didn't know enough about engines, or because Phyllis had been "helping" a little too eagerly, or for some other reason — the engine suddenly exploded with a bang! James the dog was so scared he ran off and didn't come back all day. Tiny toy animals that had been riding in the engine's cart were smashed to pieces. Nothing else was hurt, except the poor little engine — and Peter's feelings.

The others said he cried about it, but of course, ten-year-old boys never cry, no matter how sad things get. He said his eyes were red because he had a cold. It turned out this was actually true, even though he didn't know it yet — the next day he had to stay in bed. Mother worried he might be coming down with measles, until suddenly he sat up and said:

"I hate porridge. I hate barley water. I hate bread and milk. I want to get up and eat something real."

"What would you like?" Mother asked.

"A pigeon pie," said Peter eagerly. "A big one. A very big one."

So Mother asked the cook to make a large pigeon pie. It was made, and cooked, and Peter ate some. After that, his cold got better. While the pie was cooking, Mother wrote a funny poem to cheer him up. It talked about how Peter had loved his engine with all his heart, and how one day a screw came loose and the boiler burst. It joked that Peter didn't care one bit about anyone who might have been "hurt" in the toy train crash — only about his broken engine. It ended by saying that was why Peter had been sick: he was healing his sad heart with pigeon pie, wrapped in warm blankets, refusing to give in to his terrible bad luck. And if his eyes looked red, well — that was just his cold. Best to offer him pie; he'd never say no.

Father had been away in the countryside for three or four days. Peter hoped Father could fix the broken engine, because Father was amazing with his hands. He could repair almost anything. He had once saved the life of the wooden rocking-horse when everyone else — even the carpenter — thought it was hopeless. He had fixed the doll's cradle when no one else could. With just some glue, bits of wood, and a small knife, he had made all the toy animals from the Noah's Ark set as sturdy as new.

Being very grown-up about it, Peter waited until after Father had eaten dinner and smoked his after-dinner cigar before mentioning the broken engine. This patience was Mother's idea — but Peter was the one who had to actually be patient, which wasn't easy.

Finally Mother said to Father, "Now, dear, if you're nice and rested, we want to tell you about the great train accident, and ask what you think."

"All right," said Father. "Let's hear it!"

So Peter told the whole sad story and brought out what was left of the engine.

"Hmm," said Father, looking it over carefully.

The children held their breath.

"Is there no hope?" Peter asked in a shaky voice.

"Hope? Of course there's hope!" said Father cheerfully. "But it'll need some work — a bit of soldering (melting metal to join broken pieces), and a new valve. Let's save it for a rainy day. In fact, I'll spend Saturday afternoon fixing it, and you can all help."

"Can girls help fix engines?" Peter asked, unsure.

"Of course they can! Girls are just as clever as boys — don't you forget it. How would you like to be an engine-driver, Phil?"

"Wouldn't my face always be dirty?" said Phyllis, not very excited. "And I bet I'd break something."

"I'd love that," said Roberta. "Do you think I could, when I'm grown up, Daddy? Maybe even a fireman — someone who tends the fire on a train?"

"You mean a fireman," said Daddy, twisting at the broken engine. "Well, if you still want to when you're grown, we'll see about making you one. I remember when I was a boy—"

Just then, someone knocked at the front door.

"Who could that be?" said Father. "A man's home is supposed to be his safe little castle — I really wish houses came with moats and drawbridges."

Ruth, the red-haired maid, came in and said two gentlemen wanted to see the master of the house.

"I've put them in the library, sir," she said.

"It's probably about a fundraiser for the church," said Mother. "Please get rid of them quickly, dear — it's almost the children's bedtime."

But Father couldn't get rid of the visitors quickly at all.

"I really wish we had a moat and drawbridge," said Roberta. "Then we could just pull it up whenever we didn't want visitors. I bet Father will forget all about being a boy if they stay much longer."

Mother tried to pass the time by telling a new fairy story about a green-eyed princess, but it was hard to focus because they could hear Father's voice through the wall — and it sounded different than usual, louder and stranger than when he normally talked about fundraisers.

Then the library bell rang, and everyone felt relieved.

"They're leaving now," said Phyllis. "He's ringing for someone to show them out."

But instead of showing the visitors out, Ruth came in alone, looking strange.

"Please, ma'am," she said to Mother, "the master wants you to come to the study right away. He looks terrible, ma'am — I think he's had bad news. You'd best get ready for the worst. Maybe someone's died, or the bank's gone bust, or—"

"That will do, Ruth," Mother said gently. "You may go."

Mother went into the library. There was more talking. Then the bell rang again, and Ruth went to fetch a cab. The children heard footsteps go down the front steps, the cab drive away, and the front door close. Then Mother came back in. Her face was as pale as her collar, her eyes looked huge, and her lips were thin and strange, not their normal shape at all.

"It's bedtime," she said. "Ruth will take you up."

"But you said we could stay up late tonight since Father's home!" said Phyllis.

"Father's been called away — on business," said Mother. "Go now, my darlings. Please, go at once."

They kissed her and left. But Roberta lingered to give Mother an extra hug and whisper, "It's not bad news, is it, Mommy? Has someone died, or—"

"No one has died — no," said Mother, gently pushing Roberta toward the stairs. "I can't tell you anything tonight, my love. Go now, dear. Please."

So Roberta went.

Ruth brushed the girls' hair and helped them undress, something Mother almost always did herself. After she turned down the gaslight and left, she found Peter still dressed, sitting on the stairs.

"Ruth, what's going on?" he asked.

"Don't ask me questions, and I won't have to tell you fibs," Ruth answered. "You'll find out soon enough."

Late that night, Mother came up and kissed all three children as they slept. Only Roberta woke up — but she stayed very still and quiet, and said nothing.

"If Mother doesn't want us to know she's been crying," she told herself, hearing her Mother's breath catch in the dark, "then we won't know it. That's all there is to it."

The next morning at breakfast, Mother had already left the house.

"She's gone to London," Ruth told them, then left them to eat.

"Something terrible is going on," said Peter, cracking open his egg. "Ruth said last night we'd find out soon enough."

"Did you actually ask her?" said Roberta, sounding annoyed.

"Yes, I did!" said Peter sharply. "If you can go to bed without caring whether Mother's upset, well, I can't. So there."

"I don't think we should ask the servants things Mother hasn't told us herself," said Roberta.

"Oh, listen to Miss Goody-Goody," said Peter, "preach..."