The Amateur Gentleman
Page 368"Why, Barnabas!" she exclaimed, "oh, Barnabas!" and with the words
stooped, quick and sudden, yet in the most matter-of-fact manner in
the world, and kissed him lightly on the brow.
"Oh, dear me!" she cried, beginning to pat and smooth his tumbled
pillows, "how glad I am to see you able to frown again, though
indeed you look dreadfully ferocious, Barnabas!"
"I'm--very hungry, Duchess!"
"Of course you are, Barnabas, and God bless you for it!"
"A steak, madam, or a chop, I think--"
"Would be excellent, Barnabas!"
"And I wish to get up, Duchess."
"To be sure you do, Barnabas--there, lie down, so!"
at once--"
"Quite so, dear Barnabas--lay your head back on the pillow! Dear me,
how comfortable you look! And now, you are hungry you say? Then I'll
sit here and gossip to you while you take your chicken broth! You may
bring it in, Mr. Peterby."
"Chicken broth!" snarled Barnabas, frowning blacker than ever,
"but, madam, I tell you I won't have the stuff; I repeat, madam,
that I am quite determined to--"
"There, there--rest your poor tired head--so! And it's all a
delicious jelly when it's cold--I mean the chicken broth, of course,
not your head. Ah! you may give it to me, Mr. Peterby, and the
And hereupon, observing the firm set of her Grace's mouth, and the
authoritative flourish of the spoon she held in her small, though
imperious hand, Barnabas submitted and lying back among his pillows
in sulky dignity, swallowed the decoction in sulky silence, and
thereafter lay hearkening sulkily to her merry chatter until he had
sulked himself to sleep again.
III His third awakening was much like the first in that room, was full
of sunshine, and the air vibrant with the song of birds; yet here
indeed lay a difference; for now, mingled with the piping chorus,
Barnabas was vaguely conscious of another sound, soft and low and
oft repeated, a very melodious sound that yet was unlike any note
Therefore, being yet heavy with sleep, Barnabas yawned, and
presently turning, propped himself upon his elbow and was just in
time to see a shapeless something vanish from the ledge of the open
window.
The sun was low as yet, the birds in full song, the air laden with
fresh, sweet, dewy scents; and from this, and the profound stillness
of the house about him, he judged it to be yet early morning.
Now presently as he lay with his eyes turned ever towards the open
casement, the sound that had puzzled him came again, soft and
melodious.
Some one was whistling "The British Grenadiers."