The result was that Tom Collins's bus arrived when no one in the schoolroom was in the least prepared for it.Then what confusion there was!Mrs.Cole,looking strange in her hat and veil,as though she were dressed up for a play,came urging them to hurry,"because Father was waiting."Then Hamlet tied himself and his "lead"round the leg of the table;then Mary said in her most tiresome manner,apropos of nothing at all,"You do love me,Jeremy,don't you?"just at the moment when he was trying to unlace Hamlet,and her lip began to tremble when he said,"Oh,don't bother,"so that he was compelled to add "Of course I do";then Father came running up the stairs with "Really,this is too disgraceful.We shall miss that train!"Then Uncle Samuel appeared,looking so queer that Jeremy was compelled to stare at him.Jeremy had seen very little of Uncle Samuel during these last months.He had hoped,after that wonderful adventure of the Christmas Pantomime,that they were going to be friends,but it had not been so.He had been away somewhere,in some strange place,painting,and then,on his return,he had hid himself and his odd affairs away in some corner of the house where no one saw him.He had had his life and Jeremy had had his.
Nevertheless Jeremy was delighted to see him.It would be fun to have him at Cow Farm with his squashy brown hat,his fat cheeks,his blue painting smock,and his short legs with huge boots.He was different,in some way,from all the rest of the world,and Jeremy,even at that early stage of his education,already perceived that he could learn more from Uncle Samuel than from any other member of the family.
Now he put his head in through the door and said:"Well,you kids,aren't you ready?It's time!"Then,seeing Miss Jones,he said:
"Good morning,"and bolted like a rabbit.Even then Jeremy noticed that he had paint on his fingers,and that two of his waistcoat buttons were unfastened.
Then down in the hall what confusion there was!Boxes here,there and everywhere.Mother,Father,Aunt Amy,Uncle Samuel,and,most interesting of all,Barbara and the new nurse.The new nurse was called Mrs.Pateham,and she was stout,red-cheeked,and smiling.
The bundle in white called Barbara was,most happily,sleeping;but Hamlet barked at Mrs.Pateham,and that woke Barbara,who began to cry.Then Collins came in with his coat off,and the muscles swelling on his shoulders,and handled the boxes as though they were paper,and the cook,and Rose,and William,the handy-boy,and old Jordan,the gardener,and Mrs.Preston,a lady from two doors down,who sometimes came in to help,all began to bob and smile,and Father said:"Now,my dear.Now,my dear,"and Hamlet wound himself and his lead round everything that he could see,and Helen fussed and said:"Now,Jeremy,"and Miss Jones said:"Now,children,"and last of all Collins said:"Now,mum;now,sir,"and then they all were bundled into the bus,with the cart and the luggage coming along behind.
The drive through the streets was,of course,as lovely as it could be;not in the least because anyone could see anything--that was hindered by the fact that the windows of the bus were so old that they were crusted with a kind of glassy mildew,and no amount of rubbing on the window-panes provided one with a view--but because the inside of the bus was inevitably connected with adventure--partly through its motion,partly through its noise,and partly through its lovely smell.These were,of course,Jeremy's views,and it can't definitely be asserted that all grown-up people shared them.But whenever Jeremy had ridden in that bus he had always been on his way to something delightful.The motion,therefore,rejoiced his heart,although the violence of it was such that everyone was thrown against everyone else,so that Uncle Samuel was suddenly hurled against the bonnet of Miss Jones,and Helen struck Aunt Amy in the chest,and Jeremy himself dived into his sister Barbara.As to the smell,it was that lovely well-known one that has in it mice and straw,wet umbrellas and whisky,goloshes and candle-grease,dust and green paint!Jeremy loved it,and sniffed on this occasion so often that Miss Jones told him to blow his nose.As to the noise,who is there who does not remember that rattle and clatter,that sudden,deafening report as of the firing of a hundred firearms,the sudden pause when every bolt and bar and hinge sighs and moans like the wind or a stormy sea,and then that sudden scream of the clattering windows,when it is as though a frenzied cook,having received notice to leave,was breaking every scrap of china in the kitchen?"Who does not know that last maddened roar as the vehicle stumbles across the last piece of cobbled road--a roar that drowns,with a savage and determined triumph,all those last directions not to forget this,that,and the other;all those inquiries as to whether this,that,and the other had been remembered?Cobbles are gone now,and old buses sleep in deserted courts,and Collins,alas,is not.His youngest son has a motor-garage,and Polchester has asphalt--sic transit gloria,mundi.
Jeremy,clutching his green box with one hand and Hamlet's lead with the other,was in an ecstasy of happiness.The louder the noise,the rocking motion,the stronger the smell,the better."Isn't it lovely?"he murmured to Miss Jones during one of the pauses.