A Little Protestant in Rome by Eglanton Thorne

Hide and Seek.

THE last ringing note had been sounded by the band on the Pincio, and the men were gathering up their music and hurrying down from the stand; but Janet still sat knitting rapidly, and talking with an air of the deepest interest to the old Englishwoman. Marie, the little French girl with whom Paul had been playing, had gone home with her nurse; every one was going. How tiresome it was of Janet to sit there, so absorbed in her talk as to pay no attention to his very plain hints that he wanted to be moving! What stupid things grown-up people talked about! Who cared how many servants the Russian countess kept? Certainly Paul did not. A naughty idea occurred to him, and proved too delightful to be resisted. He would run away and hide. It would serve nurse right if she thought that he was lost.

Slipping behind Janet, and running across to the Moses Fountain, Paul was soon lost to sight amidst the shrubs. Looking about he found a snug hiding-place-a little nook beneath a rockery, screened by a full leafy bush. In the gathering gloom beneath the trees it was impossible that anyone could spy the tiny form ensconced there. Not many minutes had passed ere Paul heard his nurse's voice calling him. It was delightful to think how well he was hidden. He would stay where he was till Janet came quite close, and then catch hold of her gown as she passed.

"Paul! Paul! Come to me at once, Master Paul! " nurse called. "Oh yes, I know you are hiding; but it is too late now for games; we must go home at once."

Paul shook with laughing as he listened. It was such fun to think that nurse could not find him. He stretched out his right hand, ready to grab Janet's skirt as she passed, but she never came near enough for him to do that; the shrubs, growing thickly about his hiding-place, barred the way for a grown-up person. Her voice sounded further away; presently the cry of "Paul! Paul! " seemed to come from a distance; then he heard it no more.

Paul waited, feeling sure that Janet would presently return; but she did not come, and the waiting grew tedious. It is dull work hiding, if no one comes to find you. Besides, it seemed to be getting dark. Paul did not like the idea of being alone on the Pincio in the dark.

He came out of his hiding-place, scrambled through the bushes, and stood looking about him. It was not dark, but the light was failing, and he saw the moon looking down at him from the clear sky. No one was in sight. A feeling of loneliness and fear took possession of Paul's mind.

He began to cry aloud-"Janet! Janet! I'm here. Come to me quick. Janet! Janet!"

But it was now his turn to call in vain. He burst into tears, and ran forward with outstretched hands. Suddenly a sharp little bark fell on his ears, and Mademoiselle Grand's pug came bounding to meet him.

"Oh, Fritz, Fritz! I am glad to see you! " the child cried. "I'm here alone, Fritz, all alone! " And his tears flowed afresh.

Fritz did his best to comfort him. He stood on his hind legs and laid his front paws on the child's shoulders; he licked his cheeks and gave short joyous barks, as if he would say, "Never mind, it's all right now; I'm here, you know."

Then he gave a tug at the boy's tunic and bounded off, looking back, as though to bid him follow. Paul followed willingly.

The dog bounded across the deserted road and made for the furthest angle of the wall. This corner is separated from the path by wooden palings, which guard the spot whence there juts forth a fragment of the oldest Roman wall. At one point the fence had broken down. Fritz sprang through the gap, and Paul followed him.

The next moment the boy uttered a cry of fear, for, standing on the very verge of the wall, overlooking its sheer descent, and leaning forward at an angle that even the child saw to be most perilous, was Mademoiselle Grand. At the sound of the boy's cry, she started, and all but lost her balance.

But Paul seized her hand, and with tremulous haste pulled her back. "You must not stand so near the edge," he said; "it is very naughty. You might fall, and then you would be bwoken to bits, like Marie's doll when she dwopped it over the wall."

Mademoiselle Grand turned towards him a face from which every vestige of colour had fled. She was trembling from head to foot, and when she tried to laugh her voice broke, and she began to sob instead.

"Don't cwy," said Paul, forgetting his own distress in his desire to comfort her; "I daresay you did not know how naughty it was."

"Oh yes; I knew very well," she sobbed. "I knew that I was going to do a very wicked thing. Dear little Paul, I believe God must have sent you to stop me. If you had not come, I should certainly have thrown myself down."

"Then you would have been bwoken," said Paul, in the most matter-of-fact way, "your head and your neck, and I suppose your arms and legs too."

The lady shuddered.