Giant's Bread by Agatha writing as Mary Westmacott Christie Read Free Book Online Page A

silly.’
    â€˜Little boys wouldn’t think so. And besides, when you grow up, you will have different people in your head – like Mr Green and the children, only grown up people. And then you could write about them.’
    Vernon thought for a long time, then he shook his head.
    â€˜I think I’ll be a soldier like Father. Most of the Deyres have been soldiers, Mummy says. Of course you have to be very brave to be a soldier, but I think I would be brave enough.’
    Nurse Frances was silent a moment. She was thinking of what Walter Deyre had said of his small son.
    â€˜He’s a plucky little chap – absolutely fearless. Doesn’t know what fear is! You should see him on his pony.’
    Yes, Vernon was fearless enough in one sense. He had the power of endurance, too. He had borne the pain and discomfort of his broken leg unusually well for so young a child.
    But there was another kind of fear. She said slowly after a minute or two:
    â€˜Tell me again how you fell off the wall that day.’
    She knew all about The Beast, and had been careful to display no ridicule. She listened now to Vernon and as he finished she said gently:
    â€˜But you’ve known for quite a long time, haven’t you, that it isn’t a real Beast? That it’s only a thing made of wood and wires.’
    â€˜I do know ,’ said Vernon. ‘But I don’t dream it like that. And when I saw it in the garden coming at me –’
    â€˜You ran away – which was rather a pity, wasn’t it? It would have been much better to have stayed and looked . Then you’d have seen the men, and would have known just what it was. It’s always a good thing to look . Then you can run away afterwards if you still want to – but you usually don’t. And Vernon, I’ll tell you something else.’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜Things are never so frightening in front of you as they are behind you. Remember that. Anything seems frightening when it’s behind your back and you can’t see it. That’s why it’s always better to turn and face things – and then very often you find they are nothing at all.’
    Vernon said thoughtfully: ‘If I’d turned round I wouldn’t have broken my leg, would I?’
    â€˜No.’
    Vernon sighed.
    â€˜I don’t mind having broken my leg very much. It has been very nice having you to play with.’
    He thought Nurse Frances murmured ‘Poor child’ under her breath, but that, of course, was absurd. She said smiling:
    â€˜I’ve enjoyed it too. Some of my ill people don’t like to play.’
    â€˜You really do like playing, don’t you?’ said Vernon. ‘So does Mr Green.’
    He added rather stiffly, for he felt shy:
    â€˜Please don’t go away very soon, will you?’
4
    But as it happened, Nurse Frances went away much sooner than she might have done. It all happened very suddenly, as things in Vernon’s experience always did.
    It started very simply – something that Myra offered to do for Vernon and that he said he would rather have done by Nurse Frances.
    He was on crutches now for a short and painful time every day, enjoying the novelty of it very much. He soon got tired, however, and was ready to go back to bed. Today, his mother had suggested his doing so, saying she would help him. But Vernon had been helped by her before. Those big white hands of hers were strangely clumsy. They hurt where they meant to help. He shrank from her well-meant efforts. He said he would wait for Nurse Frances who never hurt.
    The words came out with the tactless honesty of children, and in a minute Myra Deyre was at white heat.
    Nurse Frances came in two or three minutes later to be received with a flood of reproach.
    Turning the boy against his own mother – cruel – wicked – They were all alike – everyone was against her – She had nothing in the world but Vernon and