‘Oh,’ said the Unusual One, ‘it only means if you’re going to ask a favour of any one. One of the herbs was balsam, I believe. Now I must fly. Keep the page till to-morrow if you like.’
They did like. And when he was gone Charlotte spoke.
‘Look here. We shall have to tell the Uncle. Let’s decoct him some balsam and then tell him.’
But the others wouldn’t hear of it. They had to hear of it, however, next day, when at twelve o’clock William allowed them to visit Rupert in his loft. Rupert’s eyes were very bright and his hands were very hot, and he coughed almost all the time—a very little cough, but most persevering.
‘William,’ Caroline came down the ladder to say, ‘we must tell uncle. I’m sure Rupert’s ill. He ought to have a doctor.’
‘You’re right, Miss,’ William replied, ‘What did I tell you from the first?’
Caroline expected stern opposition from Rupert, and even feared that he might say that rather than have his secret given to an uncle he would indeed run away to sea. But he only turned his head restlessly on the straw and said, ‘Oh, I don’t care! Do what you like.’
The day was, most fortunately, fine. So after dinner they all went into the garden to get the balsam. But they couldn’t find any balsam.
‘I’ll get the Language Of,’ said Caroline, ‘and we’ll take the herbs that seem most likely to make a person do what you want.’
In finding suitable ‘herbs,’ first in the book and then in the garden, the time went quickly: there was a good deal of talk, of course.