IN WHICH WE MEET FLIP, ALTHOUGH HE WAS SUPPOSED
TO BE A SECRET
DOWN on the edge of the Poppy Field there is a very large, wide lake; the largest lake you have ever seen. Of course there are deeper lakes across the mountains where you have never been, but Poppy Lake is quite deep enough. When you turn your back and lean down and look between your legs so that everything is upside-down, it looks still larger; almost as big as the sky and just as blue. Right on the shore, tied to a willow tree, is a wonderful green boat with two oars when you wish to go exploring alone, and four if you intend to take a crew with you.
John usually went alone, because crews never know their place and want to be Captain if they are men, or always talk about fairies and husbands and silly trifles if they are women. There is of course only one woman and she is Martha Mary; you see, Liza is only three years old and can’t really be called a woman. The fact is, John prefers traveling with Liza to any of the others. She respects John very much and will not mind anyone else—not even Nurse Huggins. John is quite a famous traveler; there have been times when he would sit at the helm of his good ship and Liza would sit on the deck on her legs and fold her arms and watch the Captain with very large, grey eyes. Then John would cough and bow to her and say in a voice almost as loud as Butcher Levy’s:
“Where does your Ladyship desire to sail to-day?”
Liza would say, “Yes,” which is not an answer at all.
Then John would pick up the oars and row with all his might, just as though the ship were not tied to the willow tree. Right into the ocean they would go. Sometimes they could travel almost as far as England before Nurse Huggins called them to come to tea. Nurse Huggins always called just as they were about to get somewhere.
Martha Mary thought it silly for John to play with Liza so much; you see, John was at least twelve and Martha Mary was ten, so they were much more fitted for each other than John and Liza. So Martha Mary would come down to the Lake and call to John and he would put his hands to his ears and shout:
“I can’t hear you. I’m miles and miles away.”
Then Martha Mary would stamp her foot, and go away to find Edward Lee Sherman, who was seven years old and her youngest brother, and Walter, who was eight and almost Edward’s twin. You see, the Sherman family was quite a large one; first, there was John and then Martha Mary; then Walter and Edward Lee, and then Liza. But that wasn’t all. Nurse Huggins was a very important member of the family, and there was Agnes, the cook, and Dawson, the gardener, and Mother Dear, who looked almost like a girl herself, sometimes, and Father, who was terribly old and had brown whiskers and the softest grey eyes, just like Liza’s. And I almost forgot Hermit. He was the huge St. Bernard and next to Mother Dear, the most important member of the household. No one knew just how old Hermit was. But Captain John was quite sure that the very first thing he heard when he opened his eyes in this world was Hermit’s welcoming bark. That was twelve years ago, and twelve is old for a dog.
And—there was one other. He was supposed to be a secret, but I never could keep a secret and, as long as I have told about Hermit and Hermit found him, I might as well tell. He was Flip. That wasn’t his real name, but Liza could not say Philip, so she called him Flip. And after a while everyone else did, too. This is the way we found him. You see, Hermit did not come home for dinner one night and everyone was very much frightened. They went all over the poppy field calling him, but he didn’t come. It grew so late that the stars came out, so Mother Dear put Liza and Edward Lee to bed. She was very quiet and not at all smily when she tucked them in, because she was worried about Hermit. For hours and hours John and Father and Gardener Dawson hunted with yellow lanterns; they called and whistled, but Hermit did not come. So they went to bed, and Father said:
“Leave the old boy alone. He is sure to come back.”
Father always did know everything!
The first thing next morning, all the family hurried out to the garden, but there was no Hermit. Father went East and John went West and all the others scattered in different directions, leaving Liza all alone to take care of Mother Dear. But Mother Dear was not at all good company; she wouldn’t crawl on the floor and she wouldn’t smile, so Liza slipped away, very unhappy. She took her Nigger Doll, Samuel, and walked way, way off, down into the Lily Place where the frogs live. And right there, perfectly happy and grinning, was Hermit—all muddy and with his tongue hanging out as though he had been running and was out of breath. Next to him, sprawled out on the grass, with one foot stuck up in the air and a cap on his toe, was a man and he was talking to Hermit. Liza did not pay any attention to him; she just jumped on Hermit’s back and rubbed her face in his neck. The man was very much surprised. He sat up, brushed the dirt off of his trousers, and said:
“Good morning.”
Liza laughed at him and pulled Hermit’s tail.
“I said ‘Good morning,’” said the man. “Can’t you talk?”
That sort of frightened Liza, so she jumped up and ran off to find John, with Hermit bounding after her. Just then John came through the trees, followed by Edward Lee and Walter and Martha Mary. They hugged Hermit to show how glad they were to see him, and then Liza took them to the new man.
“Hullo!” he said. “Are you the whole family?”
“We are the Shermans,” said John.
“Yes,” said Edward Lee, “and we wish you would go away so that we could play.”
“Edward Lee!” Martha Mary whispered. “You mustn’t be impolite.”
The man laughed. “Please,” said he, “may I play, too?”
“You are too old,” said Walter.
John did not mean to have any unfairness. “How old are you?” he asked.
The man held his fingers to his lips. “It’s a secret. Folks say I’m twenty-three,” he said. “But they really don’t know. The fact is I’m only twelve.”
“Swear it and hope to die?” demanded John.
“I swear.”
“And hope to die?”
“Do I have to?”
“No,” said Martha Mary. “If you want to be twelve, we will let you. Please, what can you play?”
“Everything.”
“That is lovely,” said Martha Mary. “We’ll play ‘Robinhood.’”
“And I’ll be Robinhood,” said John.
“And I’ll be Little John,” said Walter.
“I’m Little John,” said Edward Lee.
“You’re not. I am.”
“All right,” said Edward Lee. “Then I don’t want to play.”
The man frowned. “See here,” he said. “You can’t both be Little John. Suppose we play something else. Suppose I tell you a story.”
“Do you know any?” Martha Mary asked.
“Dozens of them.”
“How nice! I think I shall like you. What is your name?”
“Philip.”
“Flip,” said Liza, and that is how he got his name.
Meanwhile Mother Dear had joined Father. They hunted high and low for Hermit and for the children, too, for by this time Mother was growing really and truly frightened. All of a sudden they heard Edward Lee laughing. To the Lily Place they ran, and there—through the trees—guess what they saw! There was Flip leaning against a fat old oak tree, with one leg up in the air and his cap on his toe. Liza was sitting on the knee of the leg that wasn’t up in the air, while Martha Mary was lying on the ground on her stomach, weaving buttercups. John and Walter were sitting up in the tree; Edward Lee was on Hermit’s back, and Flip was telling his story. So Mother Dear sat down very quietly and pulled Father after her. She leaned against his shoulder and closed her eyes, while Father smoothed her hair. And they listened to the story, too, and this was it: