The Oriel Window Part 8

"Allegory, do you mean?" said Miss Lilly. "Well yes, perhaps. Many fairy stories have a kind of meaning behind them, but I don't think this one is difficult to guess."

"It means, I suppose," said Chrissie, "that everything is of use, if you can find the right place for it."

"A little more than that," said Miss Lilly. "We might put it this way--that _everybody_, even the smallest and weakest, has his or her own place in the house of--" and she hesitated.

"In the house of the world?" said Ferdy.

"In the house of life," said Miss Lilly after thinking a little. "That says it better."

Then, seeing that Ferdy was looking rather tired, she told Chrissie to run off and get dressed for going a walk.

"I will send Flowers to sit with you," she said, as she stooped to kiss the little invalid, "and in the afternoon Chrissie and I will come back again for an hour or so if you are not asleep."

"I won't be asleep," said Ferdy; "I have slept quite enough to last me all day. Miss Lilly--"

"What, dear?" for the boy's eyes looked as if he wanted to ask her something. "Would you like us to bring you in some flowers?--not garden ones, but wild ones. There are still primroses--and violets, of course--in the woods."

"Yes," Ferdy replied, "I should like them _very_ much. And could you get some moss, Miss Lilly? I would like to arrange them with moss, in that sort of birds'-nesty-looking way."

"I know how you mean," the young lady said. "Yes, we will bring you some moss. And, by the bye, Ferdy, if I had some wire I could show you how to make moss baskets that last for ever so long to put flowers in. You put a little tin or cup to hold water in the middle of the basket--the moss quite hides it,--and then you can always freshen up the moss by sousing it in water."

"What a nice word 'sousing' is," said Ferdy, in his quaint old-fashioned way. "It makes you think of bathing in the sea. Miss Lilly, do you think I'll ever be able to bathe in the sea again? I do so love it. And then there's skating and cricket, and when I go to school there'll be football. Papa was so good at football when he was at school. I wonder--" he stopped short. "I wonder," he went on again, "if I'll ever be able for any of those things. Boys who are all right, _well_ boys, don't think of the difference being like me makes."

"No, they don't," his governess agreed. "But there is still a good long while before you would be going to school, Ferdy dear."

"I know," he said, though he could not keep back a little sigh. "I've only been two days in bed, but I have thought such a lot. Miss Lilly, there was something I wanted to ask you. It's about that boy, Jesse Piggot. I was thinking about him when I was awake in the night. If you meet him, please thank him for asking if I was better, and do you think mamma would let him come in one day to see me? It's partly that story, too."

Miss Lilly did not at first understand.

"The 'nallegory," said Ferdy, "about all the stones being some good."

Miss Lilly's face cleared; she looked pleased and interested.

"Oh yes," she said.

"I haven't got it straight in my head yet," said Ferdy. "I want to think a lot more. It's partly about me myself, and partly about Jesse and boys like him. Oh, I do wish I could be on the sofa in the window," he added suddenly. "I'd like to see the children going to school and coming back."

"I hope you will be on the sofa in a very few days, dear," said Miss Lilly. "But I must go--Chrissie will be waiting for me. I hope we shall get some nice flowers and moss, and to-morrow I will bring some wire and green thread that I have at home on purpose for such things."

When she had gone Flowers made her appearance. She sat down with her work, and Ferdy lay so still, that she thought he must have fallen asleep again. But no, Ferdy was not asleep, only thinking; and to judge by the look on his face, his thoughts were interesting.

The moss baskets proved a great success as well as a great amus.e.m.e.nt.

Ferdy's nimble fingers seemed to have grown even more nimble and delicate in touch now that he was forced to lie still. They twisted the wire into all sorts of new shapes, some quaint, some graceful, that Miss Lilly had never even thought of, and when some little old cups without handles or tiny jelly pots or tins were found to fit in, so that the flowers could have plenty of water to keep them fresh, you cannot think how pretty the moss baskets looked. The children's mother was quite delighted with one that was presented to her, and she smiled more cheerfully than she had yet done since Ferdy's accident, to see him so busy and happy.

And time went on. It is very curious how quickly we get accustomed to things--even to great overwhelming changes, which seem at first as if they must utterly upset and make an end of everything. It is a great blessing that we _do_ get used to what _is_. When I was a little girl I remember reading a story about the old proverb which in those days was to be found as one of the model lines in a copy-book. This one stood for the letter "C," and it was, "Custom commonly makes things easy."

Somehow the words fixed themselves in my memory. You don't know how often and in what very far differing circ.u.mstances I have said them over to myself; sometimes in hopefulness, sometimes when I had to face sorrows that made me feel as if I _could_ not face them, "Custom commonly" seemed to be whispered into my ear, as if by a gentle little fairy voice. And I found it came true, thank G.o.d! It is one of the ways in which He helps us to bear our sorrows and master our difficulties, above all, _real_ sorrows and _real_ difficulties. Fanciful ones, or foolish ones that we make for ourselves, are often in the end the hardest to bear and to overcome.

It was so with little Ferdy and his friends. One month after that sad birthday that had begun so brightly, no stranger suddenly visiting the Watch House would have guessed from the faces and voices of its inmates how lately and how terribly the blow had fallen upon them. All seemed bright and cheerful, and even the boy's own countenance, though pale and thin, had a happy and peaceful expression. More than that indeed. He was often so merry that you could hear his laugh ringing through the house if you were only pa.s.sing up or down stairs, or standing in the hall below.

By this time things had settled themselves down into a regular plan. The oriel room was now Ferdy's "drawing-room"--or drawing-room and dining-room in one, as he said himself. It was his day room, and every night and morning his father or Thomas, the footman, carried him most carefully and gently from and to the invalid couch in his favourite window to bed, or _from_ bed in his own little room.

This was a delightful change. Ferdy declared he felt "almost quite well again" when the day came on which he was allowed "to go to bed properly," and be attired nicely the next morning in a little dressing-gown made to look as like a sailor suit as possible.

His general health was good, thanks to the excellent care that was taken of him, and thanks too to his own cheerful character. There were times, of course, when he _did_ find it difficult to be bright--lovely summer afternoons when a sharp pang pierced his little heart at the sight of the school children racing home in their careless healthfulness, or fresh sweet mornings when he longed with a sort of thirstiness to be able to go for a walk in the woods with Christine and Miss Lilly. But these sad feelings did not last long, though the days went on, and still the doctor shook his head at the idea even of his being carried down to the lawn and laid there, as Ferdy had begun to hope might be allowed.

The oriel window was his greatest comfort. It really was a delightful window. On one side or other there was sure to be _something_ to look at, and Ferdy was quick to find interest in everything. He loved to see the school children, some of whom were already known to him, some whom he learnt to know by sight from watching them pa.s.s.

But one boyish figure he missed. All this time Jesse Piggot had never been seen. Miss Lilly had looked out for him, as Ferdy had asked her to do, but in vain. And it was not till within a day or two of a month since the accident that she heard from some of the Draymoor people that the boy had been taken off "on a job" by one of his rough cousins at the colliery village.

"And no good will it do him neither," added the woman. "That's a lad as needs putting up to no manner o' mischief, as my master says."

"Wasn't it a pity to take him away from Farmer Meare's?" Miss Lilly added.

"They hadn't really room for him there," said the woman. "But Farmer Meare is a good man. He says he'll take the poor lad back again after a bit when there'll be more work that he can do."

Miss Lilly told this over to the children the next day. Ferdy looked up with interest in his eyes.

"I hope he will come back again soon," he said. "You know, Miss Lilly, I never finished talking about him to you. I was thinking of him again a lot yesterday; it was the birds, they _were_ chattering so when I was alone in the afternoon. I was half asleep, I think, and hearing them reminded me in a dreamy way of birds' nests and eggs, and then, through that, of Jesse Piggot and what the fairy story put in my head about him."

"What was it?" asked Miss Lilly.

"It's rather difficult to explain," Ferdy replied. "I was thinking, you see, that if I never get well and strong again I wouldn't seem any use to anybody. It _does_ seem as if some people were no use. And Jesse Piggot seems always in everybody's way, as if there was no place for him, though quite different from me, of course, for everybody's so kind to me. And then I thought of the stones, and how they all fitted in, and I wondered what I could get to do, and I thought perhaps I might help Jesse some way."

Miss Lilly looked at Ferdy. There was a very kind light in her eyes.

"Yes, Ferdy dear," she said. "I think I understand. When Jesse comes back we must talk more about it, and perhaps we shall find out some way of fitting him into his place. Stop dear, I think I had better look at your knitting; you are getting it a little too tight on the needles."

Ferdy handed it to her with a little sigh. He did not care very much for knitting, and he had also a feeling that it was girls' work. But it had been very difficult to find any occupation for him, as he could not go on making moss baskets always, and knitting seemed the best thing for the moment. He was now making a sofa blanket for his mother, in stripes of different colours, and Miss Lilly and Christine were helping him with it, as it would otherwise have been too long a piece of work.

"I'm rather tired of knitting," he said, "now that I know how to do it.

I liked it better at first, but there's no planning about it now."

"We must think of a change of work for you before long," said Miss Lilly, as she quickly finished a row so as to get the st.i.tches rather looser again. "Don't do any more this morning, Ferdy. Lie still and talk. Tell me about the birds chattering."

"They are so sweet and funny," said Ferdy. "Sometimes I fancy I'm getting to know their different voices. And there's one that stands just at the corner of the window-sill outside, that I really think I could draw. I know the look of him so well. Or I'll tell you what," he went on. "I could _figure_ him, I'm sure I could, better than draw him."

"_Figure_ him! what do you mean?" said Chrissie. "What funny words you say, Ferdy."

"Do you mean modelling it?" asked Miss Lilly. "Have you ever seen any modelling?"

"No," said Ferdy, "I don't understand."

"I mean using some soft stuff, like clay or wax, and shaping it, partly with your fingers and partly with tools," replied Miss Lilly. "I don't know much about it, but I remember one of my brothers doing something of the kind."

Ferdy reflected.

"It does sound rather fun," he said, "but I didn't mean that. I meant cutting--with a nice sharp knife and soft wood. I am sure I could figure things that way. I know what made me think of it. It was a story about the village boys in Switzerland, who cut out things in the winter evenings."