The Oriel Window
CHAPTER XII
ANOTHER BIRTHDAY
Again a spring morning, only two or three years ago. Evercombe and theWatch House look much as they did when we first saw them; one couldfancy that but a few months instead of ten years had passed since then.The swallows are there, established in their summer quarters above theoriel window, the same and yet not the same, though their chirpingvoices may, for all we know, be telling of the little boy who for solong lay on his couch below, and loved them so well.
He is not there now, nor is his couch in its old place. Instead of thesmall white face and eager blue eyes, there stands at the post ofobservation a tall young girl, a very pretty girl, with a bright flushof happy expectancy on her fair face.
"Mamma, mamma," she exclaims to some one farther in the shade of theroom. "I think I hear wheels. Surely it will be they this time! If itisn't I really shan't have patience to stand here any longer."
But "this time" her hopes were fulfilled. Another moment and a carriage,which Christine, for Christine of course it was, quickly recognised astheir own, turned in at the lodge gates. And before those inside hadtime to look up at the window, Chrissie had flown downstairs followed byher mother.
"Ferdy, Ferdy," she exclaimed, as the carriage-door opened, and herbrother, his face flushed with pleasure equal to her own, got out,slowly, and with a little help from his father, for the young man wasslightly lame, though his face told of health and fair strength. He wassunburnt and manly looking, full of life and happy eagerness.
"Isn't he looking well, mamma?" said Chrissie, when the first lovinggreetings had sobered down a little.
"And haven't I grown?" added Ferdy, drawing himself up for approval."And isn't it delightful that I managed to get back on my birthday afterall?"
"Yes, indeed, my darling," said Mrs. Ross; while his father gentlyplaced his hand on the young fellow's shoulder, repeated herwords--"yes, indeed! When we think of this day--how many years ago!Ten?--yes, it must be ten--you were nine then, Ferdy, how very,unutterably thankful we should be to have you as you are."
"And to judge by my looks you don't know the best of me," said Ferdy. "Ican walk ever so far without knocking up. But oh! what heaps of thingswe have to talk about!"
"Come in to breakfast first," said his mother. "It is ten o'clock, andafter travelling all night you must be a little tired."
"I am really not, only very hungry," said Ferdy, as he followed her intothe dining-room, where the happy party seated themselves round thetable.
Ferdy had been away, abroad, for nearly two years, both for study andfor health's sake, and the result was more than satisfactory.School-life had been impossible for him, for the effect of his accidenthad been but very slowly outgrown. Slowly but surely, however, for nowat nineteen, except for his slight lameness, he was perfectly well, andable to look forward to a busy and useful life, though the exactprofession he was now to prepare himself for, was not yet quite decidedupon. A busy and useful and happy life it promised to be, with abundanceof interests for his leisure hours. He was no genius, but the tasteswhich he had had special opportunity for cultivating through hisboyhood, were not likely to fail him as he grew up. And in many a dulland sunless home would they help him to bring something to cheer thedreary sameness of hard-working lives. They had done so already, morethan he as yet knew.
Breakfast over and his old haunts revisited, Mrs. Ross at last persuadedhim and his sister to join her on the lawn, where she had establishedherself with her work for the rest of the morning.
"This is to be a real holiday, Ferdy," she said. "Chrissie and I havebeen looking forward to it for so long. We have nothing to do but totalk and listen."
"I have heaps to tell," said Ferdy, "but even more to ask. My life inSwitzerland was really awfully jolly in every way, but I'll tell you allabout it by degrees; besides, I did write long letters, didn't I?"
"Yes, you did," said his mother and Chrissie together; "you have beenvery good about letters all the time."
"Of course," began Ferdy, after a moment or two's silence, "the thing Iwant to hear most about is how the classes have all been getting on. Youkept me pretty well posted up about them, but in your last letters therewas some allusion I didn't quite understand--something that the Mayhewshave been trying to arrange."
Christine glanced at her mother.
"I may tell him, mayn't I, mamma? Now that it is all settled? It is notonly the Mayhews' doing, but Jesse Piggot's too." And as Ferdy's facelightened up at the mention of his friend's name--"He hasn't told youabout it himself, surely?" in a tone of some disappointment. "I knowthat he wrote you long letters regularly, but I thought he understoodthat we wanted to keep this new thing as a surprise for you when youcame back."
Ferdy looked puzzled.
"He hasn't told me anything special except about himself. The last bigpiece of news, since of course it was all settled about his getting thatcapital berth at Whittingham, that Brock was so delighted about--thelast big piece of news was his getting the order for the carved reredosat Cowlingsbury Abbey. But that was some time ago!"
"Oh yes," said Christine, "we have got over the excitement about that.Though when you think of it," she went on thoughtfully, "it is wonderfulto realise how Jesse has got on."
"And is going to get on," added Mrs. Ross. "And without flattery, Ferdydear, we may say that it is greatly, very greatly owing to you."
Ferdy's face grew red with pleasure.
"I can't quite see that," he said. "Genius must make its own way. But dotell me the _new_ news, Chrissie."
"It is that Mr. Mayhew has got ground and money and everything for asort of,--we don't know what to call it yet--'Institute' is such an uglyword, we must think of something prettier,--a sort of art college atDraymoor for the afternoon and evening classes. It won't be on a largescale. It would spoil it if it were, and a great part of their work canstill be done at home, which is of course the real idea of it all. Butthis little college will really be for teaching what, up to now, has hadto be done in odd rooms here and there."
"Oh!" Ferdy exclaimed, "that is splendid!"
"For you see," Chrissie continued, counting up on her pretty fingers asshe spoke, "what a lot of different kinds of work we've got to now.Wood-carving to begin with--we must always count it first!"
"No," said Ferdy, laughing, "strictly speaking, moss baskets camefirst."
"Wood-carving," repeated Chrissie, not condescending to notice theinterruption. "Then the modelling, and pottery classes, basket work,brass hammering, and the iron work, not to speak of the girls'embroidery and lace work. Yes," with a deep sigh of satisfaction, "it_is_ time for a little college of our own."
"A great, great deal of it," said Ferdy, "is owing to Miss Lilly--Ialways forget to call her Mrs. Mayhew. If only she hadn't gone and gotmarried we might have called it the 'Lily College,' after her."
"If she hadn't gone and got married, as you elegantly express it, Mr.Mayhew would never, probably, have been the vicar of Draymoor," saidChrissie. "For it was through his being such a great friend of Dr.Lilly's that he got to know the old squire, who gave him the living. Andjust think of all he has done--Mr. Mayhew I mean--for Draymoor."
Ferdy did not at once reply. He gazed up into the blue sky and listenedto the sweet bird-chatter overhead, with a look of great content on hisface.
"Yes," he said, "things do turn out so--quite rightly sometimes. Justwhen you'd have thought they'd go wrong! There was that row of Jesse'sto begin with, when he thought all he had tried to do was spoilt, andthen there were all the difficulties about the evening classes, while Iwas still ill, and it almost seemed as if we would have to give them up.And then--and then--why! when it was fixed for me to go away two yearsago, I could scarcely believe they'd go on, even though Mr. Mayhew hadcome by that time. Yes, it's rather wonderful! I say, Chrissie," with asudden change of tone, "doesn't it really sound as if the swallows wererather excited about my coming home!"
Christine looked up at the oriel window with a smile.
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"I wonder," she said, "if _possibly_ any of them can be the same ones,or if they are telling over the story that has been handed down fromtheir great-grandparents--the story of the little white boy that used tolie on the couch in the window?"
* * * * *
This is not a completed story, dear children, as you will have seen. Itis only the story of the beginning of a life, and of the beginning of awork, which in many and many a place, besides gloomy Draymoor, startedin the humblest and smallest way. If ever, or wherever any of you comeacross this endeavour to brighten and refine dull, ungraceful, andungracious homes, you will do your best to help it on, I feel sure, willyou not?
THE END