The Oriel Window

  CHAPTER III

  A STRANGE BIRTHDAY

  Late on the afternoon of that sad day the doctor, coming out of theoriel room, was met by little Christine. She had been watching for himon the stairs. It was his second visit since the morning, and his facewas very grave; but its expression altered at once when he caught sightof Chrissie. Though Stern by name, he was very far from stern by nature,and he was very fond of the Ross children, whom he had known nearly alltheir lives. Besides, it is a doctor's business to cheer up people asmuch as possible, and he was touched by poor Chrissie's white face.Never had the little girl spent such a miserable day, and thankfulthough she had been that her darling Ferdy's life had been spared, shewas beginning to doubt if after all he _was_ going to get better. Hermother had scarcely left him for an instant; she had been busy arrangingthe room for him, or rather she had been sitting beside him holding hishand while she gave directions to the servants.

  By the doctor's advice Ferdy's own little bed had been brought into theroom, and he himself moved on to it, lifted upon the mattress as he lay;and it had, of course, been necessary to carry out some of the otherfurniture and rearrange things a little. This would not disturb Ferdy,Mr. Stern said, but Ferdy's head was now aching from the cut on hisforehead, though it was not a very bad one, and he was tired and yetrestless, and could not bear his mother to move away.

  So there she sat, and Mr. Ross had gone off to Whittingham by a mid-daytrain, and no one had given much thought to poor Christine.

  "My dear child," said the doctor, "how ill you look! Have you beenwandering about by yourself all day?"

  "Yes," said Chrissie simply, her lip quivering as she spoke. "There wasnothing I could do to help, and they were all busy."

  "Where is Miss Lilly?" asked Mr. Stern.

  "She wasn't coming to-day. We were to have a holiday. It--it is Ferdy'sbirthday, you know, and we were going to be so happy. _Oh_," she cried,as if she could keep back the misery no longer, "to think it is Ferdy'sbirthday!" and she burst again into deep though not loud sobbing.

  Mr. Stern was very, very sorry for her.

  "Dear Chrissie," he said, "you must not make yourself ill. In a day ortwo you will be wanted very much indeed, and you must be ready for it.Your brother will want you nearly all day long."

  Chrissie's sobs stopped as if by magic, though they still caught herbreath a little, and her face grew all pink and rosy.

  "Will he, _will_ he?" she exclaimed. "Do you mean that he is reallygoing to get better? I thought--I thought--mamma kept shut up in theroom, and nobody would tell me--do you really think he is going to getbetter soon?"

  Mr. Stern took her hand and led her downstairs, and then into thelibrary. There was no one there, but he closed the door.

  "My dear child," he said, "I will tell you all I can," for he knew thatChristine was a sensible little girl, and he knew that anything wasbetter than to have her working herself up more and more with miserablefears. "I think Ferdy will be _better_ in a day or two, but we cannotsay anything yet about his getting _well_. Your father has gone toWhittingham to see one of the best doctors, and ask him to come downhere to-night or to-morrow to examine your brother, and after that weshall know more. But I am afraid it is very likely that he will have tostay in bed a long time, and if so, you know how much you can do to makethe days pass pleasantly for him."

  Chrissie's eyes sparkled through the tears still there. "I don't mindthat," she began. "Of course I know it will be very dull and tiresomefor him, but _nothing_ seems very bad compared with if he was goingto--" she stopped short, and again she grew very white. "Oh, you are_sure_ he isn't going to get worse?" she exclaimed. "I do get sofrightened every now and then when I think of how his face looked, andit was bleeding too."

  Mr. Stern patted her hand.

  "You have not seen him since this morning?" he said.

  Chrissie shook her head.

  "Not since papa carried him in," she replied.

  "Would you like to see him very much?"

  "Oh, _may_ I? I'll be very, very quiet and good. I'll bathe my eyes, sothat he won't find out I've been crying, and I'll only stay a minute."

  "Run upstairs then and make yourself look as much as usual as you can. Iwill go back for a moment and tell Mrs. Ross I have given you leave tocome in."

  Two minutes or so later Chrissie was tapping very softly at the door ofthe oriel room.

  "Come in," said Mr. Stern.

  He was not looking at all grave now, but very "smily" and cheerful,which Chrissie was glad of, as it reminded her that she herself must notcry or seem unhappy. But how strange it all was! She would scarcely haveknown the pretty little sitting-room: Ferdy's bed with a screen round itstanding out at one side of the curiously shaped window, her mother'swriting-table and other little things gone. Chrissie could not helpstaring round in surprise, and perhaps because she had a nervous dreadof looking at Ferdy.

  He saw her, however, at once.

  "Chrissie," said a weak, rather hoarse little voice, "Chrissie, comehere."

  Chrissie choked down the lump in her throat that was beginning to makeitself felt again.

  "Kiss me," he said when she was close beside him. He did not look sounlike himself now, though there was a bandage round his forehead and hewas very pale. "Kiss me," he said again, and as she stooped down to doso, without speaking, "Chrissie," he whispered, "I don't want mamma tohear--Chrissie, just to think it's my birthday and that it's all throughour great wish coming true. Oh, Chrissie!"

  The little girl felt, though she could not see him, that Mr. Stern waswatching her, so she made a great effort.

  "I know," she whispered back again, and even into her whisper shemanaged to put a cheerful sound. "I know, Ferdy darling. But you'regoing to get better. And you haven't any very bad pains, have you?"

  "Not very bad," he replied. "My head's sore, but I daresay it'll bebetter to-morrow. But that won't make it right, you see, Chrissie. It'sit being my birthday I mind."

  Christine did not know what to say. Her eyes were filling with tears,and she was afraid of Ferdy seeing them. She turned away a little, andas she did so her glance fell on the window, one side of which looked tothe west. She and Ferdy had often watched the sunset from there. It wastoo early yet for that, but signs of its coming near were beginning;already the lovely mingling of colours was gleaming faintly as if behinda gauzy curtain.

  "Ferdy," said Chrissie suddenly, "I think there's going to be abeautiful sunset, and you can see it lovelily the way you're lying.Aren't you awfully glad you're in here? It wouldn't be half so nice inyour own room for seeing out, would it?"

  "No, it wouldn't," said Ferdy, more brightly than he had yet spoken. "Ican't move my head, only the least bit, but I can see out. Yes,Chrissie, I can see the people on the road--I mean I could if thecurtain was a little more pulled back."

  "Of course you could," said Mr. Stern, coming forward. "But you mustwait till to-morrow to try how much you can see."

  "Shall I have to stay in bed all to-morrow?" said Ferdy.

  "We must hear what the big doctor says," Mr. Stern replied, for he hadalready told Ferdy that another surgeon was coming to see him, so thatthe sudden sight of a stranger should not startle the little fellow."Now, Chrissie, my dear, I think you must say good-night; you shall seemuch more of Ferdy to-morrow, I hope."

  They kissed each other again, and Chrissie whispered, "Don't mind aboutits being your birthday, darling. Think how much worse you might havebeen hurt."

  "I know. I _might_ have been killed," said Ferdy in a very solemn tone.

  "And do watch the sunset. I think it's going to be extra pretty,"Chrissie went on cheerfully. "If you _have_ to stay in bed, Ferdy, itwill be nice to have this lovely window."

  And Ferdy's face grew decidedly brighter.

  "Good little woman," said the doctor in a low voice as she passed him,and by the way mamma kissed her Chrissie knew that she too was pleasedwith her.

  So the little sister was not altogether miserable a
s she fell asleepthat night, and she was so tired out that she slept soundly--moreheavily indeed than usual. She did not hear the sound of wheels drivingup to the house soon after she had gone to bed, and this was a goodthing, for she would have guessed they were those of the carriagebringing her father and the doctor he had gone to fetch, from thestation, and her anxiety would very likely have sent away hersleepiness.

  Nor did she hear the carriage drive away again an hour or two later. Bythat time she was very deeply engaged, for she was having a curious andvery interesting dream. She had forgotten it when she woke in themorning, but it came back to her memory afterwards, as you will hear.

  Ferdy did not much like the strange doctor, though he meant to be verykind, no doubt. He spoke to him too much as if he were a baby, and theboy was beginning at last to feel less restless and more comfortablysleepy when this new visitor came. And then the library lamp was broughtup, and it blinked into his eyes, and he hated being turned round andhaving his backbone poked at, as he told Chrissie, though he couldn'texactly say that it hurt him. And, worst of all, when he asked if hemight get up "to-morrow" the strange doctor "put him off" in what Ferdythought a silly sort of way. He would much rather have been told rightout, "No, certainly not to-morrow," and then he could have begunsettling up things in his mind and planning what he would do, asChrissie and he always did if they knew a day in bed was before them;for they had never been very ill--never ill enough to make no plans andfeel as if they cared for nothing in bed or out of it.

  No, Ferdy was quite sure he liked Mr. Stern much better than Dr. Bigge,for, curiously enough, that was the great doctor's name, though byrights, as he was a very clever surgeon and not a physician, I supposehe should not be called "doctor" at all.

  When at last he had gone, Mr. Stern came back for a moment to tellFerdy's mother and Flowers how it would be best to settle him for thenight. They put the pillows in rather a funny way, he thought, butstill he was pretty comfortable, and he began to feel a little sleepyagain; and just as he was going to ask his mother what they were doingwith the sofa, everything went out of his head, and he was off into thepeaceful country of sleep, where his troubles were all forgotten, hushedinto quiet by the soft waving wings of the white angel, whose presenceis never so welcome as to the weary and suffering.

  When he woke next there was a faint light in the room. For a moment ortwo he thought that it was the daylight beginning to come, and he lookedtowards where the window was in his own little room; but even the tinymotion of his head on the pillow sent a sort of ache through him, andthat made him remember.

  No, he was not in his own room, and the glimmer was not that of thedawn. It was from a shaded night-light in one corner, and as his eyesgrew used to it he saw that there was some one lying on the sofa--someone with bright brown hair, bright even in the faint light, and dressedin a pale pink dressing-gown. It was mamma. Poor mamma, howuncomfortable for her not to be properly in bed! Why was she lyingthere? He hoped she was asleep, and yet--he almost hoped she wasn't, orat least that she would awake just for a minute, for he was thirsty andhot, and the fidgety feeling that he _couldn't_ keep still was beginningagain. He did not know that he sighed or made any sound, but he musthave done so, for in another moment the pink dressing-gown started upfrom the sofa, and then mamma's pretty face, her blue eyes still lookingrather "dusty," as the children called it, with sleep, was anxiouslybending over him.

  "WHAT IS IT, DEAR? DID YOU CALL ME?"]

  "What is it, dear? Did you call me?"

  "No, mamma. But why aren't you in bed, and why is there a light in theroom? Aren't you going to bed?"

  "Yes, in an hour or two Flowers will come and take my place. You see wethought you might be thirsty in the night, and the doctor said youmustn't move."

  "I _am_ thirsty," said Ferdy. "I'd like a drink of water."

  "Better than lemonade? There is some nice fresh lemonade here."

  Ferdy's eyes brightened.

  "Oh, I _would_ like that best, but I didn't know there was any."

  Mamma poured some out into such a funny cup--it had a pipe, so Ferdycalled it, at one side. He didn't need to sit up, or even to lift hishead, to drink quite comfortably.

  "And I think," Mrs. Ross went on, "I think I will give you anotherspoonful of the medicine. It is not disagreeable to take, and it willhelp you to go to sleep again."

  Yes, it did; very, very soon he was asleep again. This time he dreamtsomething, though when he awoke he could not clearly remember what. Heonly knew that it was something about birds. He lay with his eyes shutthinking about it for a few minutes, till a sound close to him made himopen them and look round. It was morning, quite morning and daylight,and from the window came the gentle twittering of some swallows, who hadevidently taken up their summer quarters in some corner hard by.

  "That must have been what made me dream about birds," said Ferdy tohimself, though he spoke aloud without knowing it. "I must have heardthem in my sleep."

  "You have had a nice sleep," said a voice from the other side of hisbed, and, looking towards her, Ferdy saw Flowers, already dressed andwith a pleasant smile on her face. "Are you feeling better, MasterFerdy, dear?"

  The little boy waited a moment or two before he replied.

  "My head isn't so sore, and I'm not so tired, but I don't think I wantto get up even if I might. I want Chrissie to come and sit beside me.What o'clock is it, Flowers?"

  "Just six o'clock, sir. You will have to wait a little before MissChristine can come. I daresay she's tired, poor dear, and she may sleeplate this morning; perhaps you will be able to sleep a little moreyourself, Master Ferdy. Would you like a drink of milk?"

  "Yes," said Ferdy, "I would like some milk, but I can't go to sleepagain; I've too much on my mind," with a deep sigh.

  He spoke in such an "old-fashioned" way that, sorry as the maid was forhim, she could scarcely help smiling a little. She gave him the milkand lifted him very, very gently a little farther on to the pillows.

  "Does it hurt you, Master Ferdy?" she asked anxiously.

  "N--no, I don't think so," he replied; "but I feel all queer. I believeall my bones have got put wrong, and p'r'aps they'll never grow rightagain."

  "Never's a long word, my dear," said Flowers cheerfully. The truth wasshe scarcely knew what to say, and she was glad to turn away and busyherself with some little tidying up at the other side of the room.

  Ferdy lay still, almost forgetting he was not alone in the room, forFlowers was very quiet. His eyes strayed to the window, where anotherlovely sunshiny morning was gilding again the world of trees, and grass,and blossom with renewed beauty. It was all so very like yesterdaymorning, all "except me," thought Ferdy, so terribly like his birthdaymorning, when he had been so happy, oh! so happy, that it had beendifficult to believe in unhappiness anywhere. And yet even then he hadthought of unhappiness. It was queer that he had. What had put it intohis head? He remembered it all--wondering how very poor, or very old, orvery suffering people, cripples, for instance, could be happy. And yethe had seen some that really seemed so.

  "Cripples"--that word had never come into his mind in the same waybefore. He had never thought what it really meant. Supposing _he_ wereto be a cripple? Was it for fear of that that the doctor would not lethim get up? Ferdy moved his legs about a very little; they did not hurthim, only they felt weak and heavy, and he had a kind of shrinking fromthe idea of standing, or even of sitting up in bed.

  Was that how cripples felt? He wished somebody would tell him, but itwas no use asking Flowers--most likely she did not know. And he didn'tthink he would like to ask his mother; she looked so pale and tired, andit might make her cry if he spoke about being a cripple. He thought hemight ask Chrissie, perhaps. She was only a little girl, but she wasvery sensible, and he could speak to her without being so afraid ofmaking her cry as if it was mamma--or rather, if she did cry, hewouldn't mind quite so much.

  He wished Chrissie would come. Only six o'clock Flowers had said, not sovery long ago. It
couldn't be more than half-past six yet. What a pityit was that people, boys and girls any way, can't get up like the birds,just when it gets nice and light! What a chatter and twitter those birdsoutside were making--he had never noticed them so much before. But then,to be sure, he had never slept in the oriel room before. He wondered ifthey were the same swallows that were there last year, and every year.

  "If they are," thought Ferdy, "I should think they must have got to knowus. I wish they could talk to us and tell us stories of all the placesthey see when they are travelling. What fun it would be! I'll askChrissie if she's ever thought about it. I wonder if we couldn't everget to--under--stand--"

  But here the thread of his wonderings was suddenly snapped. Ferdy hadfallen asleep again.

  A minute or two after, Flowers stepped softly across the room and stoodbeside the bed looking down at him.

  "Poor dear," she said to herself, "he does look sweet lying thereasleep. And to see him as he is now, no one would think there wasanything the matter with him. Oh dear, I do hope it won't turn out sobad as the doctors fear."