Chapter Seven.
“Captain Enticknapp.”
It was the end of March before Sophia Jane was allowed to go down-stairs. She had been ill six long weeks, and even now she was very far from strong, and walked in a tottering manner like a little old lady. Susan, much excited and pleased, hovered round her, anxious to be useful and add to her comfort. She led her carefully to the large arm-chair which she had dragged near the window, put a cushion at her back and a footstool under her feet, and brought her a cup of beef-tea. Sophia Jane looked out of the window and clapped her hands with pleasure.
“How beautiful it is!” she exclaimed.
For the sun was shining very brightly, and all the crocuses in Aunt Hannah’s garden were in bloom—smart little soldiers in their trim uniforms of purple, gold, and white, standing in rows amongst their bristling green spears. There were tiny green leaves on all the gooseberry bushes, the sky was blue, and it all looked like a fresh new world to her after she had been shut up so long in one room.
“I may go out of doors to-morrow, mayn’t I?” she asked eagerly as Aunt Hannah came into the room. But Aunt shook her head.
“You must be patient, my dear,” she said. “The sun is hot, but the wind is in the east, and it is not really warm yet. The doctor says we must be careful not to risk a chill. Susan must think of something to amuse you in-doors.”
“I know something she would like,” said Susan. She nodded her head towards the portrait over the mantelpiece, and the gentleman in the pig-tail seemed to answer her glance with his kind blue eyes.