Our Den

by E. M. Waterworth

"I think it is our duty, John."

"Stuff and nonsense. How can it be our duty to turn our house into a bear-garden for the sake of a lot of young savages? Let them spend their holidays at school."

I was reading, as I generally was in those days, but the word "savages" made me look up. It was fun reading about such people, but I was not at all sure that I should care to see even one alive, and here was father talking about a lot of them.

Mother laughed merrily. Somehow, she generally did laugh when other people would have cried; and I know now that it was mother's merry laugh that made the sunshine of our home.

"Why, John, how can you make savages into bears? They would not even hug you if you looked as fierce as you do now."

Then glancing towards my little sofa, mother's face became sweetly grave as she added in a low voice, "Besides, dear, we should like people to be good to Edric if we were not here; and, after all, they may do him good. You know the London doctor said he would have more chance of getting strong if he had plenty of play with brothers and sisters, instead of always having a book in his hand."

The colour came to my face, and I turned hot and cold all over, while I listened for father's answer. It was about six months since they had taken me to London to see a famous physician, and I had never heard them mention what he had said about me. I was the only child, and, owing to a fall downstairs when I was quite a tiny trot, there was a slight curvature in my spine. I did not know what was the matter then, but I knew that I was not like other children.

I dreaded the noise which my few friends made in the room when they came to see me. I had lived in an iron frame for about two years; and when I was taken out of it, and was supposed to be allowed to walk a little, the desire to move had gone. My parents did not like to urge me, and so six months passed away and I was still carried from room to room, still lay reading most of the day, and was quietly content. It was only now and then that mother's anxious look at me told that she was not satisfied; father and I seemed to have made up our minds that I was to be an invalid for the rest of my life, so I listened anxiously for his answer to mother's remark about the doctor.

"Do you really think it would do the boy good to be tormented by a lot of rough, strong children? Then let them come, but keep them out of my sight. I hate noise almost as much as Edric does."

"I had settled all that, dear, before I ever spoke to you about it. There's the tower room—it is big and airy, and right at the top of the house—I thought they should have that for their playroom."