Our Den

by E. M. Waterworth

CHAPTER II.
They Arrive—Unexpectedly.

There was a joyous ring in my dear mother's voice as she called out of the window for father to carry me upstairs; and I noticed that they both looked at each other with a satisfied nod as I was deposited on a long Rattan chair, which, with the exception of a great oak chest, was the only piece of furniture in the den.

It was a glorious day in July. The tower room was almost walled with glass on three sides, and looking out I saw such a view as I had never imagined could be seen from our own house. In front of me I could gaze across the field to the back-water of the river which made our farm into an island at high tide; beyond that, again, lay a narrow neck of land, then the main stream, which, running to the left, widened and widened till it entered into the sea. Across the river were some few houses of a small seaside town, and beyond those houses I knew was the sea; the open sea on which I had never been but once. I knew that summer after summer yachts sailed from the pier at Craigstown round the Eagle Point, and up the river to the old watermill, or from the mill to the pier. Sometimes I would watch the tops of the sails from my bedroom window; but I could see little more, and never wished to be in the vessels. Here in the tower room I could see the whole course of the river when mother dragged my chair to the different windows, and I exclaimed, "Oh! I am glad I came, mother: doesn't the water look lovely?"

"Yes, darling, it is a very high tide to-day. If you look down there to the right of that large tree you will see that our road to Craigstown is quite covered up. They may well call this Island Farm; you would have to swim across the little stream whichever way you wanted to go now. Now, Edric, you can help me; tell me what I shall put in this room to make it nice for your cousins. Remember, their parents are thousands of miles away, and we must try to make them happy. Fancy how you would feel if you were in Australia without me."

I didn't fancy it at all; but I know what mother meant, and suggested that first one thing and then another should be brought upstairs. There was my tool chest—of course I should never use it; it was such a funny thing for father to give me. I did not realize that he had bought it hoping to rouse me to try to use some of the tools. There was a box of lovely stone bricks. I could play with them, and used to enjoy making designs out of my own head, which pleased my parents and made them prophesy that I should be an architect some day. There were paint boxes and puzzles. There was even a fishing rod and a landing net; I almost laughed when mother brought them up from a cupboard in my room.

"It seems a pity that father should buy me such things, doesn't it, mother?" I said, and then I felt sorry. Mother came across the room to me, and said softly, "You see, dear, the London doctor said he quite hoped that you would be able to get about like other children some day, though you would always have a little twist in your back, which would prevent you being as straight and strong as they are. Your father loves you so, that he cannot bear to think you ore different from others; and so he keeps giving you things just as if you were well and strong, hoping that some day you will be able to use them. Now where shall I put this flag?"

You would not believe what a change mother made in the room. By dinner time it looked quite pretty; and I was actually so hungry that I was glad when the dinner bell sounded, and father came up the creaky stairs two at a time to carry me down.

"I think the change of rooms has done you good, laddie," he said, as he took me in his arms. "You had better have that Rattan chair moved, Mary," he added to my mother; "there won't be much of it left by September if you don't."