‘I must think it over,’ said Mr. Alphabet; ‘and now I think as I’ve stayed so long, I’ll take the liberty of inviting myself to stay till your uncle returns. I should very much like to see this Wonderful Garden. And perhaps you’ll permit me to smoke an after-dinner pipe there?’
The afternoon passed delightfully. Mr. Alphabet was one of those people with whom you feel comfortable from the first. He understood what you said, which is one of the two feet on which comfortable companionship stands; and he said nothing that you could not understand if you really used your brains, and that is the other foot. He told them the names of many flowers which had been strangers to them, and he talked of magic—Indian magic and Chinese magic, the magic of Egypt and of Ceylon, of Australia and of Mexico; and they listened and longed for more, and got more to listen to. When, after tea, the Uncle returned, and having warmly greeted Mr. Alphabet took him away to his study, the children agreed that their new friend was the ‘right sort,’ and that they hoped they would see him again often.
‘Once a week, at least,’ said Caroline.
‘Once a day,’ said Charles.
They saw him once again, and once only.
And that was when, he and the Uncle having come out of the study together, the Uncle went to see William about putting the horse in to drive Mr. Alphabet to the station, and Mr. Alphabet came into the dining-room to say good-bye to the children.
‘I’ve been thinking over what you said about Dame Eleanour,’ he said to Charlotte, ‘and I’ll tell you what. You ask your uncle to allow you to hang a green curtain over her, frame and all, and then make garlands of suitable flowers. Then hang the garlands across the picture and wait. You must never lift the curtain, of course, and the curtain must be green. And you must wish very much to see her move and to hear her speak. And I shall be very much surprised if you don’t in—let me see—in about three weeks. The curtain must be green, mind. Nothing else will do. Don’t let your housekeeper fob you off with a red moreen or an old blue damask. Green’s the colour.’
‘And do you really think?’ asked Charlotte with gleaming eyes.
‘Well, with any one else I shouldn’t dare to think anything. But you’ve been so exceptionally fortunate hitherto, haven’t you? With you I should think there could be no doubt of success. I don’t say you’ll see her here, mind you. I don’t say how or when you will see her. These things are among the great mysteries. Perhaps one day when you’re at breakfast, you’ll see the curtain move slightly, and at first you’ll think it is the air from the open window, and then you’ll see a bulge in the green curtain—don’t forget it’s to be green—and then a white hand will draw it back, and she will come stepping down out of her frame on to the nearest chair, with her rustling silk petticoat and her scarlet high-heeled shoes. Perhaps that’s how she’ll come. I only say “perhaps,” mind. Because, of course, you might meet her in the wood, or in some scene of gay revelry, or in the Wonderful Garden itself—her garden, which is kept just as she planted it. There’s an old document your uncle’s been showing me—she leaves her blessing to the family so long as the garden’s kept as it was in her time—with a long list of the flowers and a plan of the garden with the proper places for the flowers all marked. Did you know that? No? I must get your uncle to show you. I should think she would be very likely to appear in the garden.’
‘You’re not kidding us?’ Charles asked suddenly.