That pleased the old man; and all that day the roses filled his room with their sweet breath, mutely talking to him of a happy time when his little daughter used to put nosegays on his table, and dance about him like a blooming rose escaped from its stem. For years no one had thought to scatter flowers among the wise books out of which the poor man tried to gather forgetfulness, if not happiness. No one guessed that he had a lonely heart as well as a learned head, and no childish hand had clung to his till the blue mitten rested there, unconsciously leading him from his sad solitude to the sweet society of a little neighbor.
Bertie soon called again, and this time Mr. P. heard, saw, and welcomed him at once. A cushion lay on the fat dictionary, the bird-book was all ready, the eyes behind the big spectacles beamed with satisfaction as the boy climbed on his knee, and the inky hands held the chubby guest more eagerly and carefully than the most precious old book ever printed.
After that second call the new friendship flourished wonderfully, and the boy became to the Professor what Cocky was to Bertie, a merry, innocent visitor, whose pretty plays and pranks cheered the dull days, whose love and confidence warmed his heart, whose presence grew more and more precious since its unconscious power made sunshine for the lonely man.
Such good times as they had! Such nice chats and stories, such laughs at very small jokes, such plans for summer, such fun feeding the sparrows, who soon learned to come to both windows fearlessly, and such splendid chapters as were added to "C. Twitter's Life and Adventures," with designs that half killed mamma with laughing.
The people in the house were much amused with the change in the Professor, and for a time could not understand what was going on up in that once quiet room. For the sound of little feet trotting about was heard, also a cheery child's voice, and now and then a loud bang as if a pile of books had tumbled down, followed by shouts of merriment, for Mr. P. could laugh capitally, after a little practice.
Stout Mrs. Bouncer, the landlady, went up one day to see what was going on, and was so surprised at the spectacle that met her eyes she could hardly believe her senses.
In the middle of the room was a house built of the precious books which the maid had been forbidden to touch, and in the middle of this barricade sat Bertie, reading "Æsop's Fables" aloud. The table which used to be filled with Greek and Hebrew volumes, learned treatises, and intricate problems was now bestrewn with gay pictures, and Mr. P., with his spectacles pushed back, his cuffs turned up, and a towel tied round him, was busily pasting these brilliant designs into a scrap-book bound in parchment and ornamented with brass clasps.
The Professor evidently had made up his mind that the faded pages were much improved by the gay pictures, and sat smiling over his work as he saw a dead language blossom into flowers, and heard it sing from the throats of golden orioles and soaring larks.
"Well, I never!" said Mrs. Bouncer to herself, and then added aloud, after a long stare, "Do you want any thing, sir?"
"Nothing, thank you, ma'am, unless you happen to have a couple of apples in the house. Good, big, red ones, if you please," answered Mr. P., so briskly that she couldn't help laughing, as she said,—