CHAPTER VII.
LEFT ALONE.
RTHUR had been very tired the night before; so that the spring sun was shining quite brightly, when he found himself lying awake in his new room. Indeed, he did not know whether he would have awaked even then, if he had not heard a knocking at his door, and then a voice saying—
“If you please shall I light your fire?”
“No, thank you,” said Arthur; and then to himself he added, “I’m not quite such a muff as that!” Then he began to examine his room. “I wonder is this going to be my room always!” thought Arthur. “’Tis much nicer than my room at home, only I don’t like it half so well; indeed, I don’t.”
It was a very pretty room certainly. The paper on the wall was bright and soft-looking, with a pattern of bunches of spring flowers, tied with silver ribbon. The carpet was something of the same sort, and it reminded him of primroses hidden in the grass. The window-curtains were spotlessly white, with green cords, and the chair-coverings were a soft green.
“Yes; it certainly is a very nice room,” said Arthur to himself, after looking round and examining everything; “but I think it is a great deal more like a girl’s room than a boy’s. What can she think I want with such a lot of looking-glasses? And I suppose she thinks I like reading and writing very much;” for he saw that the book-shelves were well filled, and that in the corner of the room there was a small table, where a writing-case and inkstand stood. “Well, she may think so. I expect she will soon find out her mistake.”
Arthur was more cheerful this morning, than he had been the evening before. It was natural to him to feel hopeful in the morning. He liked the feeling of awaking in a strange place. At least he had always liked it hitherto; though with the pleasant feeling of excitement and interest it brought, there came a dreamy heart-sinking too; for he could not forget, that this was to be no visit, but that he was to live on here for years and years without his mother.