“Have you anything you would like to do, dear, until dinner-time?”
“No, I don’t think so, aunt.”
“What do you generally do at home when you are not walking?”
“I don’t know, really aunt,” Arthur answered. “I suppose I do lessons.”
“Oh, but I don’t want you to begin lessons just yet. Well, then, what do you do when it is neither lessons nor walking?”
“Sometimes I go for messages, and sometimes I make things with my tools.”
“Make things! How do you mean, dear?”
“Oh, I make boats and things! and I used to make wedges for a window in mamma’s room that rattled with the wind. Have you any windows that don’t shut quite tightly, aunt?” asked Arthur. “I could make you some by and by, if you have.”
Mrs. Estcourt smiled; but she was not able to remember any window that needed Arthur’s arrangements. So he was left to himself and the rain again; for the drops were falling thickly against the window now. At first he employed himself in tracing their course down the glass, but very soon he was tired of that, and presently Mrs. Estcourt heard a heavy sigh.
“That was a very deep sigh,” she said cheerily. “What did it mean?”