I was awestruck, and whispered, "Never. Is that it?"
He nodded, and we went on again till the steps of our house came in view. By this time I was quiet and wondering, and hoping I should be allowed to see inside the handkerchief, and look at this wonderful, mysterious creation.
Inside our hall was an old oaken bench, and there Mr. Dodgson sat down; I in front of him, in my favourite attitude, with my long, skinny arms clasped behind my back. I dare not speak as the knots were very, very slowly untied, and—oh! only a tiny, withered, half-dead, little daisy appeared to my astonished view! "Where is the beautiful 'Bella something?'" I cried, with a half-sob rising in my throat; I was so bitterly disappointed.
"This is the 'Bella perennis,' child. See how beautifully and carefully it is made: one of God's fairest small field-flowers."
I took it in my hand, and, giving Mr. Dodgson a big hug, I passed through the baize door, leaving my dear, kind friend with father.
I never forgot that walk! It made a very deep impression on my childish mind, not easily effaced in the long after-years. If people only knew what the sympathy of a "real, grown-up friend" is to a shy child, what courage it gives to the trembling little heart! How few children would be set down as shy and stupid, and be thoroughly misunderstood (as some are now), if only there were more like Mr. Dodgson, who, though one of the cleverest of men, could yet stoop to win the love and confidence and enter into the joys and sorrows of his numerous child friends!
Perhaps I have wearied many who may read this, and it is time I should close these past chapters of my "childish memories," shut up the book, and lay down the pen; but it has been an inexpressible pleasure to recall, as far as I can, all Mr. Dodgson's kindness to me and father. Alas! alas! that life should change—on and on—all the dear, old, familiar places and faces disappear. "Old Tom" still chimes his daily hours; but the dear footsteps will never more be heard turning in at the door of the old staircase leading to his rooms in Christ Church College. Those cheerful rooms, where so many delightful hours were spent, will know him no more. All is gone now: only the memory, and the deep respect and love his child friends bore him, remain.
Father died on August 27th, 1897, and Mr. Dodgson on January 14th, 1898; and we, who are left behind, can only hope we may meet them once more in the realms that never change.
Edith Alice Maitland.