The Oriel Window Part 5

"In a few days perhaps he may," said Mrs. Ross. "He will seem better in a few days, for he has had a great shock besides the hurt to his back, and he must have time to get over it; but I think you had better do _some_ lessons, Chrissie--those that you have separately from Ferdy.

Flowers or I will sit beside him a good part of the day, and I hope he will sleep a good deal. If he does not seem much better in a day or two we shall have to get a nurse."

"Oh, I hope not," said Chrissie. "Ferdy wouldn't like a stranger."

"Well, we shall see," said Mrs. Ross. "Now you may go to Ferdy, dear."

And Chrissie ran off. She was startled, but still not _very_ sad. She was so delighted to be with her brother again after a whole day's separation, and proud too of being trusted to take care of him. But it was going to be more difficult for her than she knew, for, as you will remember, Ferdy had made up his mind to ask Christine if she could tell him what the doctors really thought of him.

He looked so much better than the day before that she could scarcely believe there was much the matter, and he looked still better when he caught sight of her--his whole face lighted up with smiles.

"Oh, Chrissie," he called out, "how glad I am you've come! It seems such a long time since I saw you. You do look so nice this morning."

So she did--she was a very pretty little girl, especially when her cheeks were rosy and her eyes bright, as they were just now.

"_You_ look much better too, Ferdy," she said, "quite different from yesterday. Have you had a good night?"

"_Pretty_ good," said Ferdy in rather a melancholy tone. "I am getting tired of staying in bed."

Chrissie's heart sank--"tired of staying in bed," and this scarcely the second day of it! What would he do if it went on for weeks--perhaps months? She felt glad, however, that she knew the truth; it would make her be very careful in what she said.

"I wouldn't mind so much," he went on, "if I knew how long it'd be. And I don't like to ask mamma for fear of making her sad, _in case_ it was to be for a long while. Chrissie," and here he fixed his blue eyes--so like his mother's--on his sister's face, "_do_ you think it'll be a very long while? Do you think," and his voice grew still more solemn, "that p'r'aps I'll never be able to stand or walk again?"

Chrissie's heart was beating fast. She was so glad to be able with truth to answer cheerfully.

"Oh no, Ferdy dear. I really do think you'll be able to get up and be dressed before very long. But I should think the quieter you keep just now the quicker you'll get better. And it's so nice in this room, and you can see so nicely out of the window. You don't want to get up just yet, do you--not till you feel stronger? Mamma says you'll feel much stronger in a few days."

"Does she?" said Ferdy, brightening; "then the doctors must have told her. I'm so glad. No, I don't really want to get up--at least I don't feel as if I _could_--that's what bothers me. I am not sorry in my body to stay in bed, but in my mind I'm all in a fidget. I keep fancying things," and he hesitated.

"What sort of things?" asked Chrissie. She had a feeling that it was better for him to tell her all that was on his mind.

He tried to do so. He told her how the day before, when he was quite well and so very happy, his thoughts had somehow wandered to people whose lives were very different from his, and how this morning these thoughts had come back again, the same yet different.

"Chrissie," he said, "I don't think I could bear it if I was never to get well again."

It was very hard for the little sister to keep her self-control. If Mrs.

Ross had known how Ferdy was going to talk to Chrissie, very probably she would not have told her all she had done. But Chrissie seemed to have grown years older in a few hours.

"And yet there must be lots of people who do bear it--just what you were saying yourself," said Chrissie thoughtfully. "I suppose they get accustomed to it."

"I think it must be more than getting accustomed to make them really seem happy," said Ferdy. "P'r'aps it's something to do with not being selfish."

"Yes," said Chrissie, "I'm sure it has. You see they'd know that if they always seemed unhappy it would make their friends unhappy too. And then--"

"What?" said Ferdy.

"I was only thinking that mamma says people can always do _something_ for other people. And that makes you happier yourself than anything, you know, Ferdy."

Ferdy lay still, thinking.

"That was partly what was in my mind," he said at last. "Such lots of thinkings have come since yesterday, Chrissie--you'd hardly believe. I was thinking that _supposing_ I could never run about, or do things like other boys, what a trouble I'd be to everybody, and no good."

"I don't think you need think of things that way," said his sister.

"Papa and mamma love you too much ever to think you a trouble, and I'm sure you _could_ be of good somehow. But I don't think you should begin puzzling about things when you're really not better yet; you'll make your head ache, and then they might think it was my fault. Oh, Ferdy,"

suddenly, "I had such a funny dream last night."

"I dreamt something too," said Ferdy, "but I couldn't remember what it was. It was something about--"

"Mine was about birds," interrupted Christine, "about the swallows who have a nest just over the oriel window. I thought--"

"How _very_ funny!" exclaimed Ferdy, interrupting in his turn, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "I do believe mine was too. I knew it was about birds, but I couldn't get hold of the rest of it. And now I seem to remember more, and I know I was thinking about those swallows when I fell asleep. I was wis.h.i.+ng I could understand what they mean when they twitter and chirp. Tell me your dream, Chris; perhaps it'll make me remember mine."

Christine was delighted to see that Ferdy's thoughts were turned from melancholy things--only--there was something about him in her dream. She hoped it wouldn't make him sad again.

"I dreamt I was walking in the garden," she said, "down there on the path just below this window. I was alone, and somehow even in my dream I knew there was something the matter. It seemed to be either late in the evening or very early in the morning, I'm not sure which, but it wasn't quite light, and there was a funny, dreamy sort of look in the sky--"

"What colour?" asked Ferdy.

"All shaded," said Chrissie, "something like mother-of-pearl. I've seen it in a picture, but never _quite_ like that in the real sky, though the real sky is so very beautiful."

"That's just because it was a dream," said Ferdy sagely. "You never see things _really_ the same as you do in dreams. That's what makes dreams so nice, I suppose,--nice dreams I mean,--but I've sometimes felt more unhappy in dreams than ever I did awake."

"So have I," said Chrissie.

"Well, go on," said Ferdy, "it sounds rather nice. You were walking along and the sky was so wonderful?"

"Yes," continued Chrissie, "I was looking up at it, and not thinking a bit about you being ill, and then all of a sudden I heard something rustling up over my head, and then a twittering and chirping, and I knew it was the swallows come back, and then I got the feeling still more that there was something the matter, and I began wondering if the swallows knew and were talking about it--their chirping got to sound so like talking. And at last, standing quite still and almost holding my breath to listen, I began to make out what they were saying. The first thing I heard was, 'It's rather sad to have come back to this,' and then another voice said, 'I don't like peac.o.c.ks; vain, silly birds; they have no hearts; not like us; everybody knows how much we mind what happens to our friends.' And when I heard that, Ferdy, it made me think of the poetry we were learning last week, about the swallows coming back, you know, and the changes they found."

"I daresay it was that made you dream it," said Ferdy.

Christine looked rather disappointed.

"No, we won't think that, then," said he, correcting himself as he noticed his sister's face, "it's really very interesting--'specially as I know I dreamt something like it that I've forgotten. What more did the swallows say?"

"The other voice said something I couldn't hear. It sounded as if one was inside the nest, and the other outside. And then the first one said, 'Well, we'll do our best to cheer him up. He needn't be dull if he uses his eyes; it's a cheerful corner.' And by this time, Ferdy, I had remembered all about you being hurt, and it came into my mind how nice it would be if the swallows would tell us stories of all the things they see at the other side of the world when they go away for the winter."

"I don't think it's quite the other side of the world," said Ferdy doubtfully, "not as far as that."

"Well, never mind," said Chrissie, with a little impatience, "you know what I mean. If you keep interrupting me so, I can't tell it rightly."

"I won't, then," said Ferdy.

"There isn't much more to tell," continued Chrissie. "I looked up, thinking I might see the swallows or martins, whichever they are, and I called out, 'Oh, won't you come down and speak to me? It would be so nice for you to tell Ferdy stories about your adventures, now that I can understand what you say.' And I felt _so_ pleased. But I couldn't see them, and all I heard was twittering again,--twittering and chirping,--and then somehow I awoke, and there really _was_ twittering and chirping to be heard, for my window was a little open. It was a funny dream, Ferdy, wasn't it?"

"Yes, very," said Ferdy. "I wish you'd go on with it to-night and make them tell you stories."

Chrissie shook her head.

"I don't think any one could dream regular stories like that," she said.