Part 13 (1/2)

Again Jesse's brown face lighted up, and Ferdy listened eagerly.

”Oh lor, yes, sir, all manner of nonsense--whistles, sir, though there's some sense in whistles, to be sure,” with a twinkle of fun.

”Then bring me a pocketful of nonsense this evening--no, to-morrow evening will be better--to my house at Bollins. You know it, of course?

And we'll have a look over them together. Perhaps I may have a friend with me, who knows more about carving than I do.”

”And after Dr. Lilly has seen them, please bring some of them for me to see too, Jesse,” said Ferdy. ”When can he come again, do you think, Miss Lilly?”

Miss Lilly considered.

”On Friday afternoon. Can you get off for half an hour on Friday about this time, Jesse?”

”Oh yes, miss, no fear but I can,” the boy replied.

”And thank you ever so many times--a great, great many times, for old Jerry,” said Ferdy as he stretched out his little hand in farewell.

Jesse beamed with pleasure.

”I'll see if I can't do something better for you, Master Ferdy,” he said.

And to himself he added, ”It's a deal sensibler, after all, than knocking up after mischief all the evening--a-shamming to smoke and a-settin' trees on fire.” For this had been one of his worst misdeeds in the village not many months before, when he and some other boys had hidden their so-called ”cigars” of rolled-up leaves, still smouldering, in the hollow of an old oak, and frightened everybody out of their wits in the night by the conflagration which ended the days of the poor tree and threatened to spread farther.

Still more pleased would he have been could he have overheard Ferdy's words after he had gone.

”Isn't it really capital, Dr. Lilly? I don't believe I could _ever_ do anything so like _real_ as this old Jerry.”

CHAPTER IX

”MY PUPILS”

That summer was a very, very lovely one. It scarcely rained, and when it did, it was generally in the night. If it is ”an ill wind that brings n.o.body any good,” on the other hand I suppose that few winds are so good that they bring n.o.body any harm, so possibly in some parts of the country people _may_ have suffered that year for want of water; but this was not the case at Evercombe, where there were plenty of most well-behaved springs, which--or some of which at least--had never been known to run dry.

So the little brooks danced along their way as happily as ever, enjoying the suns.h.i.+ne, and with no murmurs from the little fishes to sadden their pretty songs, no fears for themselves of their full bright life running short. Every living thing seemed bubbling over with content; the flowers and blossoms were as fresh in July as in May; never had the birds been quite so busy and merry; and as for the b.u.t.terflies, there was no counting their number or variety. Some new kinds _must_ have come this year from b.u.t.terflyland, Ferdy said to Christine one afternoon when he was lying out on his new couch on the lawn. Christine laughed, and so did Miss Lilly, and asked him to tell them where that country was, and Ferdy looked very wise and said it lay on the edge of fairyland, the fairies looked after it, that much he _did_ know, and some day perhaps he would find out more.

And then he went on to tell them, in his half-joking, half-serious way, that he really thought the swallows were considering whether it was worth while to go away over the sea again next autumn. He had heard them having _such_ a talk early that morning, and as far as he could make out, that was what they were saying.

”The spring came so early this year, and the summer looks as if it were going to last for always,” he said. ”I don't wonder at the swallows. Do you, Miss Lilly?”

Eva smiled, but shook her head.

”It is very nice of them to be considering about it,” she replied, ”for, no doubt, they will be sorry to leave you and the oriel window, Ferdy--sorrier than ever before.” For she understood the little boy so well, that she knew it did him no harm to join him in his harmless fancies sometimes. ”But they are wiser than we are in certain ways. They can feel the first faint whiff of Jack Frost's breath long before we have begun to think of cold at all.”

”Like the Fairy Fine-Ear,” said Ferdy, ”who could hear the gra.s.s growing. I always like to think of that--there's something so--so _neat_ about it.”

”What a funny word to use about a fairy thing,” said Christine, laughing. ”Ah, well, any way we needn't think about Jack Frost or cold or winter just yet, and a day like this makes one feel, as Ferdy says, as if the summer must last for always.”

It had been a great, an unspeakable comfort to the family at the Watch House, all thinking so constantly about their dear little man, to have this lovely weather for him. It had made it possible for him to enjoy much that would otherwise have been out of the question--above all, the being several hours of the day out of doors.

The big doctor had come again, not long after the day I told you of--the day of Miss Lilly's grandfather's visit, and of the presentation of the ”old Jerry stick,” as it came to be called. And he gave leave at last for Ferdy to be carried out of doors and to spend some hours on the lawn, provided they waited till a special kind of couch, or ”garden-bed”