Part 10 (2/2)
His views of the angel's actual attributes would much have astonished his mother's friend had he expressed them. But Ger said nothing, and quietly constructed an angel after his own heart, who was in point of fact an angelic sort of soldier servant, never in the way, but always there and helpful if wanted.
He could not conceive of any servant who was not also a friend, and having received much kindness from soldiers in the ranks he fixed upon that type as the most agreeable for a guardian angel. And although he greatly admired the two framed pictures of angels the lady had given them to hang in the nursery--Guercino's Angel and Carpaccio's ”Tobias and the angels”--his own particular angel was quite differently clad, and was called ”Spinks” after a horse gunner he had dearly loved, who was now in India.
The Kitten, far less impressionable, and extremely cautious, was pleased with the idea when it was first mooted, and discussed the question exhaustively with Ger, deciding that her angel had large wings like the one with the child in the picture.
”Does it stay with me in the night-nursery all night?” she enquired.
”'He,' not 'it,'” Ger corrected; ”but perhaps yours is a 'she.'”
”I won't have a she,” the Kitten said decidedly, for even at four years old she had already learnt that her own s.e.x had small patience with her vagaries.
”You'll have to have what's sent you,” Ger said solemnly.
”I won't have a lady angel, so there,” said the Kitten, ”I'll have a man angel.”
”I daresay they'll let you,” Ger said soothingly. ”A great, big, kind man with wings like you said.”
”Has yours got wings?” the Kitten demanded.
”I don't think so,” said Ger, ”he's not that sort; but,” he added proudly, ”he's got spurs.”
”Will it stay in the nursery _all_ night?” the Kitten asked again rather nervously.
”Of course that's what he's for, to take care of you, so that you'll feel quite safe and happy.”
”Oh,” said the Kitten, and her voice betrayed the fact that she found this statement far from rea.s.suring.
She said nothing to her mother, and Mrs Ffolliot heard her say her prayers as usual, kissed her, blessed her, and tucked her in. No sooner, however, had Mrs Ffolliot gone down the pa.s.sage than the most vigorous yells brought her back to the night-nursery, while both Nana and Thirza hastened there also.
The Kitten was sitting up in bed, wide-eyed and apparently more indignant than frightened.
”Take it away,” she exclaimed; ”open the window and let it out.”
”Let what out?” asked the bewildered Mrs Ffolliot.
”The angel,” sobbed the Kitten, ”I don't want it, I heard its wings rustling and it disturbed me dreffully--I don't want it, open the window wide.”
”The window is open at the top,” said Mrs Ffolliot; ”but why do you want to get rid of an angel? Surely that's a lovely thing to have in the room.”
”No,” said the Kitten firmly, ”I don't like it, and I don't want it. I don't want no angel I haven't seen. I don't like people in my room when I go to sleep.”
Nana and Thirza had melted away, only too thankful not to be called upon to arbitrate in the angel question. Mrs Ffolliot and her small daughter stared at each other in the flickering firelight.
”I'm sure,” said Mrs Ffolliot, trying hard to steady her voice, ”that no self-respecting angel would stay for a minute with a little girl that didn't want him. You may be certain of that.”
”A she might,” the Kitten suggested suspiciously.
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