"Ridiculous!" snapped Mrs. Handsomebody, running up the blind with
precision, "this room at its brightest is dim. Your eyes are keen enough
for mischief, sir. Now we shall proceed with our arithmetic."
We floundered through the Tables, but my mind still wandered in the
Bishop's garden. Resentment and curiosity struggled for mastery within me.
In my mind's eye I saw her covering and uncovering the doll. Why did she do
it? What did it feel like to push that "pram"? Would she drink tea from the
Indian Tree cups and be allowed to strum on the piano? Oh, I wished she
hadn't come! And yet--anyway, I was glad I was a boy.
As Fate had it, Angel and The Seraph had to have their hair trimmed that
afternoon. My own straight blond crop grew but slowly so I was free for an
hour to follow my own devices. Those led me to climb to the roof of our
scullery and from there mount the high brick wall.
From this vantage point I scanned the surrounding country for signs of the
interloper. There she was! There she was!
Down on her knees at the fountain's brink, her curls almost touching the
water, she was sailing boats made of hollyhock petals. The doll's
perambulator stood near by.
Noiselessly I crept along the wall till I reached the cherry tree that
stood in the corner. Reaching its friendly branches, I let myself down,
hand over hand, till, at last, I dropped lightly on the soft turf.
I sauntered then to her side, and gazed at her moodily. If she saw me she
gave no sign.
In spite of myself I grew interested in the way she manipulated those boat
petals. Evidently there was some system in her game but it was new to me.
"That little black seed on this boat is Jason," she said at last, without
looking up, "and these little white seeds are his comrades. They're
searching for The Golden Fleece. My hair is the Fleece. Come and play!"
Mutely I squatted beside her, and our two faces peered at each other in the
mirror of the pool.
She gave a funny eager little laugh.
"Oh," she cried, "we match beautifully, don't we? Your hair is yellow and
my hair is yellow, my eyes are blue and your eyes are blue."
"My eyes are grey, like father's," I objected.
"No, they're blue like mine. We match beautifully. Let's play something
else." Before I could prevent her, she had swept Jason and his crew away,
and, snatching the doll from the perambulator, had set it on the fountain's
edge between us.
"This is Dorothea," she announced, "isn't she sweet? I'm her mother. You
should be the father, and Dorothea should want to paddle her toes in the
fountain. Now you hold her--so."
Before I was aware of it I was made to grasp the puppet by the waist, while
her mistress began to rearrange the pillows in the "pram."
I glanced fearfully at our schoolroom window, lest I should be discovered
in so unmanly a posture. It seemed that we were quite alone and unobserved.
A drowsy pleasure stole over my senses. The humming of the bees in the
Canterbury Bells became a chant as of sirens. Dorothea's silly pink feet
dangled in the pool. Surreptitiously I slipped my hand under water and felt
them. They were getting spongy and seemed likely to come off. Truly there
were compensations for such slavery.
My companion returned and sat down with her slim body close to mine.
"What is your name?" she cooed.
"John."
"Oh. Mine is Jane. You may call me Jenny. I'm visiting Aunt Margery. The
Bishop is my great-uncle. What are your brothers' names?"
"Angel and The Seraph. _They don't_ like girls." Instantly I wondered why I
had said that. Did I like girls? _Not much._ But I didn't want Angel
interfering in this. He had better keep away.
"My father is a judge. He sends bad men to prison."
"My father"--I was very proud of him--"is a civil engineer. He's in South
America building a railroad, so that's why we live with Mrs. Handsomebody.
But some day he's coming back to make a home for us. When I grow up I shall
be an engineer too, and build bridges over canyons."
"What's canyons? Hold Dorothea tighter."