WHAT THE SWALLOWS THOUGHT OF IT
Thanks to the extra sleep which had come to Ferdy after all, he had not
long to wait for Chrissie once he had wakened up "for good." She was not
allowed to see him till he had had his breakfast, for it was very
important to keep up his strength with nourishing food, and "if you
begin talking together, you know," said mamma, "Ferdy would get
interested and excited, and very likely not feel inclined to eat
anything. That is even the way sometimes when you are both quite well."
She was speaking to Chrissie about how careful she must be, if she were
to be trusted to be with her brother, not to seem sad or dull, and yet
to be very quiet--"quietly cheerful, dear," she went on, "and if Ferdy
is at all cross or peevish, you must just not mind."
Chrissie looked up in surprise. Ferdy cross or peevish seemed
impossible.
"He never is, mamma dear," she said. "If ever we have little quarrels,
it is almost always more my fault than his," which was quite true.
"Yes," her mother replied, "but you don't know, Chrissie, how illness
changes people. Ferdy never has been seriously ill in his life, and--and
this sad accident is sure to tell on his nerves." She had been doing her
best to speak cheerfully, but now her voice broke, and the tears came
into her eyes, already worn and tired-looking with the long hours of
anxiety.
Chrissie stroked her hand gently. Then she said, though hesitating a
little, "Mamma darling, won't you tell me more about Ferdy--about what
the doctors think, I mean. I promise you I will not let him find out
anything you don't want him to know. I will be very brave and--and
cheerful, but I would so like to know. It isn't that he's not going to
get better--that he's going to get _worse_?"
"No, dear, not that," said Mrs. Ross, drying her eyes as she spoke. "He
is a strong child, and his general health is good, but his back is
injured badly. That is the reason we are so anxious. He may get
_better_. The doctors think that in a few weeks he will be able to be up
and dressed and to lie on a couch, but they cannot say if he will ever
be _quite_ right again. I am afraid they do not think he ever will."
"Oh, mamma," said Chrissie.
Mrs. Ross looked at her anxiously; she wondered if she had done wrong in
telling her so much. And the little girl guessed what she was thinking.
"I would much rather know, mamma," she said, "much rather. It will make
me more careful when I am with dear Ferdy, and if he ever is the least
cross, I won't mind. I will try to amuse him nicely. Are you going to
tell Miss Lilly, mamma?"
"Oh yes, I am hoping that she will be a great help. I will see her this
morning as soon as she comes."
"Are we to do any lessons to-day?" asked Chrissie. "Is Ferdy to do
lessons in bed?"
"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 wishing 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 peacocks; 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.
"But it is rather nice to fancy that the swallows know about us, and
that it's the same ones who come back every year. It makes them seem
like friends."
"Yes," said Ferdy, "it is nice. I wonder," he went on, "what sort of
things they meant me to look at out of the window. It did rather sound,
Chrissie, as if they thought I'd have to stay a long time here in bed,
didn't it?"
Chrissie laughed, though a little nervously.
"How funny you are, Ferdy," she said. "How could the _swallows_ know,
even if it had been real and not a dream? Still, we may a little fancy
it is true. We could almost make a story of the window--of all the
things to be seen, and all the people passing. When you are able to be
on the sofa, Ferdy, it might stand so that you would see all ways--it
would really be like a watch tower."
Ferdy raised himself a _very_ little on one elbow.
"Yes," he said eagerly, "I see how you mean. I do hope I may soon be on
the sofa. I think I would make a plan of looking out of one side part of
the day, and then out of the other side. I don't think it would be so
bad to be ill if you could make plans. It's the lying all day just the
same that must get so dreadfully dull."
"Well, you need never do that," said his sister, "not even now. When
Miss Lilly comes I'm to do a little lessons first, and then I daresay
she'll come in here and read aloud to us, and when I go a walk mamma
will sit with you. Things will soon get into plans."
"If I could do some of my work," said Ferdy, "cutting out or painting
things for my scrapbook."
"I daresay you soon can," said Chrissie hopefully. She was pleased that
he had not questioned her more closely as to what the doctors had said,
for fortunately her cheerful talking had made him partly forget that he
had made up his mind the night before to find out exactly everything she
could tell him.
Suddenly Chrissie, who was standing in the window, gave a little cry.
"There is Miss Lilly," she exclaimed. "I am so glad. Now she has stopped
to talk to somebody. Who can it be? Oh, I see, it's that naughty Jesse
Piggot! I wonder why he isn't at school? She seems talking to him quite
nicely. Now she's coming on again and Jesse is touching his cap. He
_can_ be very polite when he likes. Shall I run and meet Miss Lilly, and
bring her straight up here? No, I can't, for there's mamma going down
the drive towards her. She must have seen her coming from the
drawing-room window."
"Go on," said Ferdy. "Tell me what they are doing. Are they shaking
hands and talking to each other? I daresay they're talking about _me_.
Does Miss Lilly look sorry? P'r'aps mamma is explaining that I can't
have any lessons to-day."
"N--no," said Chrissie, "she's talking quite--like always, but--she's
holding mamma's hand."
"Oh," said Ferdy with satisfaction, "that does mean she's sorry, I'm
sure. It would be nice, Chrissie, if I was lying more in the window. I
could see all those int'resting things myself. I could see a good deal
now if I was sitting up more," and for a moment he startled his sister
by moving as if he were going to try to raise himself in bed.
"Oh, Ferdy, you mustn't," she cried, darting towards him.
But poor Ferdy was already quite flat on his pillow again.
"I _can't_," he said with a sigh, "I can't sit up the least little bit,"
and tears came into his eyes.
"Well, don't look so unhappy," said Chrissie, returning to her post at
the window, "for they are coming in now, and mamma won't be pleased if
she thinks I've let you get dull. There now, I hear them coming
upstairs."
"All right," said Ferdy manfully, "I'm not going to look unhappy."
And it was quite a cheerful little face which met his mother's anxious
glance as she opened the door to usher in Miss Lilly.