Awakening To Let | Page 8

something--not a
tree, not a gun-- something soft. Those last two days had seemed
months in spite of Cast Up by the Sea, wherein he was reading about
Mother Lee and her terrible wrecking bonfire. He had gone up and
down the stairs perhaps a hundred times in those two days, and often
from the day nursery, where he slept now, had stolen into his mother's
room, looked at everything, without touching, and on into the dressing-
room; and standing on one leg beside the bath, like Slingsby, had
whispered:
"Ho, ho, ho! Dog my cats!" mysteriously, to bring luck. Then, stealing
back, he had opened his mother's wardrobe, and taken a long sniff
which seemed to bring him nearer to--he didn't know what.
He had done this just before he stood in the streak of sunlight, debating
in which of the several ways he should slide down the banisters. They
all seemed silly, and in a sudden languor he began descending the steps
one by one. During that descent he could remember his father quite
distinctly--the short grey beard, the deep eyes twinkling, the furrow
between them, the funny smile, the thin figure which always seemed so
tall to little Jon; but his mother he couldn't see. All that represented her
was something swaying with two dark eyes looking back at him; and
the scent of her wardrobe.
Bella was in the hall, drawing aside the big curtains, and opening the
front door. Little Jon said, wheedling
"Bella!"
"Yes, Master Jon."
"Do let's have tea under the oak tree when they come; I know they'd
like it best."
"You mean you'd like it best."
Little Jon considered.
"No, they would, to please me."
Bella smiled. "Very well, I'll take it out if you'll stay quiet here and not
get into mischief before they come."
Little Jon sat down on the bottom step, and nodded. Bella came close,

and looked him over.
"Get up!" she said.
Little Jon got up. She scrutinized him behind; he was not green, and his
knees seemed clean.
"All right!" she said. "My! Aren't you brown? Give me a kiss!"
And little Jon received a peck on his hair.
"What jam?" he asked. "I'm so tired of waiting."
"Gooseberry and strawberry."
Num! They were his favourites!
When she was gone he sat still for quite a minute. It was quiet in the
big hall open to its East end so that he could see one of his trees, a brig
sailing very slowly across the upper lawn. In the outer hall shadows
were slanting from the pillars. Little Jon got up, jumped one of them,
and walked round the clump of iris plants which filled the pool of
grey-white marble in the centre. The flowers were pretty, but only
smelled a very little. He stood in the open doorway and looked out.
Suppose!--suppose they didn't come! He had waited so long that he felt
he could not bear that, and his attention slid at once from such finality
to the dust motes in the bluish sunlight coming in: Thrusting his hand
up, he tried to catch some. Bella ought to have dusted that piece of air!
But perhaps they weren't dust--only what sunlight was made of, and he
looked to see whether the sunlight out of doors was the same. It was
not. He had said he would stay quiet in the hall, but he simply couldn't
any more; and crossing the gravel of the drive he lay down on the grass
beyond. Pulling six daisies he named them carefully, Sir Lamorac, Sir
Tristram, Sir Lancelot, Sir Palimedes, Sir Bors, Sir Gawain, and fought
them in couples till only Sir Lamorac, whom he had selected for a
specially stout stalk, had his head on, and even he, after three
encounters, looked worn and waggly. A beetle was moving slowly in
the grass, which almost wanted cutting. Every blade was a small tree,
round whose trunk the beetle had to glide. Little Jon stretched out Sir
Lamorac, feet foremost, and stirred the creature up. It scuttled painfully.
Little Jon laughed, lost interest, and sighed. His heart felt empty. He
turned over and lay on his back. There was a scent of honey from the
lime trees in flower, and in the sky the blue was beautiful, with a few
white clouds which looked and perhaps tasted like lemon ice. He could
hear Bob playing: "Way down upon de Suwannee ribber" on his

concertina, and it made him nice and sad. He turned over again and put
his ear to the ground--Indians could hear things coming ever so far--but
he could hear nothing--only the concertina! And almost instantly he did
hear a grinding sound, a faint toot. Yes! it was a car--coming--coming!
Up he jumped. Should he wait in