In the Closed Room | Page 9

suggested somehow that it had been used
as a place to walk about in. This, at least, was what Judith thought of at
once--that some one who had used the room had been in the habit of
going out upon the roof and staying there as if it had been a sort of
garden. There were rows of flower pots with dead flowers in
them--there were green tubs containing large shrubs, which were dead
also--against the low parapet certain of them held climbing plants
which had been trained upon it. Two had been climbing roses, two
were clematis, but Judith did not know them by name. The ledge of the
window was so low that a mere step took her outside. So taking it, she
stood among the dried, withered things and looked in tender regret at
them.
"I wish they were not dead," she said softly to the silence. "It would be
like a garden if they were not dead."
The sun was hot, but a cool, little breeze seemed straying up from
among the trees of the Park. It even made the dried leaves of the
flowers tremble and rustle a little. Involuntarily she lifted her face to
the blue sky and floating white clouds. They seemed so near that she
felt almost as if she could touch them with her hand. The street seemed
so far--so far below--the whole world seemed far below. If one stepped
off the parapet it would surely take one a long time to reach the earth.
She knew now why she had come up here. It was so that she might feel
like this--as if she was upheld far away from things--as if she had left
everything behind--almost as if she had fallen awake again. There was
no perfume in the air, but all was still and sweet and clear.
Suddenly she turned and went into the room again, realizing that she
had scarcely seen it at all and that she must see and know it. It was not
like any other room she had seen. It looked more simple, though it was
a pretty place. The walls were covered with roses, there were bright
pictures, and shelves full of books. There was also a little writing desk

and there were two or three low chairs, and a low table. A closet in a
corner had its door ajar and Judith could see that inside toys were piled
together. In another corner a large doll's house stood, looking as if
some one had just stopped playing with it. Some toy furniture had been
taken out and left near it upon the carpet.
"It was a little girl's room," Judith said. "Why did they close it?"
Her eye was caught by something lying on a sofa--something covered
with a cloth. It looked almost like a child lying there asleep--so fast
asleep that it did not stir at all. Judith moved across to the sofa and
drew the cloth aside. With its head upon a cushion was lying there a
very large doll, beautifully dressed in white lace, its eyes closed, and a
little wreath of dead flowers in its hair.
"It looks almost as if it had died too," said Judith.
She did not ask herself why she said "as if it had died too"--perhaps it
was because the place was so still--and everything so far away--that the
flowers had died in the strange, little deserted garden on the roof.
She did not hear any footsteps--in fact, no ghost of a sound stirred the
silence as she stood looking at the doll's sleep--but quite quickly she
ceased to bend forward, and turned round to look at something which
she knew was near her. There she was--and it was quite natural she
should be there--the little girl with the face like a white flower, with the
quantity of burnished coppery hair and the smile which deepened the
already deep dimple near her mouth.
"You have come to play with me," she said.
"Yes," answered Judith. "I wanted to come all night. I could not stay
down-stairs."
"No," said the child; "you can't stay down-stairs. Lift up the doll."
They began to play as if they had spent their lives together. Neither
asked the other any questions. Judith had not played with other children,

but with this one she played in absolute and lovely delight. The little
girl knew where all the toys were, and there were a great many
beautiful ones. She told Judith where to find them and how to arrange
them for their games. She invented wonderful things to do--things
which were so unlike anything Judith had ever seen or heard or thought
of that it was not strange that she realized afterwards that all her past
life and its belongings had been so