Marys Meadow | Page 7

and Chris is so fond of toads. For months he made friends with one in
the garden. It used to crawl away from him, and he used to creep after it,
talking to it, and then it used to half begin, to crawl up the garden wall,
and stand so, on its hind legs, and let Chris rub its wrinkled back. The
toad in the picture was exactly like Christopher's toad, and he ran about
the house with the book in his arms begging us to read him the story
about Dear Toady.
We were all busy but Arthur, and he said, "I want to go on with my
water-wheel." But Mother said, "Don't be selfish, Arthur." And he said,
"I forgot. All right, Chris; bring me the book." So they went and sat in
the conservatory, not to disturb any one. But very soon they came back,
Chris crying, and saying, "It couldn't be the right one, Arthur;" and
Arthur frowning, and saying, "It is the right story; but it's stuff. I'll tell
you what that book's good for, Chris. To paint the pictures. And you've

got a new paint-box." So Mother said, "What's the matter?" And Arthur
said, "Chris thinks I haven't read him the right story to his Toad Picture.
But I have, and what do you think it's about? It's about the silliest little
girl you can imagine--a regular mawk of a girl--and a Frog. Not a toad,
but a F. R. O. G. frog! A regular hop, skip, jumping frog!"
Arthur hopped round the room, but Chris cried bitterly. So Arthur ran
up to him and kissed him, and said, "Don't cry, old chap, I'll tell you
what I'll do. You get Mary to cut out a lot of the leaves of your book
that have no pictures, and that will make it like a real scrap-book; and
then I'll give you a lot of my scraps and pictures to paste over what's
left of the stories, and you'll have such a painting-book as you never
had in all your life before."
So we did. And Arthur was very good, for he gave Chris pictures that I
know he prized, because Chris liked them. But the very first picture he
gave him was the "Crane and Water-reeds."
I thought it so good of Arthur to be so nice with Chris that I wished I
could have helped him over his water-wheel. He had put Japan out of
his head since the disappointment, and spent all his play-time in
making mills and machinery. He did grind some corn into flour once,
but it was not at all white. He said that was because the bran was left in.
But it was not only bran in Arthur's flour. There was a good deal of
sand too, from his millstones being made of sandstone, which he
thought would not matter. But it grinds off.
Down in the valley, below Mary's Meadow, runs the Ladybrook, which
turns the old water-wheel of Mary's Mill. It is a very picturesque old
mill, and Mother has made beautiful sketches of it. She caught the last
cold she got before going abroad with sketching it--the day we had a
most delightful picnic there, and went about in the punt. And from that
afternoon Arthur made up his mind that his next mill should be a
water-mill.
The reason I am no good at helping Arthur about his mills is that I am
stupid about machinery; and I was so vexed not to help him, that when
I saw a book in the library which I thought would do so, I did not stop

to take it out, for it was in four very large volumes, but ran off at once
to tell Arthur.
He said, "What is the matter, Mary?"
I said, "Oh, Arthur! I've found a book that will tell you all about mills;
and it is the nicest smelling book in the library."
"The nicest smelling? What's that got to do with mills?"
"Nothing, of course. But it's bound in russia, and I am so fond of the
smell of russia. But that's nothing. It's a Miller's Dictionary, and it is in
four huge volumes, 'with plates.' I should think you could look out all
about every kind of mill there ever was a miller to."
"If the plates give sections and diagrams"--Arthur began, but I did not
hear the rest, for he started off for the library at once, and I ran after
him.
But when we got Miller's Dictionary on the floor, how he did tease me!
For there was nothing about mills or millers in it. It was a Gardener's
and Botanist's Dictionary, by Philip Miller; and the plates were plates
of flowers, very truly drawn, like the pine tree