The Magic City | Page 5

the housekeeper, who answered:
'Oh, well--go, then. I'll be responsible for the boy--sulky little brat.'
And the nurse went. In a happy bustle she packed her boxes and went.
At the last moment Philip, on the doorstep watching her climb into the
dog-cart, suddenly sprang forward.
'Oh, Nurse!' he cried, blundering against the almost moving wheel, and
it was the first time he had called her by any name. 'Nurse, do--do say I
may take Lucy's toys to play with; it is so lonely here. I may, mayn't I?
I may take them?'
Perhaps the nurse's heart was softened by her own happiness and the
thought of the brother who was not drowned. Perhaps she was only in
such a hurry that she did not know what she was saying. At any rate,
when Philip said for the third time, 'May I take them?' she hastily
answered:
'Bless the child! Take anything you like. Mind the wheel, for goodness'
sake. Good-bye, everybody!' waved her hand to the servants assembled
at the top of the wide steps, and was whirled off to joyous reunion with
the undrowned brother.
Philip drew a deep breath of satisfaction, went straight up to the
nursery, took out all the toys, and examined every single one of them. It
took him all the afternoon.
The next day he looked at all the things again and longed to make
something with them. He was accustomed to the joy that comes of
making things. He and Helen had built many a city for the dream island
out of his own two boxes of bricks and certain other things in the
house--her Japanese cabinet, the dominoes and chessmen, cardboard

boxes, books, the lids of kettles and teapots. But they had never had
enough bricks. Lucy had enough bricks for anything.
He began to build a city on the nursery table. But to build with bricks
alone is poor work when you have been used to building with all sorts
of other things.
'It looks like a factory,' said Philip discontentedly. He swept the
building down and replaced the bricks in their different boxes.
'There must be something downstairs that would come in useful,' he
told himself, 'and she did say, "Take what you like."'
By armfuls, two and three at a time, he carried down the boxes of
bricks and the boxes of blocks, the draughts, the chessmen, and the box
of dominoes. He took them into the long drawing-room where the
crystal chandeliers were, and the chairs covered in brown holland--and
the many long, light windows, and the cabinets and tables covered with
the most interesting things.
He cleared a big writing-table of such useless and unimportant objects
as blotting-pad, silver inkstand, and red-backed books, and there was a
clear space for his city.
He began to build.
A bronze Egyptian god on a black and gold cabinet seemed to be
looking at him from across the room.
'All right,' said Philip. 'I'll build you a temple. You wait a bit.'
The bronze god waited and the temple grew, and two silver
candlesticks, topped by chessmen, served admirably as pillars for the
portico. He made a journey to the nursery to fetch the Noah's Ark
animals--the pair of elephants, each standing on a brick, flanked the
entrance. It looked splendid, like an Assyrian temple in the pictures
Helen had shown him. But the bricks, wherever he built with them
alone, looked mean, and like factories or workhouses. Bricks alone

always do.
Philip explored again. He found the library. He made several journeys.
He brought up twenty-seven volumes bound in white vellum with
marbled boards, a set of Shakespeare, ten volumes in green morocco.
These made pillars and cloisters, dark, mysterious, and attractive. More
Noah's Ark animals added an Egyptian-looking finish to the building.
'Lor', ain't it pretty!' said the parlour-maid, who came to call him to tea.
'You are clever with your fingers, Master Philip, I will say that for you.
But you'll catch it, taking all them things.'
'That grey nurse said I might,' said Philip, 'and it doesn't hurt things
building with them. My sister and I always did it at home,' he added,
looking confidingly at the parlour-maid. She had praised his building.
And it was the first time he had mentioned his sister to any one in that
house.
'Well, it's as good as a peep-show,' said the parlour-maid; 'it's just like
them picture post-cards my brother in India sends me. All them pillars
and domes and things--and the animals too. I don't know how you fare
to think of such things, that I don't.'
[Illustration: 'Lor', ain't it pretty!' said the parlour-maid.]
Praise is sweet. He slipped his hand into that of the parlour-maid as
they went down the wide stairs to the hall, where