The Carved Lions. Molesworth Mrs.
looked at the paper in her hand. She was very careful and methodical in all her ways, and always wrote down what she had to do before she came out.
"Yes," she said, "I think I have done everything else. But I shall be some little time at Cranston's. Mrs. Selwood has asked me to settle ever so many things with him – she is going abroad for the winter, and wants him to do a good deal of work at Fernley while she is away."
CHAPTER II
A HAPPY EVENING
Haddie and I were not at all sorry to hear that mamma's call at Cranston's was not to be a hurried one.
"We don't mind if you are ever so long," I said; "do we, Haddie?"
"No, of course we don't," Haddie agreed. "I should like to spend a whole day in those big show-rooms of his. Couldn't we have jolly games of hide-and-seek, Sis? And then riding the lions! I wish you were rich enough to buy one of the lions, mamma, and have it for an ornament in the hall, or in the drawing-room."
"We should need to build a hall or a drawing-room to hold it," said mamma, laughing. "I'm afraid your lion would turn into a white elephant, Haddie, if it became ours."
I remember wondering what she meant. How could a lion turn into an elephant? But I was rather a slow child in some ways. Very often I thought a thing over a long time in my mind if I did not understand it before asking any one to explain it. And so before I said anything it went out of my head, for here we were at Cranston's door.
There was only a young shopman to be seen, but when mamma told him she particularly wanted to see Mr. Cranston himself, he asked us to step in and take a seat while he went to fetch him.
We passed between the lions. It seemed quite a long time since we had seen them, and I thought they looked at us very kindly. I was just nudging Haddie to whisper this to him when mamma stopped to say to us that we might stay in the outer room if we liked; she knew it was our favourite place, and in a few minutes we heard her talking to old Mr. Cranston, who had come to her in the inner show-room through another door.
Haddie's head was full of climbing up onto one of the lions to go a ride. But luckily he could not find anything to climb up with, which was a very good thing, as he would have been pretty sure to topple over, and Mr. Cranston would not have been at all pleased if he had scratched the lion.
To keep him quiet I began talking to him about my fancies. I made him look close into the lions' faces – it was getting late in the afternoon, and we had noticed before we came in that the sun was setting stormily. A ray of bright orange-coloured light found its way in through one of the high-up windows which were at the back of the show-room, and fell right across the mane of one of the lions and almost into the eyes of the other. The effect on the dark, almost black, wood of which they were made was very curious.
"Look, Haddie," I said suddenly, catching his arm, "doesn't it really look as if they were smiling at us – the one with the light on its face especially? I really do think there's something funny about them – I wonder if they are enchanted."
Haddie did not laugh at me. I think in his heart he was fond of fancies too, though he might not have liked the boys at school to know it. He sat staring at our queer friends nearly as earnestly as I did myself. And as the ray of light slowly faded, he turned to me.
"Yes," he said, "their faces do seem to change. But I think they always look kind."
"They do to us," I said confidently, "but sometimes they are quite fierce. I don't think they looked at us the way they do now the first time they saw us. And one day one of the men in the shop shoved something against one of them and his face frowned – I'm sure it did."
"I wonder if he'd frown if I got up on his back," said Haddie.
"Oh, do leave off about climbing on their backs," I said. "It wouldn't be at all comfortable – they're so broad, you couldn't sit cross-legs, and they'd be as slippery as anything. It's much nicer to make up stories about them coming alive in the night, or turning into black princes and saying magic words to make the doors open like in the Arabian Nights."
"Well, tell me stories of all they do then," said Haddie condescendingly.
"I will if you'll let me think for a minute," I said. "I wish Aunty Etta was here – she does know such lovely stories."
"I like yours quite as well," said Haddie encouragingly, "I don't remember Aunty Etta's; it's such a long time since I saw her. You saw her last year, you know, but I didn't."
"She told me one about a china parrot, a most beautiful green and gold parrot, that was really a fairy," I said. "I think I could turn it into a lion story, if I thought about it."
"No," said Haddie, "you can tell the parrot one another time. I'd rather hear one of your own stories, new, about the lions. I know you've got some in your head. Begin, do – I'll help you if you can't get on."
But my story that afternoon was not to be heard. Just as I was beginning with, "Well, then, there was once an old witch who lived in a very lonely hut in the middle of a great forest," there came voices behind us, and in another moment we heard mamma saying,
"Haddie, my boy, Geraldine, I am quite ready."
I was not very sorry. I liked to have more time to make up my stories, and Haddie sometimes hurried me so. It was Aunty Etta, I think, who had first put it into my head to make them. She was so clever about it herself, both in making stories and in remembering those she had read, and she had read a lot. But she was away in India at the time I am now writing about; her going so far off was a great sorrow to mamma.
Haddie and I started up at once. We had to be very obedient, what father called "quickly obedient," and though he was so kind he was very strict too.
"My children are great admirers of your lions, Mr. Cranston," mamma said; and the old man smiled.
"They are not singular in their taste, madam," he said. "I own that I am very proud of them myself, and when my poor daughter was a child there was nothing pleased her so much as when her mother or I lifted her on to one of them, and made believe she was going a ride."
Haddie looked triumphant.
"There now you see, Sis," he whispered, nudging me.
But I did not answer him, for I was listening to what mamma was saying.
"Oh, by the bye, Mr. Cranston," she went on, "I was forgetting to ask how your little grandchild is. Have you seen her lately?"
Old Cranston's face brightened.
"She is very well, madam, I thank you," he replied. "And I am pleased to say that she is coming to stay with us shortly. We hope to keep her through the winter. Her stepmother is very kind, but with little children of her own, it is not always easy for her to give as much attention as she would like to Myra, and she and Mr. Raby have responded cordially to our invitation."
"I am very glad to hear it – very glad indeed," said mamma. "I know what a pleasure it will be to you and Mrs. Cranston. Let me see – how old is the little girl now – seven, eight?"
"Nine, madam, getting on for ten indeed," said Mr. Cranston with pride.
"Dear me," said mamma, "how time passes! I remember seeing her when she was a baby – before we came to live here, of course, once when I was staying at Fernley, just after – "
Mamma stopped and hesitated.
"Just after her poor mother died – yes, madam," said the old man quietly.
And then we left, Mr. Cranston respectfully holding the door open.
It was growing quite dark; the street-lamps were lighted and their gleam was reflected on the pavement, for it had been raining and was still quite wet underfoot. Mamma looked round her.
"You had better put on your mackintosh, Haddie," she said. "It may rain again. No, Geraldine dear, there is no use opening your umbrella till it does rain."
My feelings were divided between pride in my umbrella and some reluctance to have it wet! I took hold of mamma's arm again, while Haddie walked at her other side. It was not a very cheerful prospect