The House That Grew Part 4

He came into the room just as these thoughts were flying about my brain. I thought he looked more tired and troubled than mamma--men are not so patient and not always so good at hiding their feelings as _some_ women. At least _I_ think so!

We two, however, were really feeling cheerful, and I think our brightness made it easier for mamma to be, at least, less sad than she would otherwise have been. And I said to myself--

'Papa will cheer up too _if_ he likes our idea, and I really can't see why he should not like it.'

So breakfast got on pretty well on the whole, and as soon as it was over, Dods and I went off for a talk. How we did talk! But first of all--that was so like Dods--he pulled out his watch and looked what o'clock it was.

'It's just half-past nine, Ida,' he said, 'and we must be quite ready by half-past ten. So let's talk till ten, no longer; it always takes you twenty minutes or half an hour to get dressed for church, and you know it vexes papa to be kept waiting. And to-day it's really very important not to vex him at all, if anything is to come of our plan.'

'Very well,' I said; 'I promise to go in at ten.'

Then we went to one of our favourite garden seats and set to work at our idea. It grew and grew; we kept thinking of new bits to it, each saying something which made the other think of something else, till by ten o'clock we began to feel as if it were all quite settled--'cut and dry.'

The very last thing I called out to Geordie as we ran in was about a certain old breakfast set of china we had espied in one of our visits to the garret.

'Yes,' I was saying, 'those willow pattern cups and things would do beautifully. It wouldn't matter their being odd, for then mamma wouldn't mind if some got broken. And very likely, Doddie, things _will_ get broken, more than----'

'What are you talking about, my dear child?' said mamma's voice, and, looking round, I saw that she was just coming out of the drawing-room on her way upstairs to get ready for church. 'You don't mean to say that your tea-things at the hut are all broken?'

'Oh no, no, mamma dear,' I replied in a great hurry, and feeling myself grow red, though I don't think she noticed it; 'they are all right--none broken, and only one saucer chipped. But--I was only saying--we _might_ need more some time.'

'Ah, well!' said mamma, with a little sigh, 'not at present, at any rate.'

And oh how I wished I could tell her of the plan at once! But of course it was best to wait a little.

I shall never forget that morning at church, and how _awfully_ difficult it was to give my attention. I found myself counting up the things we should need to make the hut comfortable, even while my voice was saying the responses quite correctly, and any one noticing me would very likely have thought I was being quite good and listening rightly. Dods, whom I glanced at now and then, was looking very grave but not unhappy. I felt sure he was being much better than I--I mean about listening to what he heard and thinking of the words he said--though afterwards he told me that he too had found it difficult.

'What was most bothering me,' he said, 'was about the new rooms--the old parish room, I mean. What do you think, Ida--should it be made into a dining-room and drawing-room, or----'

'Oh no,' I interrupted, 'certainly not. The two front ones looking to the sea must decidedly be the sitting-rooms--the one to the left of the porch, in front of the kitchen, must be the dining-room, and the big dressing-room, the one we have always meant to be a real bedroom, must be the drawing-room. It is quite a nice, large room, and behind it, the 'messy' room must be _yours_, Dods, which leaves the parish room to be divided for mamma and Esme and me. Denzil can be with you--there's plenty of room.'

'But,' said Geordie, 'you're forgetting the servants?'

My face fell at this--I should have said that this conversation was on our way down to the hut that afternoon. We could not talk much before then, as we drove back from church with the others, but we set off as soon as we could after we had had dinner.

'Yes,' I said, 'I was forgetting them altogether, and what's more, Geordie, I haven't the least idea who they are to be, or how many we should have.'

'We must let mamma settle that of course,' he replied. 'Hoskins will be one, anyway. Still--it's a pity we can't propose some place for them, Ida. It makes the whole plan seem rather unfinished and--childish.'

'Like the man who built a house for himself and when it was all finished found he had forgotten a staircase!' I said, half laughing, but feeling rather mortified all the same.

George did not at once reply. He was thinking. We were close to the hut by this time, and he did not say anything till we had unlocked the door and put down our packages and looked round us.

Everything was just exactly as we had left it the evening before, but somehow everything seemed different!

The truth was, I suppose, that we were looking at it all through different spectacles--yesterday it was only a kind of summer-house or play-room--to-day it was a possible _home_. In some ways I felt as if I had never liked it as much; in others I began to be almost frightened at the ideas I was so full of! But as often happened with us, George's cool, common sense put me right.

'Yes,' he said, after he had strolled into the other rooms and stared at them well as if he had never seen them before,--'yes, I don't see why it shouldn't do. And, about the servants, Ida. Of course papa and mamma must _settle_ everything; but if they do take it up seriously and papa buys the iron room, I rather think it's a good deal larger than we have been counting it. I believe it would divide into three quite well. There might be a part.i.tioned-off little room for me, and a large curtain might do to separate mamma from you and Esme?'

'Yes,' I said, my spirits rising again, 'and that would leave the back room for Hoskins and whomever else we have--_I_ should like Margery--wouldn't you, Dods? She is such a good-natured, st.u.r.dy little thing. And----'

'We'd better not try to settle too much,' said sensible Geordie. 'And you must talk quietly, Ida, so as to show we have really thought of it not in a--oh, a babyish way, you know.'

I felt a little ruffled at this.

'You'd better tell them all about it yourself, then,' I said; '_I_ don't want any of the honour and glory of it, and if there is any fear of their thinking us silly babies, why, then, we had better give up the whole idea.'

'Nonsense, Ida,' said Geordie. 'It was you who first thought of it, and I think you deserve a lot of credit for it. And I expect you'll get it too. I only want papa and mamma--papa especially--to hear of it at first in the best sort of way.'

'Yes--yes, I know!' I exclaimed, 'and you are a sensible old Dods as you always are. And see what I have got to please you,' and I held up three lovely, fat m.u.f.fins.

We got the kitchen fire lighted and the tea-table spread in the parlour--I felt inclined to begin calling it 'the dining-room' now--and everything nice and ready before they all came. The first announcement of them was Esme, who flew in as usual, followed very deliberately by Denzil. She gave me a hug when she saw the table.

'Oh, what a lovely tea!' she said, 'and how delicious the hut looks. Oh, _don't_ you wish, Ida, we could live here always?'

I glanced at Dods--we could not help smiling at each other--it seemed a sort of good omen, her saying that, but we did not say anything. Then came papa and mamma--they had walked down slowly through the wood, and as they came to the little 'plateau' where stood the hut, I saw them stop and look at it. I _wondered_ if the same idea was in their minds at all. I did not exactly want it to be, for I was rather pleased at being the first finder of it.

CHAPTER IV

'GEORDIE STOOD UP AND WAVED HIS CAP'

No--papa and mamma had not been thinking of anything of that kind--afterwards mamma told me they had only been saying to each other how sweet and pretty it all looked and--though perhaps they did not say so aloud--feeling no doubt how sad it was that we should so soon have to leave it.

But they came in quite brightly, and mamma answered gaily to Esme's exclamations about the 'lovely tea-party.'

'Yes,' she said, 'it does look nice. And m.u.f.fins too'--as Geordie glanced up with a very red face from the fire where he was toasting one; 'don't scorch yourself _too_ much, in our service, my dear boy.'

'It's a good bit for myself as well,' said Geordie in his rather gruff way. He always spoke like that if he thought he was being praised--above all, the least _over_-praised. 'I like m.u.f.fins better than any kind of cake or things.'

He certainly knew how to toast and b.u.t.ter them to perfection. I remember how very good they were that day. Indeed, the tea-party was a great success altogether. After it was over we carried all the cups and saucers and plates into the kitchen, to be ready for Margery to wash up, for mamma had left word at home that she was to come down to the hut to do so, which we were very glad of.

'I wanted to be together as much as possible to-day,' said mamma in her kind way. And just as we had cleared away everything in the parlour we saw Margery coming, and to my great delight Esme asked if she and Denzil might 'help her' in the kitchen, for Dods and I had been wondering how we could get rid of the little ones without seeming unkind.

So off they ran, and then for a few minutes we four--'big ones,' I was going to say, only that does seem putting Geordie and myself too much on a line with papa and mamma, doesn't it?--sat silent. I was feeling rather nervous, not afraid of papa and mamma, but afraid of them thinking it was all a perfectly impossible plan.

But at last, after looking at me several times and even giving me two or three little kicks, Geordie plunged in, as was his way--

'Ida has something to say to you,' he began. 'It's only fair for her to say it, for it's all her own idea, though we have talked about it a good deal.'

Papa looked at me very kindly.

'What is it, my little girl?' he said. 'I am sure you know how pleased I--and your mother--will be to do anything we can to--to brighten all these troubles.'

He seemed to know by instinct that what I had to say must have to do with what he had told us the day before. Yes--only the day before! I could scarcely believe it--it seemed years ago.