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A NEW SCHEME.
I have said that Willie's father and mother used to talk without
restraint in his presence. They had no fear of Willie's committing an
indiscretion by repeating what he heard. One day at dinner the following
conversation took place between them.
"I've had a letter from my mother, John," said Mrs Macmichael to her
husband. "It's wonderful how well she manages to write, when she sees so
badly."
"She might see well enough--at least a great deal better--if she would
submit to an operation, said the doctor.
"At her age, John!" returned his wife in an expostulatory tone. "Do
you really think it worth while--for the few years that are left her?"
"Worth while to see well for a few years!" exclaimed the doctor.
"Indeed, I do."
"But there's another thing I want to talk to you about now," said Mrs
Macmichael. "Since old Ann's death, six months ago, she says she has
been miserable, and if she goes on like this, it will shorten the few
days that are left her. Effie, the only endurable servant she has had
since Ann, is going to leave at the end of her half-year, and she says
the thought of another makes her wretched. She may be a little hard to
please, but after being used to one for so many years, it is no wonder
if she be particular. I don't know what is to be done."
"I don't know, either--except you make her a present of Tibby," said her
husband.
"John!" exclaimed Mrs Macmichael; and "John" burst out laughing.
"You don't think they'd pull together?" he said.
"Two old people--each with her own ways, and without any memories in
common to bind them together! I'm surprised at your dreaming of such a
thing," exclaimed his wife.
"But I didn't even dream of it; I only said it," returned her husband.
"It's time you knew when I was joking, wifie."
"You joke so dreadfully like earnest!" she answered.
"If only we had one more room in the house!" said the doctor,
thoughtfully.
"Ah!" returned his wife, eagerly, "that would be a blessing! And though
Tibby would be a thorn in every inch of grandmamma's body, if they were
alone together, I have no doubt they would get on very well with me
between them."
"I don't doubt it," said her husband, still thoughtfully.
"Couldn't we manage it somehow, John?" said Mrs Macmichael, half
timidly, after a pause of some duration.
"I can't say I see how--at this moment," answered the doctor, "much as I
should like it. But there's time yet, and we'll think it over, and talk
about it, and perhaps we may hit upon some plan or other. Most things
may be done; and everything necessary can be done _some_how. So we
won't bother our minds about it, but only our brains, and see what they
can do for us."
With this he rose and went to his laboratory.
Willie rose also and went straight to his own room. Having looked all
round it thoughtfully several times, he went out again on the landing,
whence a ladder led up into a garret running the whole length of the
roof of the cottage.
"My room would do for grannie," he said to himself; "and I could sleep
up there. A shake-down in the corner would do well enough for me."
He climbed the ladder, pushed open the trap-door, crept half through,
and surveyed the gloomy place.
"There's no window but a skylight!" he said; and his eyes smarted as if
the tears were about to rush into them. "What shall I do? Wheelie will
be useless!--Well, I can't help it; and if I can't help it, I can bear
it. To have grannie comfortable will be better than to look out of the
window ever so much."
He drew in his head, came down the ladder with a rush, and hurried off
to school.
At supper he laid his scheme before his father and mother.
They looked very much pleased with their boy. But his father said at
once--
"No, no, Willie. It won't do. I'm glad you've been the first to think of
something--only, unfortunately, your plan won't work. You can't sleep
there."
"I'll engage to sleep wherever there's room to lie down; and if there
isn't I'll engage to sleep sitting or standing," said Willie, whose
mother had often said she wished she could sleep like Willie. "And as I
don't walk in my sleep," he added, "the trap-door needn't be shut."
"Mice, Willie!" said his mother, in a tone of much significance.
"The cat and I are good friends," returned Willie. "She'll be pleased
enough to sleep with me."
"You don't hit the thing at all," said his father. "I wonder a practical
man like you, Willie, doesn't see it at once. Even if I were at the
expense of ceiling the whole roof with lath and plaster, we should
find you, some morning in summer, baked black as a coal; or else, some
morning in winter frozen so stiff that, when we tried to lift you, your
arm snapped off like a dry twig of elder."
"Ho! ho! ho!" laughed Willie; "then there would be the more room for
grannie."
His father laughed with him, but his mother looked a little shocked.
"No, Willie," said his father again; "you must make another attempt. You
must say with Hamlet when he was puzzled for a plan--'About my brains!'
Perhaps they will suggest something wiser next time."
Willie lay so long awake that night, thinking, that Wheelie pulled him
before he had had a wink of sleep. He got up, of course, and looked from
the window.
The day was dreaming grandly. The sky was pretty clear in front, and
full of sparkles of light, for the stars were kept in the background by
the moon, which was down a little towards the west. She had sunk below
the top of a huge towering cloud, the edges of whose jags and pinnacles
she bordered with a line of silvery light. Now this cloud rose into the
sky from just behind the ruins, and looking a good deal like upheaved
towers and spires, made Willie think within himself what a grand place
the priory must have been, when its roofs and turrets rose up into the
sky.
"They say a lot of people lived in it then!" he thought with himself as
he stood gazing at the cloud.
Suddenly he gave a great jump, and clapped his hands so loud that he
woke his father.
"Is anything the matter, my boy?" he asked, opening Willie's door, and
peeping in.
"No, papa, nothing," answered Willie. "Only something that came into my
head with a great bounce!"
"Ah!--Where did it come from, Willie?"
"Out of that cloud there. Isn't it a grand one?"
"Grand enough certainly to put many thoughts into a body's head, Willie.
What did it put into yours?"
"Please, I would rather not tell just yet," answered Willie, "--if you
don't mind, father."
"Not a bit, my boy. Tell me just when you please, or don't tell me at
all. I should like to hear it, but only at your pleasure, Willie."
"Thank you, father. I do want to tell you, you know, but not just yet."
"Very well, my boy. Now go to bed, and sleep may better the thought
before the morning."
Willie soon fell asleep now, for he believed he had found what he
wanted.
He was up earlier than usual the next morning, and out in the garden.
"Surely," he said to himself, "those ruins, which once held so many
monks, might manage even yet to find room for me!"
He went wandering about amongst them, like an undecided young bird
looking for the very best possible spot to build its nest in. The spot
Willie sought was that which would require the least labour and least
material to make it into a room.
Before he heard the voice of Tibby, calling him to come to his porridge,
he had fixed upon one; and in the following chapter I will tell you what
led him to choose it. All the time between morning and afternoon school,
he spent in the same place; and when he came home in the evening, he
was accompanied by Mr Spelman, who went with him straight to the ruins.
There they were a good while together; and when Willie at length came
in, his mother saw that his face was more than usually radiant, and was
certain he had some new scheme or other in his head.
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