FullReads

Christopher’s disappointment was quite as bad. Mother gave him a book with very nice pictures, particularly of beasts. The chief reason she got it for him was that there was such a very good picture of a toad, 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 anyone. 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.