'
'Poor old Daddy,' was Jinny's judgment; 'he's got to write something.
You see, he is an author. Some day he'll get his testimonial.'
It was Cousin Henry who led them with a surer, truer touch. He always
had an adventure up his sleeve--something their imaginations could
accept and recreate. Each in their own way, they supplied
interpretations as they were able.
Every walk they took together furnished the germ of an adventure.
'But I'm not exciting to-day,' he would object thirsting for a
convincing compliment that should persuade him to take them out. Only
the compliment never came quite as he hoped.
'Everybody's exciting somewhere,' said Monkey, leading the way and
knowing he would follow. 'We'll go to the Wind Wood.'
Jimbo took his hand then, and they went. Corners of the forest had
names now, born of stories and adventures he had placed there--the
Wind Wood, the Cuckoo Wood, where Daddy could not sleep because 'the
beastly cuckoo made such a noise'; the Wood where Mother Fell, and so
on. No walk was wholly unproductive.
And so, one evening after supper, they escaped by the garden, crossed
the field where the standing hay came to their waists, and climbed by
forest paths towards the Wind Wood. It was a spot where giant pines
stood thinly, allowing a view across the lake towards the Alps.
Pages:
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341