THE WINDOWday long. As for Rose, her mouth was too big, but shehad a wonderful gift with her hands. If they had cha-rades, Rose made the dresses; made everything; likedbest arranging tables, flowers, anything. She did notlike it that Jasper should shoot birds; but it was onlya stage; they all went through stages. Why, she asked,pressing her chin on James’s head, should they growup so fast? Why should they go to school? She wouldhave liked always to have had a baby. She was hap-piest carrying one in her arms. Then people might sayshe was tyrannical, domineering, masterful, if theychose; she did not mind. And, touching his hair withher lips, she thought, he will never be so happy again,but stopped herself, remembering how it angered herhusband that she should say that. Still, it was true.They were happier now than they would ever beagain. A tenpenny tea set made Cam happy for days.She heard them stamping and crowing on the floorabove her head the moment they woke. They camebustling along the passage. Then the door sprang openand in they came, fresh as roses, staring, wide awake,as if this coming into the dining-room after breakfast,which they did every day of their lives, was a positiveevent to them; and so on, with one thing after another,all day long, until she went up to say good-night tothem, and found them netted in their cots like birdsamong cherries and raspberries still making up storiesabout some little bit of rubbish — something they hadheard, something they had picked up in the garden.They had all their little treasures. . . And so she wentdown and said to her husband, Why must they growup and lose it all? Never will they be so happy again.And he was angry. Why take such a gloomy view of71
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