mustn’t touch papa’s pike any more.”
“No,” replied Leonard, thoughtfully, “Joe is papa’s pike, and he mustn’t be touched.”
Leonard and Effie were the only children of their parents, who loved them very much indeed. Captain Lyle was proud of his boy, and, I fear, made almost too much of a pet of his girl Effie. He indulged them both to their hearts’ content, when they had done their duty for the day – that is, when they had both returned from the village school, for in those good old days in Scotland the upper classes were not above sending their boys and girls to the parish schools; there were of course no paupers went there, only the sons and daughters of farmers and tradespeople – when duty was over, then, Captain Lyle encouraged his children to play. Indeed, he seemed more like a big boy – a brother, for instance – than a father. He was always planning out new measures of enjoyment, and one of the best of these was what Leonard called The Miniature Menagerie.
I do most sincerely believe that the planning and building of this delightful little fairy palace saved the life of Captain Lyle. He had been invalided home in the month of January 1810 – about ten months before the opening scene of our tale – and it was judged that a year and a half at least must elapse before he would be again fit for service. War-worn and weary though he was, having served nearly a dozen years, he soon began, with returning health, to pine for activity, when the happy thought struck him to build a palace for his children’s pets.
He communicated his ideas to Leonard and Effie, and they were delighted.
“Of course,” said Leonard, “we must assist.”
“Assuredly you must,” said Captain Lyle; “the pie would be no pie at all unless you had a finger in it.”
The first thing that the head of the house of Glen Lyle had done was to sit down in his study one evening after dinner, with the great oil lamp swinging in front of him, a huge bottle of ink, and a dozen pens and pencils lying on the table, to say nothing of a whole regiment of mathematical instruments that had been all through the French war, compasses, rules, squares, triangles, semi-circles, and what not.
The second thing that Captain Lyle had done was, with a pencil, to fill a big page of paper with all kinds of droll faces and figures.
Little Effie climbed up behind his chair before long and had a peep over his shoulder.
“Oh, papa dear!” she cried, “that is not making a menagerie.”
“I know it isn’t, Effie. I think my thoughts had gone a wool-gathering.”
“Well,” said Effie, considering, “we may want some wool for nests and things; but don’t you think, papa, that we should build the house first, and look for the wool afterwards?”
“Oh!” cried Leonard, “don’t worry about the wool. Captain Lyle, your son Leonard, who stands before you, knows where to find lots of it. For whenever a sheep runs through a hedge – and they’re always, running through hedges, you know – they leave a tuft of wool on every thorn.”
“Well, my son, we’ll leave the wool out of the question for the present.” Then he walked about smiling to himself for a time and thinking, while the boy and girl amused themselves turning over the leaves of an old-fashioned picture-book.
“Hush!” said Effie several times when Leonard laughed too loud. “Hush! for I’m sure papa is deep in thought.”
“I have it!” cried papa.
And down he sat.
Words, and figures, and little morsels of sketches came very fast now, the secret of his present success being that he did not try to force himself to think, and my readers will find that our best thoughts come to us when we do not try to worry after them.
Yes, Captain Lyle’s ideas were flowing now, so quickly that he had to jot them down, or sketch them down here and there all over a great sheet of paper, and in about an hour’s time the rush of thought had, in a measure, expended itself. He leant back in his chair, and gave a sigh of relief.
Once more Effie came stealing up on tiptoe and peeped over his shoulder.
“Oh, what a scrawl!” she cried.
“My dear Eff,” said her father, “that is only the crude material.”
“Leonardie,” cried Effie, “come and see the rude material.”
“Well, it does seem rude enough material,” said Leonard.
“Yes,” said Effie, “but I’m sure my clever papa will make something out of it before he has done.”
Book One – Chapter Three
Castle Beautiful
“The poet may tread earth sadly,
Yet is he dreamland’s king;
And the fays, at his bidding, gladly
Visions of beauty bring.”
Scene: A green hill or knoll rising with a gentle sweep from the woods near Grayling House, on one side gigantic elm trees, with rooks busy nest-making. On the other, at the rock foot, the dark deep loch. Behind the hill, as far as the eye can see, a forest dotted with spring-green larches and dark waving pines; blue mountains beyond, and a bright sun shining down on all from a sky of cloudless blue.
It is early morning, but those rooks have been at it long before the beams of the rising sun capped the hills with crimson. There are many other voices in the woods; indeed, every tree is alive with song, but you would have to walk a long distance into the forest before you could listen with pleasure to either the merle or the mavis, so loud-voiced are those rooks with their everlasting but senseless song of “Caw – caw – caw.”
But listen! – if indeed it be possible to listen to anything – there is evidently a merry party coming towards the mound here, from the direction of Grayling House.
There is a manly voice singing, and there is the merry laughter of children, with every now and then the sharp ringing bark of a collie, or the deeper bay of a hound in the woods.
And now they burst into view. At the head of the procession, hatchet in hand, marches Captain Lyle himself, flanked on the right by Leonard, on the left by Effie. Behind them come men carrying baskets of tools and spades and shovels, and bringing up the rear, and limping somewhat, is old Peter himself.
What are they all doing here? Why, they are going to complete the building of the Miniature Menagerie. And if you now look behind you, and to the top of the little green hill, you will notice rising therefrom a structure of such fairy-like dimensions, but of such grace and beauty withal, that no one could have been blamed for mistaking it for the palace of some elfin king.
Externally, and seen from a distance, it looked already complete, but a closer inspection showed that the rooms were all unfurnished as yet, and the place void of tenants.
There was much to do, but there was a merry, busy crew to do it, and what with shouting and what with talking and singing, I must say that if the din at the building of the Tower of Babel was anything in comparison to this, it must have been very great indeed.
I do not know that Effie did much to assist – assist the work, I mean, for she did add to the din most considerably – but Leonard proved an able lieutenant in running
