When she did come home she was much better, and so was Chris. He was
delighted to be our Dwarf, but he wanted to have a hump, and he would
have such a big one that it would not keep in its place, and kept
slipping under his arm and into all sorts of queer positions.
Not one of us enjoyed our new game more than Chris did, and he was
always teasing me to tell him the story I had told the others, and to
read out the names of the flowers which "the real Queen" had in her
"real paradise." He made Mother promise to try to get him a bulb of
the real Dwarf Daffodil as his next birthday present, to put in his
own garden.
"And I'll give you some compost," said Arthur. "It'll be ever so much
better than a stupid book with 'stuff' in it."
Chris did seem much stronger. He had colour in his cheeks, and his
head did not look so large. But he seemed to puzzle over things in it
as much as ever, and he was just as odd and quaint.
One warm day I had taken the _Tour round my Garden_ and was sitting
near the bush in the little wood behind our house, when Chris came
after me with a Japanese fan in his hand, and sat down cross-legged at
my feet. As I was reading, and Mother has taught us not to interrupt
people when they are reading, he said nothing, but there he sat.
"What is it, Chris?" said I.
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