The Pool of St. Branok Read Online Free

end to the story. My grandfather had a prominent place in my repertoire of dreams.
    Then came the day in early April. It was spring and Jack was in the garden with Amy, our nursery maid, and I was with them when my parents came out.
    Jack ran to my mother and clutched at her skirts. She lifted him up. Then she smiled at me. “We’ve heard from your Aunt Amaryllis.”
    Aunt Amaryllis wrote frequently. She liked the family to keep in touch, and she had always felt she must look after my mother since the death of my grandmother in that fatal incident in Australia; for Amaryllis and my grandmother Jessica—although they were of an age—had been brought up together.
    “She’s excited about the Exhibition,” said my mother. “The Queen is going to open it on the first of May. She suggests we ought to go up to see it. It is some time since we visited.”
    I gave a little jump of joy. I loved visiting London.
    “There seems to be no reason why we should not go,” said my father.
    “I’m going too,” announced Jack.
    “Of course you are, darling,” said my mother. “We shouldn’t dream of leaving you behind, should we?”
    “No,” replied Jack complacently.
    “It will be exciting,” went on my mother. “They’ve been months planning it. And the Queen is particularly enthusiastic because it is Prince Albert’s idea. He’s been behind it all along.”
    “When shall we go?” I asked.
    “In a few weeks,” said my mother.
    “We’ll have to,” added my father. “We want to be there for the opening.”
    “By the Queen,” I put in. “Oh, I can’t wait to see it.”
    “I shall write at once to Aunt Amaryllis,” said my mother.
    And from then on there was little talk of anything but the Great Exhibition.
    When we arrived in London Aunt Amaryllis greeted us warmly. There was something very thrilling about the London residence. It was situated in a dignified square in the middle of which were enclosed gardens—for the use of the residents, all of whom had a key. They were beautifully kept and there were trees, shrubs and little paths with seats here and there. I thought of it as an enchanted though miniature wood. From the top windows of the house there was a glimpse of the river Thames. I loved to look down on it and imagine the glories of the past when the river was the great highway of the capital. I was Anne Boleyn going to her coronation and later going to her doleful prison in the Tower of London. I was in the royal pageant listening to Handel’s Water Music. I was at the center of many brilliant events and always playing some heroic part in them.
    Aunt Amaryllis must have been nearly sixty by now but she had one of those smooth unruffled almost child-like faces which made her seem much younger. Uncle Peter was older still but he gave the impression of being indestructible.
    Amaryllis embraced my mother with rather special affection. Her eyes filled with tears and I knew she was thinking of my grandmother which she always did when seeing my mother after an absence.
    “It is lovely to have you here,” she said. “It seems so long. And, Angelet, how you have grown! And little Jack. No longer little, eh?”
    “I am rather big,” Jack admitted modestly.
    And Aunt Amaryllis kissed him tenderly.
    “And Rolf … So lovely to see you. And now your rooms. Your usual, of course. By the way, Helena and Matthew will be here tomorrow for luncheon. Matthew has some business to discuss with Peter in the morning.”
    And there I was in my little room at the top of the house. Aunt Amaryllis knew that I loved to watch the river. She thought of things like that and seemed to have spent her life trying to please everybody.
    There was a great deal of talk about the family during the rest of that day.
    “You must take the children over to Helena’s,” said Aunt Amaryllis. “Jonnie and Geoffrey will look forward to seeing Angelet.”
    “Jonnie must be getting on now.”
    “He’s soon to be thirteen.”
    I