CHAPTER VI.
WE TRY TO BE GOOD.
"Our sister is quite in her glory, When telling us nice little tales."
He was not a very amusing person.]
As ill-luck would have it, this day also was wet and dreary. I don'tknow that Mrs. Partridge or Sarah regretted it, for if it had been fineone of the servants would have had to take us out for a walk. But wewere very sorry. Anything would have been better than another longdreary day up in the dull nursery. Still we had some variety to-day, forour tutor came to give us our first lesson, which took up two hours. Hewas not a very amusing person; he was very thin and tired-looking, buthe was perfectly gentle, so we liked him well enough. We liked him toofor another reason. He said that we were very well on for our ages; andas mother had always taught us herself, we felt quite pleased for him tosay so. He left us some lessons to do for the next day, but not much.Long before the afternoon was half over we had finished them, and werewondering whatever we could get to do to help us through all the hoursthat still remained. This was not a day for Uncle Geoff seeing people inhis house, so we had not even the fun of listening to the carriagesstopping, and the bell ringing, and trying to peep at the ladies andgentlemen getting out. Sarah was rather kind--she came in and out to seeus as often as she could, but of course she had a great deal of work todo, and she said Mrs. Partridge made her work even harder than sheneeded. Mrs. Partridge did not come up-stairs again herself all day, andof that we were very glad-- I suppose she found the stairs too much forher.
Before the end of that afternoon, I think we had changed our minds aboutwishing we might have no nurse. Even a rather cross nurse would havebeen better than none at all. It was very tiresome every time we wantedanything to have to fetch it ourselves, or to have to run out to thelanding and stand there till Sarah happened to come in sight. There wasno bell in the nursery, at least it was broken, but even if it hadn'tbeen, we shouldn't have dared to ring it. And two buttons came offRacey's boot--both off the same boot, just out of tiresomeness--and hecouldn't keep it on properly, and he had to wear cloth boots in thehouse, because the winter before he had had such bad chilblains, so Ihad to try to sew them on, and you don't know how I pricked my fingers!I do think there is nothing so horrible as sewing on boot buttons.
And then when Tom and I were doing our writing for Mr. Lingard--that wasour tutor--for the next day, Tom would pull the ink close over to him,and I pulled it back to me, and we both got cross, and the end of it wasthat the ink was all spilt over the table; and oh! it made such a bigblack pool, and then little streams of it began running to the edge, andwould have fallen on to the carpet.
"Oh," said Tom, "I'll wipe it up;" and up he jumped to fetch somethingto wipe it with, and before I could see what he was about, what do youthink he had done? He had seized my Lady Florimel's opera cloak, whichwas lying on a chair--of course it _shouldn't_ have been lying about, Iknow--and scrubbed up the ink with it all in a minute. The cloak wasblack silk outside, so he thought it was just a piece of black stufflying about--but inside it was lovely pale pink, and of course it wasquite spoilt. I was so vexed that I began to cry, and then Tom wasdreadfully sorry, and came and hugged and kissed me, and so we madefriends again, and the ink spilling sent away our quarrelling any way.And perhaps it was better for Lady Florimel's cloak to be spoilt, thanfor the carpet, for then we should have had a very great scolding fromMrs. Partridge. It didn't matter for the table, as it just had anoilcloth cover that would not stain. And when we had made friends again,we all climbed up on to the window-sill, and began to wonder what weshould do.
"Tom," said Racey, pressing his face flat against the window, so as tosee out better, "Tom, have you seen the air-garden?"
"The air-garden," repeated Tom, "what do you mean?"
"He means that little sticking out glass place," I explained, "withflowers and plants in--there, further down on the other side."
"A preservatory," said Tom, rather contemptuously, "why, who would thinkwhat you meant, if you say a' air-garden?"
"_I_ zink it's a much prettier name than 'servatory," said Raceyindignantly.
I began to be afraid of getting into quarrelling again just from havingnothing to do; the big clock on the stair which we could hear from thenursery, had struck only three a few minutes before, and there was stilla whole hour to tea. The boys were really tired of all their toys, andI didn't care to play with my dolls. The misfortune to Lady Florimel'scloak had put me out of conceit of them for the present.
"Let's tell each other stories," I said.
"Don't know none," said Tom.
"Well, make them up," said I.
"I know lots," remarked Racey.
"Well, you begin then," said I.
"Oh no," objected Tom, "Racey's stories are _so_ silly. You tell us one,Audrey, and I'll think of one while you are telling it."
"Thank you--how much would you listen to mine, if you were making oneyourself all the time?"
"Oh but I _would_ listen--_dear_ Audrey, your stories are always sonice," said Tom, coaxingly; but Racey was so offended at Tom saying hisstories were stupid, that he wouldn't speak at all.
"Well, I'll tell one if you'll let Racey tell one too. I don't think hisare stupid at all. And if you can think of one, you can tell yours too.Let's all be quiet for five minutes to think of them."
"Mine's all ready," said Racey. "It's about a----"
"Hush, you're not to tell till it's your turn," said Tom sharply, sothat Racey looked offended again; and I was in such a hurry to stoptheir quarrelling, that I had to begin my story before I had got ithalf settled. I mean before I had thought quite how to tell it rightly,for the story itself was true, as mother had told it me herself.
"Tom and Racey," I said, "I don't think you ever heard the story I amgoing to tell you. Mother told it to me one day when you weren't in theroom. It is about mother's godmother when she was a little girl."
"Mother's godmother's little girl," said Tom, looking rather puzzled.
"No, of course not, you stupid boy," said I, at which Tom lookedoffended. It seemed as if we couldn't get out of the way of quarrellingthat afternoon, and the minute I had said it, I was sorry. "Oh, dearTom, don't be vexed. I didn't mean to call you stupid," I said, quickly."I'll tell you how I mean. Mother had a godmother, you know, just likeyou have Uncle Geoff for your godfather. And mother was called after hergodmother, whose name was like mother's of course, as she was calledafter her. Well, this godmother was partly French and partly English,and of course when she was young, before she was grown up, she was alittle girl, just like everybody else."
"Except boys," said Tom very seriously. He was anxious to show me thathe was giving his whole attention. "When men are little they're boys,not girls."
"Of course," I said again. "Well, any way, you see now how I mean--thislady, Madame----I forget her last name, it's very hard to say, I'll callher Marie, for that was her first name, and of course when she waslittle she wasn't called Madame----, well when she was little, she wastaken for a visit to her grandmother, who lived in France."
"Didn't she live in France herself?" said Tom; "I thought you said shewas French."
"She was partly French--not all. No, I don't think she lived in France.They took her there for a visit, so she couldn't have been living there.She went to stay with her grandmother, I told you, and her grandmotherlived in a queer old town, that was as old as--as old as--" I stopped tothink of the oldest thing I knew.
"As old as old," suggested Tom.
"As old as twenty grandmothers, all top of each 'nother," said Racey.
This was thought very witty, and we spent a minute or two in laughing atit. Then I started again. "Well, never mind how old it was, any way itwas very old, for mother told me she had once been there herself, andthe churches and houses were all like old castles, the walls were sothick, and the stones they were made of so grey and worn-looking. And inthis old town once a year, there was a great, great, big fair--you knowwhat I mean, boys--people used to
come from ever so far, bringing thingsto sell, and all the biggest streets were set out with little woodenshops, with all the things in. There were even Turkish and Chinesepeople selling things; and all the people in the town, and the countrypeople round about, used to look forward all the year to the things theywould buy at this fair. It wasn't all for buying though; there were lotsof show things, animals you know, shows of lions and tigers, and snakesand monkeys, and other shows, like circuses--ladies and gentlemen alldressed up, and even little children riding round and round on beautifulhorses, and sometimes dancing up in the air on ropes. And there weremusic places, and lots of shops too, where you could get nice things toeat--altogether it was very nice. Marie used to go out for a walk everyday with her nurse, and she always pulled and pulled till she came theway to where the fair was. But her grandmother told the nurse she mustnever take Marie to the fair without _her_, because there were sometimessuch crowds and crowds of people, that the grandmother was afraid Mariemight get hurt some way. Marie cried the day her grandmother said that,because she wanted very much to go to spend some money that some one hadsent her, or given her; perhaps her father had sent it her in a letterfor her birthday--I think that was it. She was only five years old,quite a little girl, so it was no wonder she cried. And so hergrandmother promised she would take her the next day if it was fine; andit was fine, so Marie set off to the fair with her grandmother, and hernurse walked behind. It must have been a _very_ funny place mother toldme, for besides all the Turkey people, and Chinese, and Spanish, and allthat, there were all the funny dresses of the country people themselves.The women had high caps, all stuck up with wires, and bright colouredskirts, and velvet bodies. I know what they were like, because motherhad a doll once that her godmother had sent her dressed that way, andmother remembered it quite. I wish we could see a picture of that fairnow, don't you, Tom? how funny it would be, and even that little Marie'sdress would look funny and old-fashioned now!"
"What would it be like?" said Tom.
"I don't know. I dare say it would be something like the little tinypictures there used to be in the drawing-room, hanging up in velvetcases on the wall--mini--something mother called them, of papa's auntswhen they were little. They had white frocks, and blue sashes, tiedright under their arms, and their hair all curling."
"Oh yes, I remember," said Tom. "Go on, Audrey, I can fancy Marie quitewell."
"Well, she went trotting along beside her grandmother, and she was verypleased, because she had her money to spend, and she was a very prettylittle girl, so everybody looked at her. And she was very nicelydressed, and her hair was beautiful; I was forgetting that, for it hasto do with the story--long, long curls of bright light hair down herback. And she bought with her money a very pretty little basket withroses painted outside; and after a while, when they had looked at allthe shops, her grandmother thought it was time to go home. They had topass through a very crowded place, where a lot of people were standingto see some kind of show, and Marie's grandmother said to the nurse,'Wait a minute, the crowd will be going, for the show is just over.' Sothe nurse, who had Marie's hand, stepped back just a little bit to wait,and Marie, seeing her grandmother just in front pulled away from thenurse to get beside her grandmother. But just then--they were standinglike at the edge of the crowd, you know--Marie caught sight of a funnilydressed up dog, that a man had on a table, and that he was making bowto the people that passed. Meaning to come back in a moment, Mariedarted away to see the dog, and just for a little while the nurse didn'tmiss her, thinking she was with her grandmother, for she had said whenshe pulled away her hand, 'I want to go to grandmother,' and of courseher grandmother didn't miss her, thinking she was behind with the nurse.Marie was so pleased with the dog that she stood for a minute or twolooking at it, and laughing to herself at its tricks. And then she heardsome one saying to her, in French of course--she could speak both Frenchand English--'Oh, what pretty hair the young lady has! Oh, what acharming young lady!' And when she turned round she saw the person thatwas speaking to her was a gipsy-looking girl--of course Marie was toolittle to know that she was gipsy-looking--but she remembered that shehad very dark hair and eyes, and a bright scarlet dress, and shiny goldthings about her head. She must have been one of the rope-dancingplayers, mother told me, for afterwards her grandmother noticed thattheir tent was close by the dancing dog place. Little Marie looked up atthe girl without speaking. Then the girl said to her, 'I have two littledogs that dance much better than that. Will the young lady come with meto see them?'
"She held out her hand, but Marie would not take her hand, because shethought it was dirty. She wanted dreadfully to see the two dogs though,so she said to the girl, 'You show me where, and I'll come, and then youmust take me back to my grandmother.'
"'Oh yes,' said the girl, 'you come after me, and then, when you've seenthe dogs, I'll take you back to your grandmother.'
"So the girl turned another way and went in among the tents, like at theback of them, and Marie went after her. The girl walked quick, but shekept looking back to see if Marie was coming. Marie was coming as fastas she could, when all of a sudden, close to her it seemed, she heardthe most awful big noise she had ever heard in her life; a roar, sodreadfully loud, that it seemed to shake the ground like thunder. Marieknew what it was, for when she had been at the fair before, alone withher nurse, she had heard it, though never so near, and her nurse hadtold her it was the lion, the great big lion they had in the animal showplace."
"Oh Audrey," Racey interrupted, coming close up to me and cuddling hisface into my shoulder, "don't tell stories about lions. It does sof'ighten me."
"Lubbish," said Tom, "do go on, Audrey. It's lovely." (Why Tom alwayssaid "lubbish" for "rubbish" I'm sure I don't know, for he could say his_r_'s well enough.)
"Well," I went on, "Marie was no braver than Racey, for when she heardthis terrible roar, she really thought the lion was coming after her,and she turned and ran, as fast as ever her feet could go, right theother way. She turned so suddenly and ran so fast, that when the gipsygirl turned round to look for her, she was out of sight."
"Was the gipsy vexed?" asked Tom.
"Of course she was."
"But it was very kind of her to say she would show Marie her two littledogs. Wasn't she a kind girl?"
"No, not really. Marie's grandmother told her afterwards that no doubtthe girl had wanted to steal her, and that her people would have madeMarie into a rope-dancing girl, because you see she was so pretty, andhad such beautiful hair. And they would have taken her far away to othercountries, and she was so little that after a while she would haveforgotten her friends very likely, and her father and mother would neverhave seen her again. Just think what a difference it would have made ifthe lion hadn't roared just that minute! Marie would very likely havegrown up a poor dancing girl, and nobody would ever have known who shewas. And she would never have been mother's godmother, so I wouldn'tever have been telling you this story."
"How queer!" said Tom, consideringly. "All just because of the lion'sroar. But please go on, Audrey. Where did Marie run to?"
"Zes, where did she zun to?" said Racey.
"You're a parrot, Racey. I don't believe you've been listening."
"I has," said Racey, indignantly.
"Well, she ran and ran, till she got quite out of the fair, and in amonga lot of streets, where she didn't know her way a bit. She did know someof the big streets close to her grandmother's house a little, but theselittle narrow streets she didn't know one bit; and when she stopped,after running till she was quite out of breath, she didn't know how togo home at all. She was still frightened, she fancied perhaps the lionwas running after her, and she looked about to see where she could go tobe safe out of his way. Near to where she was she noticed a door open;she went up and peeped in. It was a kitchen, and in this kitchen an oldwoman was sitting with a pillow--not a pillow like what we have in bed,you know--but a hard cushion, more like a footstool, that's what theycall a lace pillow--with a pillow before
her, making lace. She looked anice old woman, and the room seemed clean, and there were flowers in thewindow, so Marie peeped in a little further, and at last got inaltogether, and stood in the doorway. The old woman looked up to seewhat it was that was in her light, and when she saw it was a littlegirl, she said, 'Good morning, miss,' to her very nicely, and asked herwhat she wanted. Marie said, 'Good morning, madame,' to her, quitenicely too, and then she said, still looking frightened--
"'Oh it's the lion; I ran away from the lion, because I thought he wasgoing to eat me up.'
"The old woman quite understood, for of course she knew about the fairand the animals that were there, and she saw that the little girl musthave strayed away from her friends. So she made Marie come in, and shegave her a little chair to sit on, and some milk to drink, and then sheasked her her name, to try to find out who she was, only unfortunatelyMarie didn't know any of her name except just 'Marie.'
"'Dear me,' said the old woman, 'that won't do, there's such lots oflittle Maries.'
"But she went on questioning her till she found that Marie was stayingwith her grandmother, that she had come over the sea to stay with her,and that her grandmother had a parrot, whose cage hung out of thewindow, and who talked to the people passing in the street, and that hecalled her grandmother's maid, 'Babette, Ba-Ba-bette.' And when Mariesaid that, the old woman quite jumped.
"'To be sure, to be sure,' she said. 'I know who is the young lady'sgrandmother;' and up she got, and put away her lace, and took Marie bythe hand to lead her home. Marie was just a little frightened at firstto go out into the street again, for fear the lion should be coming thatway; but the old woman told her she was sure he wouldn't be, and_really_, you know, though Marie didn't know it, she had far more reasonto be afraid of the gipsy girl than of the poor lion, who had only beenroaring to amuse himself in his cage. But they got on quite well throughthe streets, and just as they came to the corner near where was Marie'sgrandmother's house, there they saw her grandmother and the nurse, andBabette behind them, and the cook behind her, and the gardener last ofall, all coming hurry-scurrying out of the house, all to go differentways to look for Marie. Her grandmother had come home, you see, thinking_perhaps_ Marie had found her way there; but she and the nurse were mostdreadfully frightened, and you can fancy how delighted they were whenthey found her. Only all the time of the fair after that, Marie'sgrandmother would not let her go out except in the garden, which was abig one though, for fear the gipsy dancing girl should try to steal heragain."
"But she _didn't_?" said Racey, drawing a long breath.
"No, of course she didn't. If she had, I couldn't have told you thestory."
"Oh I'm _so_ glad she didn't," said Racey again. "Oh Audrey, I'm _so_glad nobody stolened her, and that no lionds eated her. Oh, it makes mes'iver to think of dipsies and lionds."
"You little stupid," said Tom. Really he was very tiresome about teasingpoor Racey sometimes.
"You're not to tease him, Tom," I said; "and now it's your turn to tella story."
"Well," said Tom, "it's about a boy that was dedfully frightened ofli--"
"Oh Audrey, he's going to make up a' ugly story about me," said Racey,beseechingly.
"No, no, I'm not," said Tom, "I was only teasing. My story's very nice,but it's very short. Once there was a bird that lived in agarden--Pierson told me this story--but when it came winter the birdwent away to some place where it was always summer. I _think_, but I'mnot quite sure--I _think_ the bird went to the sun, Pierson said."
"Oh no, it couldn't be that. The sun's much too far away. I've heardabout those birds. They don't go to the sun, they go to countries at theother side of the world, where the sun always shines, that's what you'rethinking of, Tom."
"Well, perhaps that was it," said Tom, only half satisfied, "though itwould be much nicer to say they went to the sun. Well, this bird had anest in the garden, and there was a girl that lived in the garden--Imean in the house where the garden was--that used to look at the birds,'cause she liked them very much. And she liked this bird best, 'causeits nest was just under her window, and she heard it singing in themorning. And when it began to come winter she knew the bird would goaway, so what do you think she did? She got it catched one day, and shetied a very weeny, weeny ribbon under its wing, some way that itcouldn't come undone, and then she let it go. And soon it went away tothat other country, and the winter came. And the girl was very ill thatwinter. I don't know if it was measles she had," said Tom, looking verywise, "but I should think it was. And they thought she was going to dieafter the winter was gone. And she kept wishing the birds would comeback, 'cause she thought she'd die before they comed. But at last onemorning she heard a little squeaking--no I don't mean squeaking--I meanchirping, just outside her window, and she called the servants, and toldthem she was sure her bird had come back, and they must catch it. Andher nurse catched it some way, and brought it to her, and what do youthink? when she looked under its wing, there was the weeny ribbon shehad tied. It was the very same bird. Wasn't it clever to know to comeback to the very same _window_ even? It's quite true, Pierson knowed thegirl."
"And did she die?" I asked Tom.
"Oh no; she was so glad the bird had come back, that she jumped out ofbed, and got quite well that very minute."
"That very minute, Tom," I said; "she couldn't get well all in aminute."
"Oh, but she just did; and if you don't believe it, you needn't. Piersonknowed her. _I_ think it's a very nice story, not frightening at all."
"Yes, it's very nice," I said. "Thank you, Tom. Now, Racey, it's yourturn."
Boys and I: A Child's Story for Children Page 6
