Adventures of Herr Baby

by Mrs. Molesworth

  CHAPTER V.

  BY LAND AND SEA

  "So the wind blew softly, And the sun shone bright."

  Grandfather had fixed that it would be best to go straight through atonce to the seaport, where, the next morning, they would find the'normous boat waiting to take them over the sea. They had to passthrough London on the way, and, by the time they got to the big Londonstation, Baby was very tired--so white and quiet that mother was alittle frightened.

  "I almost wish," she said, "that we had fixed to stay all night inLondon. Baby has never had a long railway journey before, since he was a_real_ Baby, you know, and he is not very strong."

  She was speaking to auntie. It was just when they were getting near thebig London station. Auntie looked at Baby. He was lying on Lisa's kneewith his eyes shut, as if he were asleep, but he wasn't. He heard whatthey said, and he was rather pleased at them talking about him. In_some_ ways he was very fond of being made a fuss about.

  "He does look a little white shrimp," said auntie. "But then you know,May, he is so fair. He looks more quickly white if he is tired thanother children. And he has been such a good little man all day--not onebit of trouble. He is really a capital traveller--_ever_ so much quieterthan the others."

  She said these last few words in a low tone, not caring for the otherchildren to hear; but if she had spoken quite loud I don't think theywould have heard, and, indeed, it seemed as if they wanted to show thatauntie's words were true; for just at that moment there came such ascream from Denny that everybody started up in a fright.

  What _could_ be the matter? everybody asked.

  "It's all Denny," said Fritz, in a great fuss.

  "It's not; it's all Fritz and Celia," said Denny.

  "It's both of them," said Celia. "Mother, I wish you wouldn't let thembe near each other. Denny put her hand into the dormice's cage whenFritz wasn't looking, and she poked out Tim, who was just beginning tocome awake for the night, and she as nearly as _could_ be got his tailpulled off, and then, when Fritz caught her, she screamed."

  "Fritz snipped my hand in the little door of the cage," sobbed Denny."And Celia always takes Fritz's part."

  Celia was beginning; to "answer back," when auntie stopped her by alook--the children were sometimes rather afraid of auntie's "looks."

  "Dear me, young people," said grandfather from his end of the carriage,"you might be peaceable for five minutes, and then we shall be inLondon, and you shall have a good tea before we go on again."

  The children all grew quiet. They were glad to hear of tea, and theywere a little ashamed of themselves. Auntie moved over to their end ofthe carriage.

  "Him would like some tea too, p'ease," said Baby, as she passed him, andauntie patted his head.

  "They are all tired, I suppose," said mother; "but it really is toosilly, the way they quarrel about nothing."

  "Auntie," said Celia softly, "I think it was partly my fault. Denny andFritz asked me to tell them a story, and I wouldn't. It would have keptthem quiet."

  "Well, never mind now," said auntie. "You must all try and be very goodto-morrow. This is only the first day, you know. You can't be expectedto be very clever travellers yet. And the very first lesson to learn intravelling is--do you know what?"

  "Not to lose your things?" said Celia.

  "To be ready in time?" said Fritz.

  "To sit still in the railway?" said Denny, rather meekly.

  "All those are very good things," said auntie; "but they're not _the_thing I was thinking of. It was _to keep your temper_."

  The children got rather red, but I don't think any one noticed, foralready the train was slackening, and in another minute or two they allgot out and were standing together on the bustling platform, dimlylighted up by the gas lamps, which looked yellow and strange in thefoggy air of a London November evening.

  "Is zit London?" said Baby, and when Celia said "yes," he added rathermournfully, "Him doesn't sink London's pitty at all."

  Poor little boys, for after all, Fritz himself wasn't very big! They stood together hand in hand on the station platform, looking, and feeling, rather desolate.--P. 84.]

  Poor little boys, for, after all, Fritz himself wasn't very big! Theystood together hand in hand on the station platform, looking, andfeeling, rather desolate. Lisa was busy helping with the rugs andbags that had been in the carriage; mother and auntie, as well asgrandfather and Peters and the maid, were all busy about the luggage.

  "Stay there a moment, children," said somebody; but Denny had no idea ofstaying anywhere. Off she trotted to have a look at the luggage too, andCelia was half inclined to follow her, when her glance fell on her twolittle brothers.

  "Celia," said Baby, catching hold of her, "don't go away too. Fritz istaking care of him, but we _might_ be lostened."

  He spoke rather timidly, and Celia's heart was touched. She was a gooddeal older than the others--nearly twelve--Fritz and Denny were verynear in age, and sometimes Celia was a little cross at mother for notmaking difference enough, as she thought, and for keeping her still agood deal in the nursery. Mother had her own good reasons, and it is notalways wise for big people to tell children their reasons, as Celia gotto know when she grew wiser and bigger herself. She sometimes spokerather crossly to the younger ones, and it made them a very littleafraid of her, but in her heart she was kind. Just now she stooped downto kiss Baby.

  "Don't be frightened, poor old man," she said, "you won't be lost. Fritzwouldn't let you be lost, would you, Fritz?"

  Fritz brightened up at that, as Celia had meant he should. He, too, hadbeen feeling a little strange and queer--the long journey and thesleeping in the day, all so different from their life at home, hadrather upset him--but he would not have liked to say so! And now he wasquite pleased at Celia telling Baby that, of course, Fritz was bigenough to take care of him. It is so easy for children--bigger onesabove all--to please each other and give nice feelings, when they reallytry to feel _with_ each other and _for_ each other.

  The little boys looked much happier a few minutes later, when they wereseated at tea in a comfortable corner of the refreshment room.Grandfather had sent Peters on, as soon as they had got the luggage allsafe, to see that a table was placed for them by themselves. He,himself, went off to get some real dinner, for, of course, it was not tobe expected that a gentleman, and especially an _old_ gentleman, wouldbe contented with tea, and bread and butter, and buns, however nice,but, to the children's great pleasure, mother and auntie said _they_would far rather stay and have tea with the little people.

  "It is a good thing, isn't it, for them to stay with us?" said Fritz toCelia, confidentially, "for we are none of us _very_ big, are we? Andyou know we _might_ get lost somehow, as Baby says, though I wouldn'tsay so to him for fear of frightening him, you know."

  "No, of course not," said Celia, and looking up she was pleased to seemother smiling at her. Mother saw that Celia was trying to be kind andhelpful, and she did so like to see the way the little ones clung toCelia when she was gentle. Mother must have been something like Baby inher mind, I think, for when she looked at the boys sitting there in thestrange, big station-room, their little faces grave and rather tiredlooking, a sort of sorry feeling came over _her_ too, as she thought ofthe snug, cosy nursery at home, and the neat nursery tea, with thepretty pink and white cups she had chosen, and the canaries and "Bully"twittering in the window. Poor "calanies" and poor Bully! they didn'tknow where they had got to! They had slept nearly all day, thinking, asthey were meant to think, that it was night, I suppose, but now theymust have given up thinking so, for they were fidgeting about in theircages in an unhappy, restless sort of way. They had plenty of seed, andCelia and Lisa took care that they should have fresh water, but still,poor little things, they were not very happy.

  "Going away from their own home is really a trial for children," thoughtmother. She was a little tired herself, and being tired makes_everything_ seem the wrong way.

  But there was no help for it. They had a
ll to make the best of things,and to set off again in another train and be rattled away to the sea. Itwas quite dark by now, of course, and it seemed very queer to start onanother journey with so little rest between. I think, however, once theywere all settled in the railway carriage, that the children slept themost of the way; Baby, at any rate, knew nothing more till he woke up tofind himself in Lisa's arms, with a cold, fresh air--the air of thesea--blowing in his face, and making him lift up his head and look abouthim.

  "Where is him?" he said. "Is him in the 'normous boat?"

  "Not so, Herr Baby," said Lisa. "He shall first be undressed and have anice sleep all night in bed, to rest him well. Lie still, mine child,and Lisa will keep you warm."

  "Him likes the wind," said Baby. "It blowed his eyes open; him is quiteawake now," and he tried to sit straight up in Lisa's arms.

  "Oh, Herr Baby, I cannot hold you so," said Lisa.

  "There is such a little way to go," said his mother, who was justbehind, "lie still, dear, as Lisa tells you."

  "Him would like to walk, him's legs is so 'tiff," said Baby. "P'ease lethim walk if it's such a little way!"

  His voice was so piteous that mother told Lisa to let him walk; theywere going from the station to the hotel, a very little way, as motherhad said. Lisa put Baby down on the ground; at first he really tumbledover, his legs felt so funny, but with Lisa's hand he soon got hisbalance again. It was a very dark night; they could not have seen theirway but for the lights of the station and the town.

  "What a dark countly zit is!" said Herr Baby. "Is there no moon in zitcountly? Denny says in her hymn 'the moon to shine by night,' is thereno moon 'cept in him's own countly?"

  "What are you chattering about, little man?" said auntie.

  "He's asking about the moon, auntie; he wants to know if there isn'tany moon here. He thinks we've left it behind at home," said Denny.

  A sort of roar from poor Baby interrupted her.

  "Oh, Denny, don't, _don't_ say that," he cried, "it makes him sink ofthe labbits, and Thomas, and Jones, and the trees, and the flowers, andhim's dear little bed, and all the sings we'se leaved behind. Himdoesn't like you to speak of leaved behind."

  "_Poor_ Baby," said Denny, "I'm so sorry." She stooped down to kiss him,but it was so dark it wasn't easy to find his mouth, and she onlymanaged to kiss the tip of his nose, which was as cold as a littledog's. This made Herr Baby begin laughing, which was a good thing,wasn't it? And he was so taken up in explaining to Lisa how funny itfelt when Denny kissed his nose, that he had not time to think of hissorrows again till they were at the foot of the large flight of stepsleading up to the big hotel where they were to sleep.

  "Nice big house," said Baby, looking round; and as he caught sight ofsome of the waiters running about, he asked Lisa if "them was newservants instead of Thomas and Jones."

  "Him likes Thomas and Jones best," he went on, the corners of his mouthgoing down again, so that Lisa was obliged to assure him the servantswere not going to be _instead_ of Thomas and Jones, they were all onlyjust going to stay one night at this big house, and to-morrow they wouldset off in the great ship to cross the sea.

  The mention of the ship fortunately gave a new turn to Baby's thoughts;and he allowed Lisa to take him upstairs and warm him well before a goodfire before she undressed him and put him to bed. The other childrenthought it great fun to sleep in strange rooms, in beds quite unlikethose they had at home, and to have to hunt for their nightgowns andbrushes and sponges in two or three _wrong_ carpet bags before they cameto the right one; but Baby's spirits were rather depressed, and it wasnot easy to keep him from crying in the sad little way he had when hisfeelings were touched.

  "He is tired, poor little chap," said auntie, as she kissed him forgood-night. "It is ever so much later than he has ever been up before.It is nearly ten."

  "Him _were_ up till ten o'clock on Kissmass," said Herr Baby,brightening up. "Him were up _dedful_ late, till, till, p'raps till neartwenty o'clock."

  Auntie would have liked to laugh, but she took care not, for when Babywas in this sort of humour there was no telling whether other people'slaughing might not make him take to crying, so she just said,

  "Indeed! That must have been _very_ late; well, go to sleep now, andsleep till twenty o'clock to-morrow morning, if you like. We don't needto start early," she added, turning to Lisa; and I think poor Lisa wasnot sorry to hear it!

  If I were to go on telling you, bit by bit, all about the journey, andeverything that happened big and little, it would take a good while, andI don't know that you would find it very interesting. Perhaps it isbetter to take a jump, as people do in real big story books, and to goon with Herr Baby's adventures a few days later, when he, and Denny, andFritz, and Celia, and Lisa, and mother, and auntie, and grandfather, andthe "bully," and the "calanies," and Tim, and Peepy-Snoozle, and Linley,mother's maid, and Peters, grandfather's man, and I forget if there wasany one else, but I think not; and all the boxes and carpet-bags, andrailway-rugs, were safely arrived at Santino, the pretty little townwith mountains on one side and the sea on the other, where they were allgoing to spend the winter. I must not forget to tell you one thing,however, which, I daresay, some of you who may have crossed "over thesea," and _not_ found it very delightful, may be anxious to know about.I mean about the voyage in the 'normous boat, which Baby had been solooking forward to, poor little fellow.

  Well, wasn't it lucky, he was not at all disappointed? They had theloveliest day that ever was seen, and Baby thought 'normous boats farthe nicest way of travelling, and he couldn't understand why grandfathercouldn't make them go all the way to Santino in the nice boat, and whenthey explained to him that it couldn't be, because there was no sea forboats to go on all the way, he thought there must have been some greatmistake in the way the world was made. And when they got to Santino, andthe first thing he saw _was_ the sea, blue and beautiful like a fairydream, Baby was quite startled.

  "Mother, auntie!" he said, reproachfully, "you toldened him thereweren't no sea."

  "We didn't mean that, Baby, dear," said mother; "we meant that there wasno sea to come the shortest way; we would have had to come all round theland, and it would have been much longer. Look, it is like this," andmother traced with her parasol a sort of map on the sand, to show Babythat they had come a much nearer way. For they were standing by thesea-shore at the time.

  "Yes," said Herr Baby, after looking on without speaking for a minute ortwo, "him under'tands now."

  "So you've had your first lesson in geography," said auntie.

  Baby stared up at her.

  "Are _that_ jography?" he said. "Him thought jography were awful, dedfuldifficult. Denny is so _werry_ c'oss when her has jography to learn."

  "Oh, because, of course, you know," said Denny, getting rather red,"_my_ jography is _real_ jography, with books and maps and ever so longrows of names to learn. Baby's so stupid--he always takes up things so;he'll be thinking now that if he makes marks on the sand, he'll belearning jography."

  Denny turned away with a very superior air. Baby looked much hurt.

  "Are _that_ jography?" he said.--P. 94.]

  "Him's not stupid, _are_ him?" he said; and in a moment Celia and Fritzwere hugging him and calling Denny a naughty, unkind girl to tease him.Mother and auntie had walked on a little, so things _might_ have gone onto a quarrel if Lisa hadn't stopped it.

  "Mine children," she said, "it is too pity to be not friendly together.See what one beautifullest place this is--sky so blue and sea so blue,and all so bright and sunny. One should be nothing but happy here."

  "Yes," said Celia, looking round, "it is an awfully pretty place."

  Celia, you see, was just beginning to be old enough to notice reallybeautiful things in a way that when children are _very_ little, theycannot quite understand, though some do much more than others.

  "It is a _very_ pretty place," she said again, as if she were speakingto herself, for Fritz and Denny had taken it into their heads to runraces, of
which Lisa was very glad, and Celia stood still by herself,looking round at the lovely sea and sky, and the little white townperched up above, with the mountains rising behind. Suddenly a littlehand was slipped into hers.

  "Him would like to live here everways," said Baby's voice; "it _are_ sopitty--somefin like Heaven, p'raps."

  "I don't know," said Celia, "I suppose Heaven must be prettier thananything we could fancy."

  "There's gold streets in Heaven, Lisa says," said Baby; "him sinks bluesky streets would be much pittier."

  "So do I," said Celia.

  Then they walked on a little, watching Fritz and Denny, already like twoblack specks in front--they had run on so far--and, somehow, in the_very_ bright sunshine, one seemed to see less clearly. Mother andauntie were in front too, and when Fritz and Denny raced back again,quite hot and out of breath, mother said it was time for them all to goin; it was still rather too hot to be out much near the middle of theday, though it was already some way on in November, and next month wouldbe the month that Christmas comes in!

  "How funny it seems," said Celia. "Why, when we left home it was quitewinter. Just think how we were wrapped up when we started on thejourney, and now we're quite warm enough with nothing at all over ourfrocks."

  "It may be cold enough before long," said mother, who was moreaccustomed to hot climates than the children; "sometimes the coldhereabouts comes quite suddenly, and it even seems colder from havingbeen so warm before. I daresay you will be glad of your thick clothesbefore Christmas. But we must get on a little quicker, or elsegrandfather will be in a hurry for his breakfast."

  "Ganfather's werry lazy not to have had him's breakfast yet," saidBaby. "_Him's_ had _him's_ breakfast ever so long ago, hundreds of yearsago."

  "Oh, Baby," said Denny, "how you do 'saggerate! It _couldn't_ have beenhundreds of years ago, because, you know, you weren't born then."

  "Stupid girl!" said Baby, "how does you know? you wasn't there."

  "Well, _you_ weren't there," said Denny again.

  "Children, don't contradict each other. It's not nice," said auntie.

  "Him didn't begin," said Baby, "t'were Denny beginned."

  "I didn't. I only said _once_ that Baby wasn't born hundreds of yearsago," said Denny, "and then he----"

  "Onst is as wurst as twicet," said Baby.

  Mother turned round at this. There was a funny look on her face, butstill she spoke rather gravely.

  "Baby, I don't know what's coming over you," she said. "It isn't likeyou to speak like that."

  Baby's face grew red, and he turned his head away.

  "Him didn't mean _zeally_ that ganfather were lazy," he said, in a lowvoice.

  "It wasn't _that_ I was vexed with you for," said mother. "I know youwere joking when you said that. I meant what you said to Denny."

  "Him's werry sorry," said Baby, on the point of tears.

  "Never mind. Don't cry about it," said mother, who really wanted thechildren to be very good and happy this first day. And she was a littleafraid of Baby's beginning to cry, for, _sometimes_, once he had begun,it was not very easy to stop him.

  "You don't understand about grandfather and his breakfast," said auntie."Here nobody has big breakfast when they first get up except youchildren, who have the same that you have at home."

  "No we don't," said Denny. "At home we have bread and milk every dayexcept Sunday--on Sunday we have bacon or heggs, because that's thenothing-for-breakfast day."

  Auntie stared at Denny.

  "Really, Denny," she said, "it is sometimes a little difficult to besure that you have got all your senses. How can you have 'nothing forbreakfast' when you have bacon, and--who in the world ever taught you tosay 'heggs'?"

  "I meant to say 'neggs,'" said Denny very humbly. "Grandfather laughedat me because I didn't say 'hippotamus' right--I called it a'nippotamus,' and he made me say 'hi-hi-hip,' and that's got me into theway of saying it to everything, like calling a negg, a hegg."

  "A _negg_," repeated auntie slowly. "Can't you hear any differencebetween 'a negg,' and 'an egg'? Spell, a-n an, e-g-g egg."

  Denny repeated it.

  "What dedful jography Denny's having," observed Baby; "I can say _anegg, quite_ right."

  "And so you too call 'a negg' nothing for breakfast?" said auntie.

  "Neggs and bacon is nothing for breakfast," answered Baby.

  "Auntie," said Fritz, "you don't understand. We call it nothing forbreakfast when there's not bread-and-milk, you know, for onbread-and-milk days we have just one little cup of tea and a bit ofbread-and-butter after the bread-and-milk. But on Sundays, andbirthdays, there's nothing for the _first_, and so we get better things,more like big people, and tea, and whatever there is, as soon as webegin. That's why we like 'nothing for breakfast,' do you see, auntie?"

  "I see," said auntie, "but I certainly couldn't have guessed. I hopethere's _something_ for breakfast to-day for us, for I'm very hungry,and look, there's grandfather coming out to meet us, which looks as ifhe were hungry too. And what have you to say to it, old man?" she added,as Herr Baby came up the steps, one foot at a time, of course, "aren'tyou hungry after your walk?"

  "Him's hungry for him's _dinner_, but not for him's _breakfast_; incourse not," said Baby, with great dignity.