Adventures of Herr Baby

by Mrs. Molesworth

  CHAPTER VI.

  AN OLD SHOP AND AN OGRE

  "Innocent face with the sad sweet eyes, Smiling on us through the centuries."

  Baby and Fritz went out a walk that afternoon in the town with auntieand Lisa. Celia and Denny had gone for a drive with mother andgrandfather, which the big people thought would make a good division.Grandfather was very fond of children, but in a carriage, he used tosay, _two_ small people were enough of a good thing. So Celia and Dennyworried Lisa to get out their best hats and jackets--which were notunpacked, as grandfather had not yet decided whether they should stay atthe hotel or get a house for themselves--and set off in great spirits onthe back seat of the carriage.

  Fritz and Baby were in very good spirits too. Fritz wanted to walk alongthe sort of front street of the town which faced the sea, for he wasnever tired of looking at boats and ships. Baby liked them too, but whathe most wanted to see was the shops. Baby was very fond of shops. He wasfond of buying things, but before he bought anything he used to like tobe quite sure which was the best shop to get it at--I mean to say atwhich shop he could get it best--and he often asked the price two orthree times before he fixed. And he had never before seen so many shopsor such pretty and curious ones as there were at Santino, so he wasquite delighted, though if you hadn't known him well you would hardlyhave guessed it, for he trotted along as grave as a little judge, onlystaring about him with all his eyes.

  And indeed there were plenty of things to stare at. Fritz's tongue wentvery fast. He wanted auntie to stop every minute to look at somethingwonderful. The carts drawn by oxen pleased him and Baby very much.

  "That's the working cows they told us about," said Fritz. "They're verynice, but I think I like horses best, don't you, Baby?"

  "No, him likes cows best," said Baby, "when him's a man him will have acalliage wif hundreds of cows to pull it along, and wif lots and lots ofgold bells all tinkling. Won't that be lubly?"

  "Not half so nice as a lot of ponies, all with bells," said Fritz,"they'd make ever so much more jingling, 'cos they go so fast. Isn't itfunny to see all the women with handkerchers on their heads and nobonnets, Baby?"

  "When him's a man," said Baby again--he was growing more talkativenow--"when him's a man, him's going to have auntie and Lisa," auntie andLisa came first, of course, because they happened to be in his sight,"and mother, and Celia, and Denny _all_ for his wifes, and them shallall wear most bootly hankerwifs on them's heads, red and blue and pinkand every colour, and gold--lots of gold."

  "Thank you," said auntie, "but by that time my hair, for one, will bequite gray; I shall be quite an old woman. I don't think such splendidtrappings would suit me."

  "Him said _handkerwifs_, not traps--him doesn't know what traps is,"said Baby. "And him will be werry kind to you when you're old. Him willalways let you come in and warm yourself, and give you halfpennies."

  "Thank you, dear, I'm sure you will," said auntie. But she and Fritzlooked at each other. That was one of Herr Baby's ideas, and theycouldn't get him to understand, so mother settled it was better toleave it and he'd understand of himself when he grew bigger. He thoughtthat _everybody_, however rich and well off they might be, had to growquite, quite poor, and to beg for pennies in the streets before theydied. Wasn't it a funny fancy? It was not till a good while afterwardsthat mother found out that what had made him think so was the word"old." He couldn't understand that growing old could mean only growingold in years--he thought it meant as well, poor and worn-out, like hisown little old shoes. Just now it would have been no good trying toexplain, even if mother had quite understood what was in his mind, whichshe didn't till he told her himself long after. For it only made him crywhen people tried to explain and _he_ couldn't explain what he meant.There was nothing vexed him so much! And I think there was somethingrather nice mixed up with this funny idea about getting old. It madeBaby wish to be so kind to all poor old people. He would look at anypoor old beggar in such a strange sad way, and he always _begged_ to beallowed to give them a penny. And, though no one knew of it, in his ownmind he was thinking that his dear little mother or his kind auntiewould be like that some day, and he would like rich little boys to bekind to them then, just as he was now to other poor old people. Ofcourse, he said to himself, "If _him_ sees dear little mother and auntiewhen they get old, _him_ will take care of them and let them rest at hishouse every time they come past, but _p'raps_ him might be far awaythen."

  And sometimes, when grandfather spoke about getting old and how whitehis hair was growing, Baby would look at him very gravely, for in hisown mind he was wondering if the time was very soon coming for poorgrandfather to be an old beggar-man. Baby thought it _had_ to be, yousee, he thought it was just what must come to everybody.

  Just as auntie and he had finished talking about getting old they turneda corner and went down a street which led them away from the view of thesea. This street had shops at both sides, and some of them were verypretty, but they were not the kind of shops that the little boys caredmuch for--they were mostly dressmakers' and milliners' and shawl shops.Lots of grand dresses and hats and bonnets were to be seen, which wouldhave pleased Celia and Denny perhaps, but which Fritz said were verystupid. Auntie did not seem to care for them either--she was in a hurryto go to an office where she was going to ask about a house that mightdo for them. So she walked on quickly, as quickly at least as Baby'sshort legs could go, for she held him by the hand, and Fritz and Lisacame behind. They left this street in a minute and crossed through twoor three others before auntie could find the one she wanted. SuddenlyBaby gave her a tug.

  "Oh auntie," he said, "p'ease 'top one minute. Him sees shiny glass jugslike dear little mother's. Oh, do 'top."

  Auntie stopped. They were passing what is called an old curiosity shop;it was a funny looking place, seeming very crowded even though it was alarge shop, for it was so very full of all sorts of queer things. Someamong them were more queer than pretty, but some were very pretty too,and in one corner of the window there were several jugs, and cups, andbottles, and such things, of very fine glass, with the same sort ofsoft-coloured shine on it that Baby remembered in the two jugs that hehad pulled down in the tiny trunk. Baby's eyes had spied them out atonce.

  "Oh, auntie," he said, "p'ease 'top one minute. Him sees shiny glass jugs like dear little mother's. Oh, do 'top."--P. 106.]

  "Look, look, auntie," he said, again gently tugging her.

  "Yes, Baby dear, very pretty," said auntie, but without paying muchattention to the glass, for she was not thinking of Baby's adventure inthe pantry at the moment, and did not know what jugs of his mother's hemeant.

  "There is two _just_ like mother's," said Baby, but he spoke lower now,almost as if he were speaking to himself. An idea had come into his mindwhich he had hardly yet understood himself, and he did not want to speakof it to any one else. He just stood at the window staring in, his twoeyes fixed on the glass jugs, and the great question he was saying tohimself was, "How many pennies would they cost?"

  "Them's a little smaller, him sinks," he murmured, "but p'raps motherwouldn't mind."

  It was a mistake of his that they were smaller; they were really alittle larger than the broken ones. Besides Baby had never seen thebroken ones till they _were_ broken. One of them had been much lesssmashed than the other, and mother had examined it to see if it couldpossibly be mended so as to look pretty as an ornament, even though itwould never do to hold water, and, when she found nothing could be done,she had told Thomas to keep the top part of it as a sort of pattern, incase she ever had a chance of getting the same. I think I forgot toexplain this to you before, and you may have wondered how Baby knew sowell what the jugs had been like.

  "Them is a little smaller," he said again to himself. He did notunderstand that things often look smaller when they are among a greatmany others of the same kind, and though there was not a very great dealof the shiny glass in the shop window, there was enough to make itrather a wonder that such a little boy as Baby had
caught sight of thetwo jugs at all, for they were behind the rest. He had time to look atthem well, for, though auntie had been rather in a hurry, she, too,stood still in front of the shop, for something had caught her eyes too.

  "How _very_ pretty, how sweet!" she said to herself, "I wish I couldcopy it. It seems to me beautifully done," and when Fritz, who had notfound the shop so interesting as the others had done, in his turn gaveher a tug and said, "Auntie, aren't you coming?" she pointed out to himwhat it was she was so pleased with.

  "Isn't it sweet, Fritz?" said auntie.

  "Yes," said Fritz, "but it's rather dirty, auntie, isn't it?"

  Fritz was very, what is called, _practical_. The "it" that auntie wasspeaking about was an old picture, hanging up on the wall at the side ofthe door. It was the portrait of a little girl, a very little girl, ofnot more than three or four years old. She had a dear little face, sweetand bright, and yet somehow a very little sad, or else it was thelong-ago make of the dress, and the faded look of the picture itself,beside the baby-like face that made it _seem_ sad. You couldn't helpthinking the moment you saw it, "Dear me, that little girl must be avery old woman by now or most likely she must be dead!" I think it wasthat that made one feel sad on first looking at the picture, for, afterall, the face _was_ bright and happy-looking: the rosy, roguish, littlemouth was smiling, the soft blue eyes had a sort of twinkling fun inthem, though they were so soft, and the fair hair, so fair that italmost seemed white, drawn up rather tight in an old-fashioned way, fellback again on one side as if little Blue-eyes had just been having agood run. And one fat, dimpled shoulder was poked out of the prim whitefrock in a way that, I daresay, had rather shocked the little girl'smother when the painter first showed her his work, for our little, old,great-great-grandfathers' and great-great-grandmothers', children, musthave had to sit very, very still in their very best and stiffest frocksand suits when their pictures were painted, poor little things! Theywere not so lucky as you are nowadays, who have only to go to thephotograph man's for half an hour, and keep your merry faces still for aquarter of a minute, if your mothers want to have a picture of you!

  But Blue-eyes must have had some fun when _her_ picture was painted, Ithink, or else that little shoulder wouldn't have got leave to pokeitself out of its sleeve, and there wouldn't have been that mischievouslook about the comers of her mouth.

  "_Isn't_ it a little dirty, auntie?" said Fritz.

  "Wouldn't your face look a little dirty if it had been hanging up in aframe for over a hundred years?" said auntie, laughing, at which Fritzlooked rather puzzled.

  Then auntie's eyes went back to the picture again.

  "It _is_ sweet," she said, "very, very sweet, and so perfectly natural."

  All this time, as I told you, Herr Baby's whole mind had been given tothe shiny glasses. Suddenly the sound of his aunt's voice caught hisear, and he looked up.

  "What is it that is so 'weet, auntie?" he said.

  "The picture over there, dear. Hanging up by the door. The little girl."

  Baby looked up, and in a moment his eyes brightened.

  "Oh, what a _dear_ little baby!" he said. "Oh, her _is_ 'weet! Auntie,him would so like to kiss her."

  "You darling!" said auntie, her glance turning from the sweet pictureface above to the sweet living face beside her. "I wonder if you willever learn to paint like that, Baby. _I_ should very much like to copyit if I could have the loan of it. It would be sure to be very dear tobuy," she added to herself. "But we must hurry, my little boys," shewent on. "I was tempted to waste time admiring the picture, but we mustbe quick."

  Fritz and Lisa turned away with auntie, but Baby waited one momentbehind. He pressed his face close against the shop window and whisperedsoftly,

  "Pitty little girl, him would like to kiss you. Him will come a 'notherday. P'ease, pitty little girl, don't let nobody take away the shinyglasses, for him wants to buy them for mother."

  Then, quite satisfied, he trotted down the street after the others, whowere waiting for him a few doors off.

  "Were you saying good-bye to the picture, Baby?" said auntie, smiling.

  "Yes," said Baby gravely.

  Auntie soon found the office where she was to hear about the house theywere thinking of taking. The little boys stood beside her and listenedgravely while she asked questions about it, though they couldn'tunderstand what was said.

  "Him wishes the people in this countly wouldn't talk lubbish talk," saidHerr Baby to Fritz with a sigh. "Him would so like to know what themsays."

  "_I_ want to know if we're going to have a house with a garden," saidFritz. "That's all _I_ care about," and as soon as they were out in thestreet again, he asked auntie if "the man" had said there was a gardento the house.

  "There are several houses that I have to tell your grandfather about,"said auntie. "Some have gardens and some haven't, but the one we likethe best has a garden, though not a very big one."

  "Not as big as the one at home?" said Fritz.

  "Oh dear no, of course not," said auntie. "It is quite different herefrom at home. People only come to stay a short time, they wouldn't careto be troubled with big gardens."

  "I don't mind," said Fritz amiably, "if only it's big enough for us tohave a corner to dig in, and somewhere to play in when Lisa's in a fussyhumour."

  "Mine child," said Lisa mildly. Poor Lisa, she was not a very fussyperson! Indeed she was rather too easy for such lively young people asFritz and Denny.

  "And do you want a garden, too, very much, Baby?" said auntie.

  Baby had hardly heard what they were saying. His mind was still runningon the shiny jugs and the blue-eyed little girl.

  "Him wants gate lots of pennies," he said, which didn't seem much of ananswer to auntie's question.

  "Lots of pennies, my little man," said auntie. "What do you want lots ofpennies for?"

  But Baby would not tell.

  Just then they saw coming towards them in the street two very funnylooking men. They had no hats or caps on their heads, so the childrencould see that they had no hair either, at least none on the top, whereit was shaved quite off, and only a sort of fringe all round left. Thenthey had queer loose brown coats, with big capes, something likegrandfather's Inverness cloak, Fritz thought, and silver chains hangingdown at their sides, and, queerest of all, no stockings or proper bootsor shoes, only things like the _soles_ of shoes strapped on to theirbare feet. These were called sandals, auntie said, and she told the boysthat these funny looking men were monks, "Franciscans," she said theywere called. They all lived together, and they never kept any money, andpeople said--but auntie thought that was not quite true--that they neverwashed themselves.

  "Nasty dirty men," said Fritz, making a face. "I shouldn't like to be aFranciscan."

  "Not in winter, Fritz?" said Baby. "Him wouldn't mind in winter when thewater _are_ so cold. Lisa," he went on, turning round to his nurse,"'member--when the _werry_ cold mornings comes, him's going to be aFrantisker--will you 'member, Lisa?"

  "But what about the pennies?" said auntie, laughing. "If you are aFrantisker, Baby, you won't have any pennies, and you said just now youwanted a great lot of pennies."

  Baby looked very grave.

  "Then him won't be a Frantisker," he said decidedly.

  After that he spoke very little all the way home. He had a great deal onhis mind, you see. And his last thought that night as he was fallingasleep was, "Him are so glad him asked the little pitty girl to takecare of the shiny jugs."

  Funny little Herr Baby! How much was fancy, how much was earnest in hisbusy baby mind, who can tell?

  A few days after this, they all moved from the Hotel to the pretty housewith a garden which auntie had gone to ask about. It _was_ a prettyhouse. I wish I could show it to you, children! It had not only a gardenbut a terrace, and this terrace overlooked the sea, the blue sunny seaof the south. And from one side, or from a little farther down in thegarden, one could see the white-capped mountains, rising, rising up intothe sky, with
sometimes a soft mist about their heads which made themseem even higher than they were, "high enough to peep into heaven," saidBaby; and sometimes, on very clear days, standing out sharply againstthe blue behind, so that one could hardly believe it would take morethan a few minutes to run to the top and down again.

  There were many interesting things in this garden--things that thechildren had not had in the old garden at home, nice though it was. Itwas not so beautifully neat as the flower part of the garden at home,but I do not think the children liked it any the less for that. Thetrees and bushes grew so thickly that down at the lower end it wasreally like a wilderness, a most lovely place for hide-and-seek. Thenthere was a fountain, a real fountain, where the water actually dancedand fell all day long; and all round the windows of the house and thetrellised balcony there were the most lovely red shaded leaves, such asone never sees in such quantities in the north. And in among the stonesof the terrace there lived lizards--the most delightful lizards. One inparticular grew so friendly that he used to come out at meal-times todrink a little milk which the children spilt for him on purpose; for theday nursery, or school-room, as Celia liked it to be called, opened onto the terrace too, though at the other end from the two drawing-roomsand grandfather's "study," and the windows were long and low, openinglike doors, so that Lisa had hard work to keep the children quiet attable the first few days, for every minute they were jumping up to seesome new wonder that they caught sight of. Altogether it was a verypretty home to spend the winter in, and every one seemed very happy.Bully and the "calanies" were as merry as larks, if it is true thatlarks are merrier than other birds, and Peepy-Snoozle and Tim,mistaking the bright warm sunshine for another summer, I suppose, got inthe habit of being quite lively about the middle of the day as well asin the middle of the night, instead of spending all the daylight hourscurled up like two very sleepy fairy babies with brown fur coats on, intheir nice white cotton-wool nests.

  There was so much to do and to think of the first few days that I thinkBaby forgot a little about what he had seen in the old curiosity shop.Auntie, too, was too busy to give any thought to the picture which hadso taken her fancy, though neither she nor Baby _really_ forgot the dearlittle face with its loving, half-merry, half-sad blue eyes. But auntiehad to help mother to get everything settled; and of course there was agood deal to explain to the strange servants, for neither Peters norLinley the maid knew "lubbish talk," as Baby _would_ call it, at all,and it was very funny indeed to hear Peters trying to make the cookunderstand how grandfather liked his cutlets, or Linley "pounding" atthe housemaid, as Fritz called it, to get it into her head that _she_didn't call it _cleaning_ a room to sweep all the dirt into a cornerwhere it couldn't be seen! Peters was more patient than Linley. WhenLinley couldn't make herself understood she used to shout louder andlouder, as if that would make the others know what she meant, and thenshe used to say to Celia that it really was "a _very_ hodd thing thatthe people of this country seemed not to have all their senses." Andhowever Celia explained to her, she _couldn't_ be got to see that shemust seem just as stupid to them as they seemed to her! Peters was lessput about. He had been in India with grandfather, so he said he was usedto "furriners." He seemed to think everybody that wasn't English couldbe put together as "furriners"; but he had brought a dictionary and abook of little sentences in four languages, and he would sit on thekitchen table patiently trying one language after another on the poorcook, just as when one can't open a lock, one tries all the keys one canfind, to see if by chance one will fit. The cook was a very mild, gentleman; he had a nice wife and two little children in the town, and he wasinclined to be very fond of Herr Baby, and to pet him if ever he got achance. But that wasn't for a good while, for Baby was at first terriblyfrightened of him. He had a black moustache and whiskers and very blackeyes, and they looked blacker under his square white cook's cap, and thefirst time Baby saw him through the kitchen window, the cook happenedto be standing with a large carving-knife in one hand, and a chickenwhich he was holding up by the legs, in the other. Off flew Herr Baby. Alittle way down the garden he ran against Denny, who was also busyexamining their new quarters.

  "Oh, Denny, Denny!" he cried, "this is a dedful place--there's a' ogre,a real tellable ogre in the house. Him's seen him in one of the windowsunder the dimey-room. Oh, Denny, Denny, p'raps him'll eaten us up."

  Denny for the first moment was, to tell the truth, a little bitfrightened herself. Common sense told her there _were_ no such things asogres, not now-a-days any way, at least not in England, their owncountry. But a dreadful idea struck her that this was _not_ England;this might be one of the countries where ogres, like wolves and bears,were still occasionally to be found. There was no telling, certainly;but not for a good deal would Miss Denise Aylmer, a young lady of nineyears old _past_, have owned to being frightened as long as she couldpossibly help it.

  She caught Baby by the hand.

  "What sall we do?" he said; "sall we go and tell mother?"

  Denny considered.

  "We'd better go and see again," she said very bravely. "You must havemade a mistake, I think, Baby dear. I don't _think_ there can be anyogres here."

  Baby was much struck by Denny's courage. His hand slipped back a verylittle out of hers.

  "Will _you_ go and see, Denny?" he said. "Him will stay here till youcomes back."

  "Oh, no, you'd better come with me," said Denny, who felt that even Babywas better than nobody. "I shouldn't know where you saw the ogre," andshe kept tight hold of his hand. "Which window was it?"

  "It were at a tiny window _really_ under the ground. Him was peeping tosee if there was f'owers 'side of the wall," said Baby. "Him'll showyou, Denny; him _are_ so glad you isn't f'ightened."

  They set off down the path, making their way rather cautiously as theygot near the house. Suddenly Denny felt Baby squeeze her hand moretightly, and with a sort of scream he turned round and hid his faceagainst her.

  "There! There!" he cried. "Him sees the ogre coming."

  Baby ventured to peep round. The little black-eyed, white-capped man came towards them smiling.--P. 121.]

  Denny looked up. She saw a rather little man with a white apron and awhite cap, carrying a couple of cackling hens or chickens in his arms,coming across the garden from the house. He was on his way to a littlesort of poultry-yard, where he had fastened up half-a-dozen livechickens he had bought at the market that morning, meaning to kill twoof them for dinner, but finding them not so fat as he had expected, hewas putting them back among their friends for a day or two. Very like a_real_ ogre, if Denny and Baby had understood all about it, which theydidn't. Denny herself, for a minute or two, felt puzzled as to who thisodd-looking man could be. But he was no _ogre_, that was certain, anyway.

  "Don't be frightened, Baby, it's not a' ogre," she said. "Look up, he'sfar too little."

  Baby ventured to peep round. The little black-eyed, white-capped mancame towards them smiling.

  "Bon jour, Mademoiselle, bon jour, Monsieur Bebe," he said, lookingquite pleased. And then he stroked down the ruffled feathers of the poorchickens, and held them out to the two children, chattering away at agreat rate in Baby's "lubbish talk," hardly a word of which theyunderstood.

  "Can he be wanting to sell the chickens?" said Denny.

  The cook, who had before this lived with families from England,understood the children's language better than they did his, which,however, is not saying a great deal.

  "Yes, Mees, pairfectly," he said. "Me sell zem at ze marche the morning.Fine poulets, goot poulets, not yet strong--wait one, two, 'ree days--bestrong for one grand dinner for Madame."

  "Who are you? What's your name, please?" said Denny, still a littlealarmed.

  "Jean-Georges, Mademoiselle," said the little man, with a bow."Jean-Georges compose charming plates for Mademoiselle and MonsieurBebe. Jean-Georges loves little messieurs and little 'demoiselles.Madame permit Monsieur and Mademoiselle visit Jean-Georges in hiscuisine one day."

  Denny caught
the word "cuisine," which, of course, children, you willknow means "kitchen."

  "He's the cook, Baby," she said, with great relief; "don't you remembergrandfather said he must have a man cook? Good morning, Mr. Cook, we'llask mother to let us go and see you one day in your kitchen, and youmust make us very nice things to eat, please Mr. Cook."

  "Pairfectly, Mademoiselle," said Jean-Georges, with as magnificent abow as he could manage, considering the two chickens in his arms, andthen he walked away.

  "What a _very_ nice man!" said Denny, feeling very proud of herself, andquite forgetting that she, too, had not been without some fears. "Yousee, Baby dear, how foolish it is to be frightened. I _told_ you therecouldn't be any ogres here."

  Herr Baby did not answer for a moment. He had certainly very muchadmired Denny's courage, but still he wasn't quite sure that she had notbeen a _very_ little afraid, just for a minute, when he had called out"There he is!"

  "What would you have done if there _had_ been a' ogre, Denny?" he said.

  "Oh, bother," said Denny, "what's the good of talking about things that_couldn't_ be? Talk of something sensible, Baby."

  Baby grew silent again. They walked on slowly down the garden path.

  "Denny," said Baby, in a minute or two, "didn't the little man saysomefin about mother having a party?"

  Denny pricked up her ears at this. Parties of all kinds pleased her verymuch.

  "Did he?" she said, "I didn't notice. He said something about Madame'sdinner, but I didn't think he meant a dinner-_party_. Perhaps he didthough. We'll ask. I'd like mother to have some parties; it seems quitea long time since I had one of my best frocks on to come down to thedrawing-room before dinner, the way we did at home. And I know motherand auntie have friends here. I heard that stupid little footman askingLinley what day 'Miladi' would 'receive,' that means have visitors,Baby."

  Denny's tongue had run on so fast, that it had left Baby's wits some waybehind. They had stopped short at the first idea of a party.

  "Mother likes to make _werry_ pitty dinners when she has parties," hesaid. "Mother told him that were why she were so solly when him breakedher's pitty glasses."

  "I don't know what you're talking about, Baby," said Denny. "Let's havea race. I'll give you a start."