CHAPTER IX.
"EAST OR WEST, HAME IS BEST"
"But home is home wherever it is, When we're all together and nothing amiss." _Irish Ballad._
By this time, of course, it was quite dark. It had been quite light whenauntie and Mademoiselle Lucie set off, but at Santino the darkness comeson very quickly. Poor Baby, he _would_ have been in trouble if auntiehad not come to look, for him--- that is to say if the old man and theyoung woman had allowed him to set off on his journey home alone. Idon't think he would ever have got there, for in the dark he could nothave found his way, and he certainly could never have got the shiny jugsand Minet and the money-box all home in safety!
The ladies and gentlemen who were coming to dine at the Villa had allarrived. Mother was sitting in the drawing-room talking to them, andtrying her best to look as if there was nothing the matter, to preventgrandfather finding out that there was. Poor mother, it was not veryeasy for her, was it? Grandfather was a good deal put out, as it was, atauntie's being so late. He, too, tried not to look cross, poor oldgentleman, but any one who knew him at all well could not help seeing ashe moved about the room, sometimes giving a poke to the wood fire whichwas burning quite brightly as it was, sometimes sharply pulling open oneof the window-shutters and looking out, as if he could see anything withthe light inside and the dark out of doors!--any one could see that he_was_ very much put out. He sat down now and then for a minute or twoand spoke very politely--for grandfather was a _very_ polite oldgentleman--to one or other of the stranger ladies, but even to them hecould not help showing what was in his mind.
"It is very strange, really most exceedingly strange, of my eldestdaughter," he said, "not to be in before this. I really feel quiteashamed of it, my dear Madam."
"But you are not uneasy, I hope," said the lady, kindly. "There cannotbe anything the matter with Miss Leonard?" ("Miss Leonard" was whatFritz called auntie's "stuck-up name," and "Lady Aylmer" was mother's.)"You don't feel uneasy about her?"
(This lady did not know there _was_ anything the matter, for she wasquite at the other end of the room from mother. Mother had whispered tothe lady beside her, who was an old and dear friend, how frightened shewas about Herr Baby, and the old lady, who was very kind and nice, wastalking and smiling as much as she could to help poor mother.)
"Uneasy," said grandfather, rather sharply, and not _quite_ so politelyas he generally spoke, "oh no, of course I'm not _uneasy_. My daughterHelen can take care of herself. I am only very much surprised at herdoing such an extraordinary thing as forgetting the hour like this."
But in his heart I fancy what the lady said did make grandfather beginto think there might be something to be uneasy about, and this made himstill crosser. She was not such a sensible lady as old Mrs. Bryan in thearm-chair opposite, who chattered the more the more she sawgrandfather's worried look grow worse, and the pain grew plainer on poormother's white face.
"May," he called out at last, "I think it is nonsense waiting dinnerany longer. Tell one of the children to ring and order it up at once.Why, they're not here! Why are none of the children down, May?Everything seems at sixes and sevens."
"We are not waiting for Nelly, father dear," said mother. "I don't knowwhy dinner isn't ready yet, but I think it can't be long. I will hurrythem," and she got up to ring herself.
"But the children--why aren't they down?" said grandfather again.
Mother hesitated--
"It is rather late for them," she said. "The girls have been a long walkand are tired."
She did not know what to say, poor thing. She had not dared to let thethree children come into the drawing-room, for fear their white facesand red eyes should make grandfather find out that there _was_ somethingwrong, and indeed neither Celia, nor Denny, nor Fritz, would have beenable to stay still in the room for five minutes. They were peeping outof the nursery every few seconds, running along to the end of thebalcony, and straining their eyes and ears in trying to see or hearanything coming in the shape of good news.
Long, long afterwards they used to speak in the nursery, with deepbreaths, of "that _terrible_ evening when Herr Baby was lost."
But it was, of course, the worst for poor mother. It was bad enough inthe nursery, where the tea, that nobody had cared to touch, was set outas neatly as usual on the table; the chairs drawn round, the one thatBaby always had with a footstool on it--to make up for there being nohigh chair at the Villa--in its place, though the well-known, funnylittle figure was not perched on it. And Lisa, with a face swollen sothat no one would have known her, fussing away to have the kettleboiling, so that her darling should have some hot tea as soon as ever hecame in--for she wouldn't allow but that he would soon come in, thoughsad little stories kept running through Celia's and Denny's heads aboutchildren that had been lost and never found, or found only when it wasno longer they themselves but only their poor little bodies, drowned,perhaps, or "choked in the snow," as Denny said. And she got rathercross when Celia reminded her that there was no snow, so it couldn't be_that_, any way.
All this was bad enough, but still they were free to talk about theirfears, and to cry if they felt inclined, and to keep running to thewindow or the door. But for poor mother, as you can fancy, it was _much_worse. There she had to sit smiling and talking as if everything werequite nice and comfortable, not only for the sake of the friends who hadcome to dine with them, but still more for poor grandfather's sake, whokept growing more and more fidgety and put out, and at the bottom of hisheart, though he would not own it even to himself, really frightened andanxious.
At last his patience was exhausted.
"May," he said, speaking across the fireplace to mother. She was talkingto the lady beside her, and did not at first hear him. "_May_," saidgrandfather again, and if the children had been in the room I think hisvoice would have made them jump, "it is using our friends very badly tokeep them waiting so long for dinner. Be so good as to ring again andtell the servants we will _not_ wait any longer."
Poor mother--she looked up--it was all she could do not to burst intotears!
"Yes," she said, "I will tell them."
She was half rising from her seat, whispering to the lady beside her(the lady who _did_ know all about it), "I don't know _how_ I shall getthrough dinner," when--what was it?--no bell had rung, there was nosound that any one else heard, what could it have been that _mother_heard? I don't know what it was, and I daresay mother herself could nothave told, but something she did hear. For she stopped short, and a sortof eager look came into her eyes and a flush into her cheeks. And thenthe other people in the room seemed to catch the infection, andeverybody else looked up to see what was coming, and in the silence asort of fumbling was heard at the door. It only lasted a second or two,then somehow the handle turned, much more quickly than was usually thecase when it was Baby's small hands that were stretching up to reachit--I rather think some one must have been behind to help him--the dooropened and--oh such a funny little figure came in! You know who it wasof course, but it would be very difficult to tell you exactly what helooked like. He was dressed just as he had been for playing in thegarden--a little short thick jacket over his holland blouse, which wasno longer very clean; his short scarlet socks and oldest boots on hislegs, the bare part of which looked very red and cold, and what had beenhis best straw hat with part of the brim dangling down, on his curlyhead. But he seemed quite pleased with himself--that was another ofHerr Baby's "ways"; he always did seem quite pleased with himself, bestof all, I think, when he had his oldest clothes on--he trotted into theroom just as he would have trotted into the garden, even though therewere a good many rather finely-dressed ladies and gentlemen sittinground--for his whole mind was filled with the thoughts of two big paperparcels which he carried in his arms. They could not have been as heavyas they were big, or else he could not possibly have carried them! Andclose at his heels, making him look still funnier, came Minet, verypleased, I am sure, to find herself again in sight o
f a fire.
Herr Baby looked round him for a moment, only for a moment, for thoughthe lights in the room and the number of people dazzled and puzzled hima little, _he_ did not need to look round for which was mother.Forgetting all about everything, except that her baby was found, upjumped mother, a rosy flush coming over her face which had looked sowhite and sad, pretty mother with her silvery silky dress and her sweeteyes filled with tears, and rushing over to Baby caught him up in herarms, poor little cold, tired, red-legged Herr Baby, and for a minute orso, greatly to grandfather's surprise, she hid her face somehow amongthe wee man's curls without speaking.
Forgetting all about everything, except that her baby was found, up jumped mother.--P. 170.]
Grandfather was surprised but not alarmed, for just behind in the opendoorway stood auntie, who came quietly forward and explained to him thatBaby had gone out on his own account and they had been afraid of hislosing his way, that was what had kept her out so late, and she was _so_sorry. Auntie had such a nice clear simple way of speaking,grandfather's vexation seemed to melt away as he listened. He glanced atthe little figure still clasped in mother's arms, and a queer look cameinto his eyes.
"Poor children!" he said, "poor children! May, you should have told me."
But he knew why they hadn't told him. The ladies and gentlemen cameround auntie to hear what she was saying. They were all very kind andvery sorry and very glad. But it was difficult not to smile when alittle voice was heard saying,
"Mother, p'ease put him down. Him's got somesing _so_ pitty, but him'safraid of breaking them."
And sliding down to the ground, he managed somehow to set the twoparcels safely on the floor, and began undoing them. They all watchedhim, but he didn't care, and he would let nobody help him. He got oneout at last, and held it up with a beautiful happiness in his littleface.
"See, mother!" he cried, "shiny jugs! Him's got them all himself wifhim's own pennies. Two! Them's for you, mother, 'cos him boked you's'nother ones. Him founded them himself in a shop. Him's been as quick ashim could, 'cos of mother's party, to make the table pitty."
"My darling," said mother, hugging him again, and when she looked uphalf smiling, half crying, and tried to say to the ladies and gentlementhat she hoped they would not think her silly, there were tears in someother eyes besides in hers.
But Herr Baby was quite himself.
"You _is_ p'eased," he said contentedly. "Then him'll go to tea, forhim's raver hungry. But p'ease put the shiny jugs on the table to makeit pitty."
He held up his face for another kiss. Then grandfather came forward andin his turn lifted the little truant into his arms.
"He is tired, the poor little man," he said, looking round: "you are sokind; I should ask you to forgive our want of politeness, but I am sureyou will. I will be back in a moment."
And it was grandfather himself who carried off Herr Baby and gave himover to Lisa, weeping for joy now, as she caught her darling in herarms.
There _was_ a happy tea in the nursery that night after all. Baby wasvery tired, but so exceedingly pleased with himself that his face grewrosy and his eyes bright, as if he had only just wakened up in themorning, as he sat at the table answering all the questions of Celia andDenny and Fritz and Lisa about his adventures. How had he found his way?How had he made the old man understand what he wanted? Hadn't he beenfrightened? Had he been pleased to see auntie? Had he carried Minet allthe way? Oh, there were more questions than I could tell you--almostmore than Herr Baby could answer; and Minet, too, came in for a share ofthe petting.
When they had got most of their questions answered, they all found outthey were very hungry, and they set to work at their tea, and for awhile there was silence in the nursery. Suddenly Baby leant his twoelbows on the table and looked round.
"It were all the pitty little girl that keeped the shiny glasses forhim. Her _are_ so pitty."
"What little girl?" said the children, all together.
"Do you mean the young woman's little girl in the shop?"
"No," said Herr Baby, "not that kind of little girl. Him means a littlegirl up on the wall--a _pitcher_ girl; but him thinks her are a_fairy_."
And having thus given his opinion, Baby looked round again with greatsatisfaction, and Celia and Denny whispered to each other that reallyBaby sometimes said very funny things for such a little boy!
They were all dressed as usual, and Denny and Baby went in to dessert,while Celia and Fritz waited, as became such _big_ young people, in thedrawing-room. Everybody was very kind to the children, and Baby, had hebeen any one else _but_ Herr Baby, would have been spoilt by all thepetting the ladies wanted to give him. But his eyes were fixed on onething, or rather on two things, on the table, one in front of mother atone end, one in front of grandfather at the other, there they stood, twoqueerly-shaped glass jugs, sparkling and shining with many colours likea rainbow, filled with the brightest and clearest water which might havebeen drawn at a fairy well. And what pleasure shone in Baby's face as helooked at them.
"You _is_ p'eased?" he said again to mother, as he bade her good-night.
It was a little difficult for mother to have to make "him" understandthat much as she loved him for remembering how sorry she had been tohave the first jugs broken, and how sweet she thought it of him to havegot her new ones, that still he must never again think of doing suchthings by himself and without telling or asking any one.
She did not say anything to him that night; she could not bear to spoilhis pretty pleasure, but the next day she made him understand; and Baby"p'omised" he would never again set off on his own account, or settleany plan without asking mother or auntie, or perhaps Celia, about it.
And so the end of the story of the broken jugs was quite a happy one.
* * * * *
Herr Baby's birthday came in the late spring. They were all back inEngland by then. The old garden was no longer "lonely," for thechildren's voices were heard all over it, and the sunlight through theleaves flickered on to their curly heads as they ran about in delight,seeking for all their old favourite corners. The "labbits" were well andhappy; Jones and Thomas had come to meet them at the railway stationwith broad smiles on their honest faces; all the house looked brightand smiling, too, it had been so well rubbed up to receivethem--altogether Herr Baby thought "coming back" was a very nice andhappy thing, though he had enjoyed himself so much at Santino that hetold Lisa he didn't think he would much mind if they _did_ go thereagain next winter, when it began to get cold at home, as was alreadyspoken of, as Santino had done grandfather so much good this time.
So, as I was saying, it was a very happy little man, indeed, that wokeup in his "own dear little bed,"--which, wonderful to say, had not growntoo small for him all the months they had been away,--on the morning ofHerr Baby's fifth birthday. He could hardly stand still to be dressed,so eager was he to run off to mother's room to get her birthday kiss,and to see the presents which he knew would not have been forgotten.They turned out even prettier than he had expected; indeed, it wouldtake me too long were I to tell you all about the beautiful box ofbricks, big enough to build real houses almost, Baby thought, fromgrandfather, and the lovely pair of toy horses with _real_ hair, in astable, from mother, and the coachman's whip to crack at them fromFritz, and the pair of slippers Celia and Denny had worked for him, onefoot each, and the birthday cake all snowed over with sugar, and withhis name on in pink, from grandfather and mother together, "'asidestheir other presents." It quite took Herr Baby's breath away to thinkall these lovely things were for him; he sat at the nursery table quiteunable to eat his breakfast, something like Fritz the morning they werestarting on their journey, do you remember? till Lisa persuaded him toeat, by telling him if he didn't, he would be so tired that he wouldn'tenjoy his birthday at all, which made him set to work at his bread andmilk. Lisa, too, had remembered the day, for she had made him theprettiest little penny purse you ever saw, knitted in bright-colouredsilk, so that now he was ve
ry well off, indeed, with his "scented" pursefor his gold and silver, and Lisa's one for pennies and halfpennies, andhis money-box to store up the rest in when the purses were full. He hadall his presents set out in a row, so that he could see them while hewas eating, and just when he was at nearly the last spoonful, he wasquite startled by a voice beside him, saying, "And what about _my_present, Baby, dear? Did you think I had forgotten your birthday?"
It was auntie. She had come in so quietly that Herr Baby had not heardher. She leant over his chair, and he put his arms round her neck andkissed her.
"Him is so happy, auntie dear," he said; "him has such lots of p'esents,him never thought about your p'esent."
"Didn't you, dear?" said auntie, smiling. "Well, _I_ didn't forgetit--indeed, I thought of it a long time ago, as you will see. Come withme, for I see you have finished your breakfast."
Auntie took him by the hand. Baby wondered where she was going to, andhe was rather surprised when she led him to his own room--that is tosay, to the pretty nursery where he and Denny had their two little whitebeds side by side.
"Look up, Baby," said auntie.
And looking up, what do you think he saw? On the wall, at the side ofhis own little bed, where his eyes could see it the first thing in themorning, and the last at night, hung the picture of the blue-eyed littlegirl, the dear little girl of long ago, with her sweet rosy face, andqueer old-fashioned white frock, smiling down at him, with the sort ofwise, loving look, just as she had smiled down at him in the old shop atSantino.
"Oh, auntie, auntie!" cried Baby. But then he seemed as if he could sayno more. He just stared up at the sweet little face, clasping his hands,as if he was _too_ pleased to speak. Then, at last, he turned to auntieand _hugged_ her.
"Oh, auntie!" he said again. "Oh, him _is_ so p'eased to have him's ownpitty little girl always smiling at him. Him will _always_ have her,won't him, auntie?"
"I hope so, dear. She is your very own."
"Him will keep her till him is _kite_ old. Him will show her to him'schildren and him's g'anchildren, won't him?" went on Baby solemnly.
"I hope so, dear," said auntie again, smiling at his flushed littleface.
"Her _is_ so pitty," said Baby. "Her is as sweet as a fairy. Auntie, himwould _so_ like to hear all the story about her. Couldn't you find itout, auntie?"
"Perhaps," said auntie, "or, what would be still better, perhaps thelittle girl will whisper it to you some night when you are asleep."
"That _would_ be nice," said Baby. Then another thought struck him."Auntie," he said, "will you ask mother to let him bring up the shinyjugs to show them to the pitty little girl? Her would like to see themso nice, and not brokened at all wif the packing. Oh, auntie, what abootiful birfday--him are _so_ happy!"
THE END.
_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh._
Adventures of Herr Baby Page 9
