CHAPTER VII.
GRANDMOTHER'S GRANDMOTHER.
"I'll tell you a story of Jack-o-my-nory, And now my story's begun. I'll tell you another of Jack and his brother, And now my story's done."
OLD NURSERY RHYME.
Marie's story was the subject of much conversation among the children.Sylvia announced her intention of writing it down.
"She tells it so nicely," she said. "I could have written it downbeautifully while she was talking, if she would have waited."
"She would not have been able to tell it so nicely if she had knownyou were waiting to write down every word as she said it," remarkedgrandmother. "At least in her place I don't think _I_ could."
A shriek from Molly here startled them all, or perhaps I should say,_would_ have done so, had they been less accustomed to her eccentricbehaviour.
"What is the matter now, my dear?" said aunty.
"Oh," said Molly, gasping with eagerness, "grandmother's saying that_reminded_ me."
"But what about, my dear child?"
"About telling stories; don't you remember grandmother _dear_, I said youwould be _perfect_ if you would tell us stories, and you didn't say youwouldn't."
"And what's more, grandmother promised me one," said Ralph.
"_Did_ I, my dear boy?"
"Yes, grandmother," said Ralph, looking rather abashed, "don't youremember, grandmother--the day I called Prosper de Lastre a cad? I don'tthink he's a cad now," he added in a lower voice.
"Ah yes, I remember now," said grandmother. "But do you know, my dears,I am so sorry I cannot find your Uncle Jack's manuscript. He had writtenit out so well--all I can find is the letter in which he first alluded tothe incident, very shortly. However, I remember most of it prettyclearly. I will think it over and refresh my memory with the letter,and some day I will tell it to you."
"Can't you tell it us to-night then, grandmother dear?" said Molly invery doleful tones.
They were all sitting round the fire, for it was early December now, andfires are needed then, even at Chalet! What a funny fire some of youwould think such a one, children! No grate, no fender, such as you areaccustomed to see--just two or three iron bars placed almost on thefloor, which serve to support the nice round logs of wood burning sobrightly, but alas for grandmother's purse, so swiftly away! But thebrass knobs and bars in front look cheery and sparkling, and then theindispensable bellows are a delightful invention for fidgety fingerslike those of Ralph and Molly. How many new "nozzles" grandmother had topay for her poor bellows that winter I should really be afraid to say!And once, to Molly's indescribable consternation, the bellows got on fire_inside_; there was no outward injury to be seen, but they smokedalarmingly, and internal crackings were to be heard of a fearful andmysterious description. Molly flew to the kitchen, and flung the bellows,as if they were alive, into a pan of water that stood handy. Doubtlessthe remedy was effectual so far as extinguishing the fire was concerned,but as for the after result on the constitution of the poor bellows Icannot report favourably, as they were never again fit to use. _And_, asthis was the fourth pair spoilt in a month, Molly was obliged to give uphalf her weekly money for some time towards replacing them!
But we are wandering away from the talk by the fire--grandmother andaunty in their low chairs working--the three children lying in variousattitudes on the hearthrug, for hearthrug there was, seldom as suchsuperfluities are to be seen at Chalet. Grandmother was too "English" tohave been satisfied with her pretty drawing-room without one--a nicefluffy, flossy one, which the children were so fond of burrowing in thatgrandmother declared she would need a new one by the time the winter wasover!
"_Can't_ you tell it to us to-night then, grandmother dear?" said Molly.
"I would rather think it over a little first," said grandmother. "Youforget, Molly, that old people's memories are not like young ones. And,as Marie says, it is very curious how, the older one gets, the furtherback things are those that one remembers the most distinctly. The middlepart of my life is hazy compared with the earlier part. I can rememberthe patterns of some of my dresses as a _very_ little girl--I canremember words said and trifling things done fifty years ago better thanlittle things that happened last month."
"How queer!" said Molly. "Shall we all be like that, grandmother dear,when we get old?"
Grandmother laid down her knitting and looked at the children with a softsmile on her face.
"Yes, dears, I suppose so. It is the 'common lot.' I remember once asking_my_ grandmother a question very like that."
"_Your_ grandmother!" exclaimed all the children--Molly adding, "Had_you_ ever a grandmother, grandmother dear?"
"Oh, Molly, how can you be so silly?" said Ralph and Sylvia, together.
"I'm not silly," said Molly. "It is you that are silly not to understandwhat I mean. I am sure anybody might. Of course I mean can grandmotherremember her--did she know her? Supposing anybody's grandmother diedbefore they were born, then they wouldn't ever have had one, would theynow?"
Molly sat up on the rug, and tossed back her hair out of her eyes,convinced that her logic was unanswerable.
"You shouldn't begin by saying 'anybody's grandmother,'" remarked Ralph."You put anybody in the possessive case, which means, of course, that thegrandmother belonged to the anybody, and _then_ you make out that theanybody never had one."
Molly retorted by putting her fingers in her ears and shaking her headvehemently at her brother. "Be quiet, Ralph," she said. "What's the goodof muddling up what I say, and making my head feel _so_ uncomfortablewhen you know quite well what I _mean_? Please, grandmother dear, willyou go on talking as soon as I take my fingers out of my ears, and thenhe will have to leave off puzzling me."
"And what am I to talk about?" asked grandmother.
"Tell us about your grandmother. If you remember things long ago sonicely, you must remember story sort of things of then," said Mollyinsinuatingly.
"I really don't, my dear child. Not just at this moment, anyhow."
"Well, tell us _about_ your grandmother: what was she like? was she likeyou?"
Grandmother shook her head.
"That I cannot say, my dear; I have no portrait of her, nor have I everseen one since I have been grown up. She died when I was about fifteen,and as my father was not the eldest son, few, if any, heirlooms fell tohis share. And a good many years before my grandmother's death--at thetime of her husband's death--the old home was sold, and she came to livein a curious old-fashioned house, in the little county town a few milesfrom where we lived. This old house had belonged to her own family formany, many years, and, as all her brothers were dead, it became hers. Shewas very proud of it, and even during my grandfather's life they used tocome in from the country to spend the worst of the winter there. Dear me!what a long time back it takes us! were my grandmother living now, shewould be--let me see--my father would have been a hundred years old bynow. I was the youngest of a large family you know, dears. His motherwould have been about a hundred and thirty. It takes us back to themiddle of George the Second's reign."
"Yes," said Molly so promptly, that every one looked amazed, "George theFirst, seventeen hundred and fourteen, George the Second, seventeenhundred and twenty-seven, George the Third, seventeen hundred and----"
"When did you learn that--this morning I suppose?" observed Ralph withbiting sarcasm.
"No," said Molly complacently, "I always could remember the four Georges.Sylvia will tell you. _She_ always remembered the Norman Conquest, andKing John, and so when we spoke about something to do with these dateswhen we were out a walk Miss Bryce used to be as pleased as pleased withus."
"Is that the superlative of 'very pleased,' my dear Molly?" said aunty.
Molly wriggled.
"History is bad enough," she muttered. "I don't think we needhave grammar too, just when I thought we were going to have nicestory-talking. Did _you_ like lessons when you were little, grandmotherdear?" she inquired in a louder voice.
&n
bsp; "I don't know that I did," said grandmother. "I was a very tom-boy littlegirl, Molly. And lessons were not nearly so interesting in those days asthey are made now."
"Then they must have been--_dreadful_," said Molly solemnly, pausing fora sufficiently strong word.
"What did you like when you were little, grandmother?" said Sylvia. "Imean, what did you like best?"
"I really don't know what I liked _best_," said grandmother. "There wereso many nice things. Haymaking was delicious, so were snow-balling andsliding; blindman's buff and snapdragon at Christmas were not bad, norwere strawberries and cream in summer."
The children drew a long breath.
"Had you all those?" they said. "Oh, what a happy little girl you musthave been!"
"And all the year round," pursued grandmother, "there was another delightthat never palled. When I look back upon myself in those days I cannotbelieve that ever a child was a greater adept at it."
"What was that, grandmother?" said the children, opening their eyes.
"_Mischief_, my dears," said grandmother. "The scrapes I got into offalling into brooks, tearing my clothes, climbing up trees and findingI could not get down again, putting my head through window-panes--ahdear, I certainly had nine lives."
"And what did your grandmother say? Did she scold you?" askedMolly--adding in a whisper to Ralph and Sylvia, "Grandmother must havebeen an _awfully_ nice little girl."
"My grandmother was to outward appearance quiet and rather cold," replied_their_ grandmother. "For long I was extremely afraid of her, tillsomething happened which led to my knowing her true character, and afterthat we were friends for life--till her death. It is hardly worth callinga story, but I will tell it to you if you like, children."
"Oh, _please_ do," they exclaimed, and Molly's eyes grew round withsatisfaction at having after all inveigled grandmother into storytelling.
"I told you," grandmother began, "that my grandmother lived in a queer,very old-fashioned house in the little town near which was our home. Itwas such a queer house, I wish you could have seen it, but long ago itwas pulled down, and the ground where it stood used for shops orwarehouses. When you entered it, you saw no stair at all--then, onopening a door, you found yourself at the foot of a very high spiralstaircase that went round and round like a corkscrew up to the very topof the house. By the by that reminds me of an adventure of mygrandmother's which you might like to hear. It happened long before I wasborn, but she has often told it me. Ah, Molly, I see that twinkle in youreyes, my dear, and I know what it means! You think you have gotgrandmother started now--wound up--and that you will get her to go on andon; ah well, we shall see. Where was I? Taking you up the corkscrewstair. The first landing, if landing it could be called, it was so small,had several doors, and one of these led into a little ante-room, out ofwhich opened again a larger and very pretty drawing-room. It was a long,rather narrow room, and what I admired in it most of all were wallcupboards with glass doors, within which my grandmother kept all hertreasures. There were six of them at least--in two or three were books,of which, for those days, grandmother had a good many; another heldChinese and Indian curiosities, carved ivory and sandal-wood ornaments,cuscus grass fans, a pair or two of Chinese ladies' slippers--things verymuch the same as you may see some of now-a-days in almost every prettilyfurnished drawing-room. And one, or two perhaps, of the cupboardscontained treasures which are rarer now than they were then--the_loveliest_ old china! Even I, child as I was, appreciated itsbeauty--the tints were so delicate and yet brilliant. My grandmother hadcollected much of it herself, and her taste was excellent. At her deathit was divided, and among so many that it seemed to melt away. All thatcame to my share were those two handleless cups that are at the top ofthat little cabinet over there, and those were by no means the mostbeautiful, beautiful as they undoubtedly are. I was never tired offeasting my eyes on grandmother's china when I used to be sent to spenda day with her, which happened every few weeks. And _sometimes_, for agreat treat, she used to open the wall cupboards and let me handle someof the things--for it is a curious fact that a child _cannot_ admireanything to its perfect satisfaction without touching it too, and lookingback upon things now, I can see that despite her cold manner, mygrandmother had a very good knowledge of children and a real love andsympathy for them.
"One day--it was a late autumn day I remember, for it was just a few daysafter my ninth birthday--my birthday is on the fifteenth of November,--mymother told me that my father, having to drive to the town the followingday, would take me with him to spend the day with grandmother.
"'And Nelly,' said my mother, 'do try to be very good and behaveprettily. I really fear, my dear, that you will never be like a younglady--it is playing so much with your brothers, I suppose, and you knowgrandmother is very particular. The last time you were there you know youdressed up the cat and frightened poor old Betsy (my grandmother's cook)so. Do try to keep out of mischief this time.'
"'I can't,' I said. 'There is no one to play with there. I would ratherstay at home;' and I teased my mother to say I need not go. But it was nogood; she was firm about it--it was right that I, the only girl at home,should go to see my grandmother sometimes, and my mother repeated heradmonitions as to my behaviour; and as I really loved her dearly Ipromised to 'try to be very good;' and the next morning I set off with myfather in excellent spirits. There was nothing I liked better than adrive with him, especially in rather cold weather, for then he used totuck me up so beautifully warm in his nice soft rugs, so that hardlyanything but the tip of my nose was to be seen, and he would call me his'little woman' and pet me to my heart's content.
"When we reached my grandmother's I felt very reluctant to descend frommy perch, and I said to my father that I wished he would take me aboutthe town with him instead of leaving me there.
"He explained to me that it was impossible--he had all sorts of things todo, a magistrate's meeting to attend, and I don't know all what. Besideswhich he liked me to be with my grandmother, and he told me I was a sillylittle goose when I said I was afraid of her.
"My father entered the house without knocking--there was no need to lockdoors in the quiet streets of the little old town, where everybody thatpassed up and down was known by everybody else, and their _business_often known better by the everybody else than by themselves. We went upto the drawing-room, there was nobody there--my father went out of theroom and called up the staircase, 'Mother, where are you?'
"Then I heard my grandmother's voice in return.
"'My dear Hugh--is it you? I am so sorry. I cannot possibly come down. Itis the third Tuesday of the month. My wardrobe day.'
"'And the little woman is here too. What shall I do with her?' said myfather. He seemed to understand, though I did not, what 'wardrobe day'meant.
"'Bring her up here,' my grandmother called back. 'I shall soon havearranged all, and then I can take her downstairs again.'
"I was standing on the landing by my father by this time, and, far fromloth to discover what my grandmother was about, I followed him upstairs.You have no idea, children, what a curious sight met me! My grandmother,who was a very little woman, was perched upon a high stool, hanging up ona great clothes-horse ever so many dresses, which she had evidently takenout of a wardrobe, close by, whose doors were wide open. There wereseveral clothes-horses in the room, all more or less loaded withgarments,--and oh, what queer, quaint garments some of them were! Theclothes my grandmother herself had on--even those I was wearing--wouldseem curious enough to you if you could see them now,--but when I tellyou that of those she was hanging out, many had belonged to _her_grandmother, and mother, and aunts, and great-aunts, you can fancy what awonderful array there was. Her own wedding-dress was among them, and allthe coloured silks and satins she had possessed before her widowhood. Andmore wonderful even than the dresses were a few, not very many, forindeed no room or wardrobe would have held _very_ many, bonnets, or'hats,' as I think they were then always called. Huge toweringconstructions, with feathers sticking str
aight up on the top, like thepictures of Cinderella's sisters in old-fashioned fairy-tale books--soenormous that any ordinary human head must have been lost in theirdepths."
"Did you ever try one on, grandmother?" said Molly.
Grandmother shook her head.
"I should not have been allowed to take such a liberty," she said. "Istood and stared about me in perfect amazement without speaking for aminute or two, till my grandmother got down from her stool, and my fathertold me to go to speak to her.
"'Are you going away, grandmother?' I said at last, my curiosityovercoming my shyness. 'Are these all your clothes? You will want a greatmany boxes to pack them in, and what queer ones some of them are!'
"'Queer, my dear,' said my grandmother. 'They are certainly not like whatyou get now-a-days, if that is what you mean by queer. See here, Nelly,this is your great-grandmother's wedding dress--white Padusoy embroideredin gold--why, child, it would stand alone! And this salmon-colouredsatin, with the pea-green slip--will the stuffs they dye now keep theircolour like that a hundred years hence?'
"'It's good strong stuff certainly,' said my father, touching it as hespoke. But then he went on to say to my grandmother that the days forsuch things were past. 'We don't want our clothes to last a century now,mother,' he said. 'Times are hurrying on faster, and we must make up ourminds to go on with them and leave our old clothes behind. The worldwould get too full if everybody cherished bygone relics as you do.'
"I don't think she much liked his talking so. She shook her head and saidsomething about revolutionary ideas, which I didn't understand. But myfather only laughed; his mother and he were the best of friends, thoughhe liked to tease her sometimes. I wandered about the room, peeping inamong the rows of quaint costumes, and thinking to myself what fun itwould be to dress up in them. But after a while I got tired, and I washungry too, so I was very glad when grandmother, having hung out the lastdress to air, said we must go down to dinner--my father had left sometime before----"
"What did you have for dinner, grandmother?" said Sylvia. "It isn't thatI care so much about eating," she added, blushing a little, "but I liketo know exactly the sort of way people lived, you know."
"Only I wish you wouldn't interrupt grandmother," said Molly. "I'm _so_afraid it'll be bed-time before she finishes the story."
"Which isn't yet begun--eh, Molly?" said grandmother. "I warned you mystories were sadly deficient in beginning and end, and middle too--inshort they are not stories at all."
"Never mind, they're _very_ nice," said Molly; "and if I may sit up tillthis one's done I don't mind your telling Sylvia what you had for dinner,grandmother dear."
"Many thanks for your small majesty's gracious permission," saidgrandmother. "But as to what we had for dinner, I really can't say. Muchthe same as you have now, I fancy. Let me see--it was November--verylikely a roast chicken and rice pudding."
"Oh!" said Sylvia, in a tone of some disappointment; "go on then, please,grandmother."
"Where was I?" said grandmother. "Oh yes--well, after dinner we went upto the drawing-room, and grandmother, saying she was a good deal tired byher exertions of the morning, sat down in her own particular easy chairby the fire, and, spreading over her face a very fine cambrichandkerchief which she kept, I strongly suspect, for the purpose,prepared for her after-dinner nap. It was really a regular institutionwith her--but I noticed she always made some little special excuse forit, as if it was something quite out of the common. She told me toamuse myself during her forty winks by looking at the treasures in theglass-doored cupboards, which she knew I was very fond of admiring, andshe told me I might open the book cupboard if I wanted to take out abook, but on no account any of the others.
"Now I assure you, children, and by your own experience you will believewhat I say, that, but for my grandmother's warnings, the idea of openingthe glass doors when by myself would never have come into my head. I hadoften been in the drawing-room alone and gazed admiringly at thetreasures without ever dreaming of examining them more closely. I hadnever even _wished_ to do so, any more than one wishes to handle the moonor stars or any other un-get-at-able objects. But now, unfortunately, theidea was suggested, it had been put into my head, and there it stayed. Iwalked round the room gazing in at the cupboards in turn--the book onesdid not particularly attract me--long ago I had read, over and overagain, the few books in my grandmother's possession that I could feelinterested in, and I stood still at last in front of the prettiestcupboard of all, wishing that grandmother had not forbidden my openingit. There were such lovely cups and saucers! I longed to handle them--onein particular that I felt sure I had never seen before. It had a deeprose pink ground, and in the centre there was the sweetest picture ofa dear little shepherdess curtseying to an equally dear little shepherd.
"As I gazed at this cup the idea struck me that it would be delicious todress one of my dolls in the little shepherdess's costume, and, eager tosee it more minutely, I opened the glass door, and was just stretching upmy hand for the cup, when I again remembered what my grandmother hadsaid. I glanced round at her; she was fast asleep; there was no danger;what harm _could_ it do for me to take the cup into my hand for a moment?I stretched up and took it. Yes, it was really most lovely, and thelittle shepherdess's dress seemed to me a perfect facsimile of the one Ihad most admired upstairs in my grandmother's wardrobe--a pea-green satinover a pale pink or rather salmon-coloured quilted slip. I determinedthat Lady Rosabella should have one the same, and I was turning over inmy mind the possibilities of getting satin of the particular shades Ithought so pretty, when a slight sound in the direction, it seemed to me,of my grandmother's arm-chair, startled me. I turned round hastily--howit was I cannot tell, but so it was--the beautiful cup fell from myhands and lay at my feet in, I was going to say, a thousand fragments."
"Oh!" exclaimed Sylvia and Molly--"oh, grandmother, what _did_ you do?"
"First of all," grandmother continued, "first of all I stooped down andpicked up the pieces. There were not a thousand of them--not perhapsabove a dozen, and after all, grandmother was sleeping quietly, but toall appearance soundly. The sound that had startled me must have been afancied one, I said to myself, and oh dear, what a terrible pity I hadbeen startled!
"I gathered the bits together in my handkerchief, and stood staring atthem in perfect despair. I dared not let myself burst out crying as I wasinclined to do, for grandmother would have heard me and asked what wasthe matter, and I felt that I should sink into the earth with shame andterror if she saw what I had done, and that I had distinctly disobeyedher. My only idea was to conceal the mischief. I huddled the bits uptogether in my handkerchief, and huddled the handkerchief into mypocket--the first pocket I had ever had, I rather think--and then Ilooked up to see if the absence of the cup was very conspicuous. Ithought not; the saucer was still there, and by pulling one or two of theother pieces of china forward a little, I managed to make it look as ifthe cup was just accidentally hidden. To reach up to do this, I had todraw forward a chair; in getting down from it again I made some littlenoise, and I looked round in terror to see if grandmother was awake. No,she was still sleeping soundly. _What_ a blessing! I got out of one ofthe book cupboards a book I had read twenty times at least, and sittingdown on a stool by the fire I pretended to read it again, while reallyall my ideas were running on what I should, what I _could_ do. For I hadno manner of doubt that before long the accident would be discovered, andI felt sure that my grandmother's displeasure would be very severe. Iknew too that my having tried to conceal it would make her far less readyto forgive me, and yet I felt that I _could_ not make up my mind toconfess it all. I was so miserable that it was the greatest relief to mea minute or two afterwards to hear the hall door open and my father'shearty voice on the stair."
"'I have come to fetch you rather sooner than I said, little woman,' heexclaimed, as he came in, and then he explained that he had promised todrive a friend who lived near us home from the town in our gig, and thatthis friend being in a hurry, we mus
t leave earlier than usual. Mygrandmother had wakened up of course with my father's coming in. Itseemed to me, or was it my fancy?--that she looked graver than usual andrather sad as she bade us good-bye. She kissed me very kindly, moretenderly than was her habit, and said to my father that he must be sureto bring me again very soon, so that as I was going downstairs with him,he said to me that he was glad to see how fond grandmother was getting ofme, and that he would bring me again next week. _I_ did not feel at allpleased at this--I felt more unhappy than ever I had done in my life, sothat my father, noticing it, asked what was the matter. I replied that Iwas tired and that I did not care for going to grandmother's, and then,when I saw that this ungracious answer vexed my kind father, I felt moreand more unhappy. Every moment as we walked along--we were to meet thecarriage at the inn where it had been left--the bits of broken china inmy pocket bumped against my leg, as if they would not let themselves beforgotten. I wished I could stop and throw them away, but that wasimpossible. I trudged along, gloomy and wretched, with a weight on myheart that it seemed to me I would never get rid of. Suddenly--sosuddenly that I could hardly believe my own senses, something caught myeye that entirely changed my whole ideas. I darted forward, my father wasa few steps in front of me--the footpath was so narrow in the old townthat there was often not room for two abreast--_and_----"
Just at this moment the door opened, and grandmother's maid appeared withthe tea-tray. Molly gave an impatient shake.
"Oh, _what_ a bother!" she said. "I quite forgot about tea. Andimmediately after tea it is always time for us to go to bed. It is eighto'clock now, oh grandmother, _do_ finish the story to-night."
"And why cannot my little girl ask it without all those shakes and'bothers?'" said grandmother. She spoke very gently, but Molly lookedconsiderably ashamed.
"Yes, grandmother dear," she replied meekly. Then she got up from the rugand stood by aunty patiently, while she poured out the tea, first"grandmothering" each cup to keep it from slipping about, then warmingthem with a little hot water, then putting in the beautiful yellow cream,the sugar, and the nice rich brown tea, all in the particular waygrandmother liked it done. And during the process, Molly did not oncewriggle or twist with impatience, so that when she carried grandmother'stea to her, very carefully and steadily, without a drop spilling overinto the saucer in the way grandmother disliked to see, she got a kiss byway of reward, and what was still better perhaps, grandmother looked upand said,
"That's _my_ good little woman. There is not much more of what you call'my story,' to tell, but such as it is, you may sit up to hear it, if youlike."
Grandmother Dear: A Book for Boys and Girls Page 7
