Aunt Judy's Tales, by Mrs. Alfred Gatty (2024)

The Project Gutenberg eBook, Aunt Judy's Tales, by Mrs. Alfred Gatty,Illustrated by Clara S. LaneThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and mostother parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms ofthe Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll haveto check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.Title: Aunt Judy's TalesAuthor: Mrs. Alfred GattyRelease Date: July 31, 2019 [eBook #5074][This file was first posted on April 14, 2002]Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUNT JUDY'S TALES***

1Transcribed from the 1859 Bell and Daldy edition by DavidPrice, email ccx074@pglaf.org

BY MRS. ALFRED GATTY,
AUTHOR OF “PARABLES FROM
NATURE,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED BY CLARA S. LANE.

SECONDEDITION.

LONDON:

BELL AND DALDY, 186, FLEETSTREET.
1859.

The Rightof Translation is reserved.

TO THE “LITTLE ONES”
IN MANY HOMES,

THISVOLUME
IS
DEDICATED.

M. G.

CONTENTS.

p. 1THELITTLE VICTIMS.

“Save our blessings, Master, save,
From the blight of thankless eye.”

Lyra Innocentium.

There is not a more charming sightin the domestic world, than that of an elder girl in a largefamily, amusing what are called the little ones.

How could mamma have ventured upon that cosy nap in thearm-chair by the fire, if she had been harassed by wondering whatthe children were about? Whereas, as it was, she hadoverheard No. 8 begging the one they all called “AuntJudy,” to come and tell them a story, and she had beheldAunt Judy’s nod of consent; whereupon she had shut hereyes, and composed herself to sleep quite complacently, under thepleasant conviction that all things were sure to be in a state ofpeace and security, so long as the children were listening to oneof those curious stories of Aunt Judy’s, in which, with somuch drollery and amusem*nt, there was sure to be mixed up someodd scraps of information, or bits of good advice.

So, mamma being asleep on one side of the fire, and papareading the newspaper on the other, Aunt Judy and No. 8noiselessly left the room, and repaired to the largered-curtained dining-room, where the former sat down to concocther story, while the latter ran off to collect the little onestogether.

In less than five minutes’ time there was a stream ofnoise along the passage—a bursting open of the door, and acrowding round the fire, by which Aunt Judy sat.

The “little ones” had arrived in full force andhigh expectation. We will not venture to state theirnumber. An order from Aunt Judy, that they should taketheir seats quietly, was but imperfectly obeyed; and a certainamount of hustling and grumbling ensued, which betrayed a ratherquarrelsome tendency.

At last, however, the large circle was formed, and the brightfirelight danced over sunny curls and eager faces. AuntJudy glanced her eye round the group; but whatever her opinion asan artist might have been of its general beauty, she was by nomeans satisfied with the result of her inspection.

“No. 6 and No. 7,” cried she, “you are notfit to listen to a story at present. You have come withdirty hands.”

No. 6 frowned, and No. 7 broke out at once into a howl; he hadwashed his hands ever so short a time ago, and had done nothingsince but play at knuckle-bones on the floor! Surely peopleneedn’t wash their hands every ten minutes! It wasvery hard!

Aunt Judy had rather a logical turn of mind, so she set aboutexpounding to the “little ones” in general, and toNos. 6 and 7 in particular, that the proper time for washingpeople’s hands was when their hands were dirty; no matterhow lately the operation had been performed before. Such,at least, she said, was the custom in England, and everyone oughtto be proud of belonging to so clean and respectable acountry. She, therefore, insisted that Nos. 6 and 7 shouldretire up-stairs and perform the necessary ablution, or otherwisethey would be turned out, and not allowed to listen to thestory.

Nos. 6 and 7 were rather restive. The truth was, it hadbeen one of those unlucky days which now and then will occur infamilies, in which everything seemed to be perverse and goaskew. It was a dark, cold, rainy day in November, andgoing out had been impossible. The elder boys had worried,and the younger ones had cried. It was Saturday too, andthe maids were scouring in all directions, waking every echo inthe back-premises by the grating of sand-stone on the flags; andthey had been a good deal discomposed by the family effort toplay at “Wolf” in the passages. Mamma had beenat accounts all the morning, trying to find out some magicalcorner in which expenses could be reduced between then and thearrival of Christmas bills; and, moreover, it was a half-holiday,and the children had, as they call it, nothing to do.

So Nos. 6 and 7, who had been vexed about several other littlematters before, during the course of the day, broke out now onthe subject of the washing of their hands.

Aunt Judy was inexorable however—inexorable though cool;and the rest got impatient at the delay which the debateoccasioned: so, partly by coaxing, and partly by the threat ofbeing shut out from hearing the story, Nos. 6 and 7 were at lastprevailed upon to go up-stairs and wash their grim little pawsinto that delicate shell-like pink, which is the characteristicof juvenile fingers when clean.

As they went out, however, they murmured, in whimpered tones,that they were sure it was very hard!

After their departure, Aunt Judy requested the rest not totalk, and a complete silence ensued, during which one or two ofthe youngest evidently concluded that she was composing herstory, for they stared at her with all their might, as if todiscover how she did it.

Meantime the rain beat violently against the panes, and thered curtains swayed to and fro from the effect of the wind,which, in spite of tolerable woodwork, found its way through thedivisions of the windows. There was something very drearyin the sound, and very odd in the varying shades of red whichappeared upon the curtains as they swerved backwards and forwardsin the firelight.

Several of the children observed it, but no one spoke untilthe footsteps of Nos. 6 and 7 were heard approaching the door, onwhich a little girl ventured to whisper, “I’m veryglad I’m not out in the wind and rain;” and a boymade answer, “Why, who would be so silly as to think ofgoing out in the wind and rain? Nobody, ofcourse!”

At that moment Nos. 6 and 7 entered, and took their places ontwo little Derby chairs, having previously showed their pinkhands in sombre silence to Aunt Judy, whereupon Aunt Judy turnedherself so as to face the whole group, and then began her storyas follows:—

“There were once upon a time eight little Victims, whowere shut up in a large stone-building, where they were watchednight and day by a set of huge grown-up keepers, who made them dowhatever they chose.”

“Don’t make it too sad, Aunt Judy,”murmured No. 8, half in a tremble already.

“You needn’t be frightened, No. 8,” was theanswer; “my stories always end well.”

“I’m so glad,” chuckled No. 8 with a grin,as he clapped one little fat hand down upon the other on his lapin complete satisfaction. “Go on, please.”

“Was the large stone-building a prison, AuntJudy?” inquired No. 7.

“That depends upon your ideas of a prison,”answered Aunt Judy. “What do you suppose a prisonis?”

“Oh, a great big place with walls all round, wherepeople are locked up, and can’t go in and out as theychoose.”

“Very well. Then I think you may be allowed tocall the place in which the little Victims were kept a prison,for it certainly was a great big place with walls all round, andthey were locked up at night, and not allowed to go in and out asthey chose.”

“Poor things,” murmured No. 8; but he consoledhimself by recollecting that the story was to end well.

“Aunt Judy, before you go on, do tell us whatvictims are? Are they fairies, or what? Idon’t know.”

This was the request of No. 5, who was rather more thoughtfulthan the rest, and was apt now and then to delay a story by hisinquiring turn of mind.

No. 6 was in a hurry to hear some more, and nudged No. 5 tomake him be quiet; but Aunt Judy interposed; said she did notlike to tell stories to people who didn’t care to know whatthey meant, and declared that No. 5 was quite right in askingwhat a victim was.

“A victim,” said she, “was the creaturewhich the old heathens used to offer up as a sacrifice, afterthey had gained a victory in battle. You all remember Idare say,” continued she, “what a sacrifice is, andhave heard about Abel’s sacrifice of the firstlings of hisflock.”

The children nodded assent, and Aunt Judy went on:—

“No such sacrifices are ever offered up now by usChristians, and so there are no more real victimsnow. But we still use the word, and call any creature avictim who is ill-used, or hurt, or destroyed by somebodyelse.

“If you, any of you, were to worry or kill the cat, forinstance, then the cat would be called the victim of yourcruelty; and in the same manner the eight little Victims I amgoing to tell you about were the victims of the whims and cruelprejudices of those who had the charge of them.

“And now, before I proceed any further, I am going toestablish a rule, that whenever I tell you anything very sadabout the little Victims, you shall all of you groan aloudtogether. So groan here, if you please, now that you quiteunderstand what a victim is.”

Aunt Judy glanced round the circle, and they all groanedtogether to order, led off by Nos. 3 and 4, who did not, it mustbe owned, look in a very mournful state while they performed theceremony.

It was wonderful what good that groan did them all! Itseemed to clear off half the troubles of the day, and at itsconclusion a smile was visible on every face.

Aunt Judy then proceeded:—

“I do not want to make you cry too much, but I will tellyou of the miseries the captive victims underwent in the courseof one single day, and then you will be able to judge foryourselves what a life they led together.

“One of their heaviest miseries happened everyevening. It was the misery of going to bed.Perhaps now you may think it sounds odd that going to bed shouldbe called a misery. But you shall hear how it was.

“In the evening, when all the doors were safely lockedand bolted, so that no one could get away, the little Victimswere summoned down-stairs, and brought into a room where some ofthe keepers were sure to be sitting in the greatest luxury.There was generally a warm fire on the hearth, and a beautifullamp on the table, which shed an agreeable light around, and madeeverything look so pretty and gay, the hearts of the poorinnocent Victims always rose at the sight.

“Sometimes there would be a huge visitor or two present,who would now and then take the Victims on their knees, and sayall manner of entertaining things to them. Or there wouldbe nice games for them to play at. Or the keepersthemselves would kiss them, and call them kind names, as if theyreally loved them. How nice all this sounds, does itnot? And it would have been nice, if the keepers would buthave let it last for ever. But that was just the one thingthey never would do, and the consequence was, that, whateverpleasure they might have had, the wretched Victims always endedby being dissatisfied and sad.

“And how could it be otherwise? Just when theywere at the height of enjoyment, just when everything was mostdelightful, a horrible knock was sure to be heard at the door,the meaning of which they all knew but too well. It was theknock which summoned them to bed; and at such a moment you cannotwonder that going to bed was felt to be a misfortune.

“Had there been a single one among them who was sleepy,or tired, or ready for bed, there would have been some excuse forthe keepers; but as it was, there was none, for the littleVictims never knew what it was to feel tired or weary on thoseoccasions, and were always carried forcibly away before thatfeeling came on.

“Of course, when the knock was heard, they would beginto cry, and say that it was very hard, and that they didn’twant to go to bed, and one went so far once as to add thatshe wouldn’t go to bed.

“But it was all in vain. The little Victims mightas well have attempted to melt a stone wall as those hard-heartedbeings who had the charge of them.

“And now, my dears,” observed Aunt Judy, stoppingin her account, “this is of all others the exact moment atwhich you ought to show your sympathy with the sufferers, andgroan.”

The little ones groaned accordingly, but in a very feeblemanner.

Aunt Judy shook her head.

“That groan is not half hearty enough for such amisery. Don’t you think, if you tried hard, you couldgroan a little louder?”

They did try, and succeeded a little better, but cast furtiveglances at each other immediately after.

“Were the beds very uncomfortable ones, AuntJudy?” inquired No. 8, in a subdued voice.

“You shall judge for yourself,” was theanswer. “They were raised off the floor upon legs, sothat no wind from under the door could get at them; and on theflat bottom called the bed-stock, there was placed a thick strongbag called a mattress, which was stuffed with some soft materialwhich made it springy and pleasant to touch or lie downupon. The shape of it was a long square, or what may becalled a rectangular parallelogram. I strongly advise youall to learn that word, for it is rather an amusing idea as onesteps into bed, to think that one is going to sleep upon aparallelogram.”

Nos. 3 and 4 were here unable to contain themselves, but brokeinto a peal of laughter. The little ones stared.

“Well,” resumed Aunt Judy, “for my part, Ithink it’s a very nice thing to learn the ins and outs ofone’s own life; to consider how one’s bed is made,and the why and wherefore of its shape and position. It isa great pity to get so accustomed to things as not to know theirvalue till we lose them! But to proceed.

“On the top of this parallelogramatic mattress was laida soft blanket. On the top of that blanket, two whitesheets. On the top of the sheets, two or more warmblankets, and on the top of the blankets, a spotted cover calleda counterpane.

“Now it was between the sheets that each little Victimwas laid, and such were the receptacles to which they wereunwillingly consigned, night after night of their lives!

“But I have not yet told you half the troubles of thisdreadful ‘going to bed.’ A good fire with alarge tub before it, and towels hung over the fender, was alwaysthe first sight which met the tearful eyes of the little Victimsas they entered the nursery after being torn from the joys of theroom down-stairs. And then, lo and behold! a new miserybegan, for, whether owing to the fatigue of getting up-stairs, orthat their feelings had been so much hurt, they generallydiscovered at this moment that they were one and all soexcessively tired, they didn’t know what to do;—ofall things, did not choose to be washed—and insisted, eachof them, on being put to bed first! But let them say whatthey would, and cry afresh as they pleased, and even snap andsnarl at each other like so many small terriers, those cruelkeepers of theirs never would grant their requests; never wouldput any of them to bed dirty, and always declared that it wasimpossible to put each of them to bed first!

“Imagine now the feelings of those who had to wait roundthe fire while the others were attended to! Imagine theweariness, the disgust, before the whole party was finished, andput by for the night!”

Aunt Judy paused, but no one spoke.

“What!” cried she suddenly, “will nobodygroan? Then I must groan myself!” which she did, anda most unearthly noise she made; so much so, that two or three ofthe little ones turned round to look at the swelling redcurtains, just to make sure the howl did not proceed fromthence.

After which Aunt Judy continued her tale:—

“So much for night and going to bed, about which thereis nothing more to relate, as the little Victims were uncommonlygood sleepers, and seldom awoke till long after daylight.

“Well now, what do you think? By the time they hadhad a good night, they felt so comfortable in their beds, thatthey were quite contented to remain there; and then, of course,their tormentors never rested till they had forced them to getup! Poor little things! Just think of their beingmade to go to bed at night, when they most disliked it, and thenmade to get up in the morning, when they wanted to stay inbed! It certainly was, as they always said, ‘very,very hard.’ This was, of course, a winter misery,when the air was so frosty and cold that it was very unpleasantto jump out into it from a warm nest. Terrible scenes tookplace on these occasions, I assure you, for sometimes thewretched Victims would sit shivering on the floor, crying overtheir socks and shoes instead of putting them on, (which they hadno spirit for,) and then the savage creatures who managed themwould insult them by irritating speeches.

“‘Come, Miss So-and-So,’ one would say,‘don’t sit fretting there; there’s a warm fire,and a nice basin of bread-and-milk waiting for you, if you willonly be quick and get ready.’

“Get ready! a nice order indeed! It meant thatthey must wash themselves and be dressed before they would beallowed to touch a morsel of food.

“But it is of no use dwelling on the unfeelingness ofthose keepers. One day one of them actuallysaid:—

“‘If you knew what it was to have to get upwithout a fire to come to, and without a breakfast to eat, youwould leave off grumbling at nothing.’

“Nothing! they called it nothing to haveto get out of a warm bed into the fresh morning air, and dressbefore breakfast!

“Well, my dears,” pursued Aunt Judy, after waitinghere a few seconds, to see if anybody would groan, “I shalltake it for granted you feel for the getting-up misery aswell as the going-to-bed one, although you have notgroaned as I expected. I will just add, in conclusion, thatthe summer getting-up misery was just the reverse of thiswinter one. Then the poor little wretches were expected towait till their nursery was dusted and swept; so there they hadto lie, sometimes for half-an-hour, with the sun shining in uponthem, not allowed to get up and come out into the dirt anddust!

“Of course, on those occasions they had nothing to dobut squabble among themselves and teaze; and I assure you theyhad every now and then a very pleasant little revenge on theirkeepers, for they half worried them out of their lives bydisturbances and complaints, and at any rate that was somecomfort to them, although very often it hindered the nursery frombeing done half as soon as it would have been if they had beenquiet.

“I shall not have time to tell of everything,”continued Aunt Judy, “so I must hurry over the breakfast,although the keepers contrived to make even that miserable, bydoing all they could to prevent the little Victims from spillingtheir food on the table and floor, and also by insisting on thepoor little things sitting tolerably upright on theirseats—not lolling with both elbows on thetable-cloth—not making a mess—not, in short,playing any of those innocent little pranks in which youngcreatures take delight.

“It was a pitiable spectacle, as you may suppose, to seereasonable beings constrained against their inclinations to sitquietly while they ate their hearty morning meal, which really,perhaps, they might have enjoyed, had they been allowed to amusethemselves in their own fashion at the same time.

“But I must go on now to that great misery of the day,which I shall call the lesson misery.

“Now you must know, the little Victims were all born, asyoung kids, lambs, kittens, and puppy-dogs are, with a decidedliking for jumping about and playing all day long. Think,therefore, what their sufferings were when they were placed inchairs round a table, and obliged to sit and stare at queerlooking characters in books until they had learned to know themwhat was called by heart. It was a very odd way ofdescribing it, for I am sure they had often no heart in thematter, unless it was a hearty dislike.

“‘Tommy Brown in the village never learns anylessons,’ cried one of them once to the creature who wasteaching him, ‘why should I? He is always playing atoyster-dishes in the gutter when I see him, and enjoyinghimself. I wish I might enjoy myself!’

“Poor Victim! He little thought what a tiresomelecture this clever remark of his would bring on his devotedhead!

“Don’t ask me to repeat it. It amountedmerely to this, that twenty years hence he would he very glad hehad learnt something else besides making oyster-dishes in thestreets. As if that signified to him now! As if ittook away the nuisance of having to learn at the present moment,to be told it would be of use hereafter! What was the useof its being of use by-and-by?

“So thought the little Victim, young as he was; so, saidhe, in a muttering voice:—

“‘I don’t care about twenty years hence; Iwant to be happy now!’

“This was unanswerable, as you may suppose; so thepuzzled teacher didn’t attempt to make a reply, butsaid:—

“‘Go on with your lessons, you foolish littleboy!’

“See what it is to be obstinate,” pursued AuntJudy. “See how it blinds people’s eyes, andprevents them from knowing right from wrong! Pray takewarning, and never be obstinate yourselves; and meantime, let ushave a good hearty groan for the lesson misery.”

The little ones obeyed, and breathed out a groan that seemedto come from the very depths of their hearts; but somehow orother, as the story proceeded, the faces looked rather lessamused, and rather more anxious, than at first.

What could the little ones be thinking about to make themgrave?

It was evidently quite a relief when Aunt Judy wenton:—

“You will be very much surprised, I dare say,”said she, “to hear of the next misery I am going to tellyou about. It may be called the dinner misery, andthe little Victims underwent it every day.”

“Did they give them nasty things to eat, AuntJudy?” murmured No. 8, very anxiously.

“More likely not half enough,” suggested No.5.

“But you promised not to make the story too sad,remember!” observed No. 6.

“I did,” replied Aunt Judy, “and thedinner misery did not consist in nasty food, or there notbeing enough. They had plenty to eat, I assure you, andeverything was good. But—”

Aunt Judy stopped short, and glanced at each of the littleones in succession.

“Make haste, Aunt Judy!” cried No. 8.“But what?”

“But,” resumed Aunt Judy, in her mostimpressive tone, “they had to wait between thecourses.”

Again Aunt Judy paused, and there was a looking hither andthither among the little ones, and a shuffling about on the smallDerby chairs, while one or two pairs of eyes were suddenly turnedto the fire, as if watching it relieved a certain degree ofembarrassment which their owners began to experience.

“It is not every little boy or girl,” was AuntJudy’s next remark, “who knows what the courses of adinner are.”

“I don’t,” interposed No. 8, in adistressed voice, as if he had been deeply injured.

“Oh, you think not? Well, not by name,perhaps,” answered Aunt Judy. “But I willexplain. The courses of a dinner are the different sorts offood, which follow each other one after the other, till dinner iswhat people call ‘over.’ Thus, supposing adinner was to begin with pea-soup, as you have sometimes seen itdo, you would expect when it was taken away to see some meat putupon the table, should you not?”

The little ones nodded assent.

“And after the meat was gone, you would expect pie orpudding, eh?”

They nodded assent again, and with a smile.

“And if after the pudding was carried away, you saw somecheese and celery arrive, it would not startle you very much,would it?”

The little ones did nothing but laugh.

“Very well,” pursued Aunt Judy, “such adinner as we have been talking about consists of fourcourses. The soup course, the meat course, the puddingcourse, and the cheese course. And it was while one coursewas being carried out, and another fetched in, that the littleVictims had to wait; and that was the dinner misery Ispoke about, and a very grievous affair it was. Sometimesthey had actually to wait several minutes, with nothing to do butto fidget on their chairs, lean backwards till they toppled over,or forward till some accident occurred at the table. Andthen, poor little things, if they ventured to get out theirknuckle-bones for a game, or took to a little boxing amusem*ntamong themselves, or to throwing the salt in each other’smugs, or pelting each other with bits of bread, or anything niceand entertaining, down came those merciless keepers on theirinnocent mirth, and the old stupid order went round for sittingupright and quiet. Nothing that I can say about it would behalf as expressive as what the little Victims used to saythemselves. They said that it was ‘so veryhard.’

“Now, then, a good groan for the dinnermisery,” exclaimed Aunt Judy in conclusion.

The order was obeyed, but somewhat reluctantly, and then AuntJudy proceeded with her tale.

“On one occasion of the dinner misery,”resumed she, “there happened to be a stranger lady present,who seemed to be very much shocked by what the Victims had toundergo, and to pity them very much; so she said she would setthem a nice little puzzle to amuse them till the second coursearrived. But now, what do you think the puzzle was?It was a question, and this was it. ‘Which is theharder thing to bear—to have to wait for your dinner, or tohave no dinner to wait for?’

“I do not think the little Victims would have quiteknown what the stranger lady meant, if she had not explainedherself; for you see they had never gone without dinner intheir lives, so they had not an idea what sort of a feeling itwas to have no dinner to wait for. But she went onto tell them what it was like as well as she could. Shedescribed to them little Tommy Brown, (whom they envied so muchfor having no lessons to do,) eating his potatoe soaked in thedripping begged at the squire’s back-door, without anythingelse to wait—or hope for. She told them thathe was never teazed as to how he sat, or even whether hesat or stood, and then she asked them if they did not think hewas a very happy little boy? He had no trouble or bother,but just ate his rough morsel in any way he pleased, and then wasoff, hungry or not hungry, into the streets again.

“To tell you the truth,” pursued Aunt Judy,“the Victims did not know what to say to the lady’saccount of little Tommy Brown’s happiness; but as the roastmeat came in just as it concluded, perhaps that diverted theirattention. However, after they had all been helped, it wassuddenly observed that one of them would not begin to eat.He sat with his head bent over his plate, and his cheeks growingredder and redder, till at last some one asked what was amiss,and why he would not go on with his dinner, on which he sobbedout that he had ‘much rather it was taken to little TommyBrown!’”

“That was a very good little Victim, wasn’the?” asked No. 8.

“But what did the keepers say?” inquired No. 5,rather anxiously.

“Oh,” replied Aunt Judy, “it was soonsettled that Tommy Brown was to have the dinner, which made thelittle Victim so happy, he actually jumped for joy. Onwhich the stranger lady told them she hoped they would henceforthalways ask themselves her curious question whenever they sat downto a good meal again. ‘For,’ said she,‘my dears, it will teach you to be thankful; and you maytake my word for it, it is always the ungrateful people who arethe most miserable ones.’”

“Oh, Aunt Judy!” here interposed No. 6, somewhatvehemently, “you need not tell any more! I know youmean us by the little Victims! But you don’tthink we really mean to be ungrateful about the beds, orthe dinners, or anything, do you?”

There was a melancholy earnestness in the tone of the inquiry,which rather grieved Aunt Judy, for she knew it was not well tomagnify childish faults into too great importance: so she tookNo. 6 on her knee, and assured her she never imagined such athing as their being really ungrateful, for a moment. Ifshe had, she added, she should not have turned their little waysinto fun, as she had done in the story.

No. 6 was comforted somewhat on hearing this, but still leanther head on Aunt Judy’s shoulder in a rather pensivestate.

“I wonder what makes one so tiresome,” mused themeditative No. 5, trying to view the matter quite abstractedly,as if he himself was in no way concerned in it.

“Thoughtlessness only,” replied Aunt Judy,smiling. “I have often heard mamma say it is notingratitude in children when they don’t think aboutthe comforts they enjoy every day; because the comforts seem tothem to come, like air and sunshine, as a mere matter ofcourse.”

“Really?” exclaimed No. 6, in a quite hopefultone. “Does mamma really say that?”

“Yes; but then you know,” continued Aunt Judy,“everybody has to be taught to think by degrees, and thenthey get to know that no comforts ever do really come to anybodyas a matter of course. No, not even air and sunshine; butevery one of them as blessings permitted by God, and which,therefore, we have to be thankful for. So you see we haveto learn to be thankful as we have to learn everythingelse, and mamma says it is a lesson that never ends, even forgrown-up people.

“And now you understand, No. 6, that you—oh!I beg pardon, I mean the little Victims—were notreally ungrateful, but only thoughtless; and the wonderfulstranger lady did something to cure them of that, and, in fact,proved a sort of Aunt Judy to them; for she explained things insuch a very entertaining manner, that they actually began tothink the matter over; and then they left off being stupid andunthankful.

“But this reminds me,” added Aunt Judy,“that you—tiresome No. 6—have spoilt my storyafter all! I had not half got to the end of themiseries. For instance, there was the taking-caremisery, in consequence of which the little Victims were sent outto play on a fine day, and kept in when it was stormy and wet,all because those stupid keepers were more anxious to keep themwell in health than to please them at the moment.

“And then there was—above all—” hereAunt Judy became very impressive, “the washingmisery, which consisted in their being obliged to make themselvesclean and comfortable with soap and water whenever they happenedto be dirty, whether with playing at knuckle-bones on the floor,or anything else, and which was considered so hardthat—”

But here a small hand was laid on Aunt Judy’s mouth, anda gentle voice said, “Stop, Aunt Judy, now!” on whichthe rest shouted, “Stop! stop! we won’t hear anymore,” in chorus, until all at once, in the midst of thedin, there sounded outside the door the ominous knocking, whichannounced the hour of repose to the juvenile branches of thefamily.

It was a well-known summons, but on this occasion producedrather an unusual effect. First, there was a suddenprofound silence, and pause of several seconds; then aninterchange of glances among the little ones; then a breaking outof involuntary smiles upon several young faces; and at last auniversal “Good-night, Aunt Judy!” very quietly anddemurely spoken.

“If the little Victims were only here to see howyou behave over the going-to-bed misery, what alesson it would be!” suggested Aunt Judy, with amischievous smile.

“Ah, yes, yes, we know, we know!” was the onlyreply, and it came from No. 8, who took advantage of being theyoungest to be more saucy than the rest.

Aunt Judy now led the little party into the drawing-room tobid their father and mother good-night too. And certainlywhen the door was opened, and they saw how bright and cosyeverything looked, in the light of the fire and the lamps, withmamma at the table, wide awake and smiling, they underwent afearful twinge of the going-to-bed misery. But theychecked all expression of their feelings. Of course, mammaasked what Aunt Judy’s story had been about, and heard; andheard, too, No. 6’s little trouble lest she should havebeen guilty of the sin of real ingratitude; and, of course, mammaapplauded Aunt Judy’s explanation about the want ofthought, very much indeed.

“But, mamma,” said No. 6 to her mother,“Aunt Judy said something about grown-up people having tolearn to be thankful. Surely you and papa never cry fornonsense, and things you can’t have?”

“Ah, my darling No. 6,” cried mamma earnestly,“grown-up people may not cry for what they wantexactly, but they are just as apt to wish for what they cannothave, as you little ones are. For instance, grown-up peoplewould constantly like to have life made easier and more agreeableto them, than God chooses it to be. They would like to havea little more wealth, perhaps, or a little more health, or alittle more rest, or that their children should always be goodand clever, and well and happy. And while they are thinkingand fretting about the things they want, they forget to bethankful for those they have. I am often tempted in thisway myself, dear No. 6; so you see Aunt Judy is right, and thelesson of learning to be thankful never ends, even for grown-uppeople.

“One other word before you go. I dare say youlittle ones think we grown-up people are quite independent, andcan do just as we like. But it is not so. We have tolearn to submit to the will of the great Keeper of Heaven andearth, without understanding it, just as Aunt Judy’s littleVictims had to submit to their keepers without knowing why.So thank Aunt Judy for her story, and let us all do our best tobe obedient and contented.”

“When I am old enough, mother,” remarked No. 7, inhis peculiarly mild and deliberate way of speaking, and smilingall the time, “I think I shall put Aunt Judy into astory. Don’t you think she would make a capitalOgre’s wife, like the one in ‘Jack and theBean-Stalk,’ who told Jack how to behave, and gave him goodadvice?”

It was a difficult question to say “No” to, somamma kissed No. 7, instead of answering him, and No. 7 smiledhimself away, with his head full of the bright idea.

p.26VEGETABLES OUT OF PLACE.

“But any man that walks the mead,
In bud or blade, or bloom, may find,
According as his humours lead,
A meaning suited to his mind.”

Tennyson.

It was a fine May morning.Not one of those with an east wind and a bright sun, which keeppeople in a puzzle all as day to whether it is hot or cold, andcause endless nursery disputes about the keeping on of comfortersand warm coats, whenever a hoop-race, or some such activeexertion, has brought a universal puggyness over the juvenileframe—but it was a really mild, sweet-scented day, when itis quite a treat to be out of doors, whether in the gardens, thelanes, or the fields, and when nothing but a holland jacket isthought necessary by even the most tiresomely careful ofmammas.

It was not a day which anybody would have chosen to be poorlyupon; but people have no choice in such matters, and poor littleNo. 7, of our old friends “the little ones,” was inbed ill of the measles.

The wise old Bishop, Jeremy Taylor, told us long ago, how wellchildren generally bear sickness. “They bearit,” he says, “by a direct sufferance;” that isto say, they submit to just what discomfort exists at the moment,without fidgetting about either “a cause or aconsequence,” and decidedly without fretting about what isto come.

For a grown-up person to attain to the same state of unanxiousresignation, is one of the high triumphs of Christianfaith. It is that “delivering one’s selfup,” of which the poor speak so forcibly on theirsick-beds.

No. 7 proved a charming instance of the truth of JeremyTaylor’s remark. He behaved in the most composedmanner over his feelings, and even over his physic.

During the first day or two, when he sat shivering by thefire, reading “Neill D’Arcy’s Life atSea,” and was asked how he felt, he answered with his usualsmile; “Oh, all right; only a little cold now andthen.” And afterwards, when he was in bed in adarkened room, and the same question was put, he replied almostas quietly, (though without the smile,) “Oh—only alittle too hot.”

Then over the medicine, he contested nothing. He made,indeed, one or two by no means injudicious suggestions, as to thebest method of having the disagreeable material, whether powderyor oleaginous, (I will not particularize further!) conveyed downhis throat: commonly said, “Thank you,” even beforehe had swallowed it; and then shut his eyes, and kept himselfquiet.

Fortunately No. 1, and Schoolboy No. 3, had had the complaintas well as papa and mamma, so there were plenty to share in thenursing and house matters. The only question was, what wasto be done with the little ones while Nurse was so busy; and AuntJudy volunteered her services in their behalf.

Now it will easily be supposed, after what I have said, thatthe nursing was not at all a difficult undertaking; but I amgrieved to say that Aunt Judy’s task was by no means soeasy a one.

The little ones were very sorry, it is true, that No. 7 waspoorly; but, unluckily, they forgot it every time they wenteither up-stairs or down. They could not bear in theirminds the fact, that when they encouraged the poodle to barkafter an India-rubber ball, he was pretty sure to wake No. 7 outof a nap; and, in short, the day being so fine, and the littleones so noisy, Aunt Judy packed them all off into their gardensto tidy them up, she herself taking her station in a small study,the window of which looked out upon the family play-ground.

Her idea, perhaps, was, that she could in this way combine theprosecution of her own studies, with enacting policeman over theyoung gardeners, and “keeping the peace,” as shecalled it. But if so, she was doomed to disappointment.

The operation of “tidying up gardens,” asperformed by a set of “little ones,” scarcely needsdescription.

It consists of a number of alterations being thought of, andset about, not one of which is ever known to be finished by thosewho begin them. It consists of everybody wanting the rakeat the same moment, and of nobody being willing to use the othertools, which they call stupid and useless things. Itconsists of a great many plants being moved from one place toanother, when they are in full flower, and dying inconsequence. (But how, except when they are in flower, cananyone judge where they will look best?) It consists of agreat many seeds being prevented from coming up at all, by an“alteration” cutting into the heart of the patch justas they were bursting their shells for a sprout. Itconsists of an unlimited and fatal application of the cold-watercure.

And, finally, it results in such a confusion betweenfoot-walks and beds—such a mixture of earth and gravel, andthrown-down tools—that anyone unused to the symptoms of thecase, might imagine that the door of the pigsty in the yard hadbeen left open, and that its inhabitant had been performingsundry uncouth gambols with his nose in the little ones’gardens.

Aunt Judy was quite aware of these facts, and she hadaccordingly laid down several rules, and given severalinstructions to prevent the usual catastrophe; and all went verysmoothly at first in consequence. The little ones went outall hilarity and delight, and divided the tools with considerableshow of justice, while Aunt Judy nodded to them approvingly outof her window, and then settled down to an interesting sum inthat most peculiar of all arithmetical rules, “The Ruleof False,” the principle of which is, that out of twoerrors, made by yourself from two wrong guesses, you arrive at adiscovery of the truth!

When Aunt Judy first caught sight of this rule, a few daysbefore, at the end of an old summing-book, it struck her fancy atonce. The principle of it was capable of a much moregeneral application than to the “Rule of False,” andshe amused herself by studying it up.

It is, no doubt, a clumsy substitute for algebra; but youngfolks who have not learnt algebra, will find it a veryentertaining method of making out all such sums as the followingold puzzler, over which Aunt Judy was now poring:

“There is a certain fish, whose head is 9 inches inlength, his tail as long as his head and half of his back, andhis back as long as both head and tail together. Query, thelength of the fish?”

But Aunt Judy was not left long in peace with her fish.While she was in the thick of “suppositions” and“errors,” a tap came at the window.

“Aunt Judy!”

“Stop!” was the answer; and the hand of thespeaker went up, with the slate-pencil in it, enforcing silencewhile she pursued her calculations.

“Say, back 42 inches; then tail (half back) 21, and headgiven, 9, that’s 30, and 30 and 9, 39back.—Won’t do! Second error: threeinches—What’s the matter, No. 6? You surelyhave not begun to quarrel already?”

“Oh, no,” answered No. 6, with her nose flattenedagainst the window-pane. “But please, Aunt Judy, No.8 won’t have the oyster-shell trimming round his garden anylonger, he says; he says it looks so rubbishy. But as mygarden joins his down the middle, if he takes away theoyster-shells all round his, then one of mysides—the one in the middle, I mean—will be leftbare, don’t you see? and I want to keep the oyster-shellsall round may garden, because mamma says there are still somezoophytes upon them. So how is it to be?”

What a perplexity! The fish with his nine-inch head, andhis tail as long as his head and half of his back, was a merenothing to it.

Aunt Judy threw open the window.

“My dear No. 6,” answered she, “yours is thegreat boundary-line question about which nations never do agree,but go squabbling on till some one has to give way first.There is but one plan for settling it, and that is, for each ofyou to give up a piece of your gardens to make a road to runbetween. Now if you’ll both give way at once, andconsent to this, I will come out to you myself, and leave my fishtill the evening. It’s much too fine to stay indoors, I feel; and I can give you all something real todo.”

“I’ll give way, I’m sure, AuntJudy,” cried No. 6, quite glad to be rid of the dispute;“and so will you, won’t you, No. 8?” she added,appealing to that young gentleman, who stood with his pinaforefull of dirty oyster-shells, not quite understanding the meaningof what was said.

“I’ll what?” inquired he.

“Oh, never mind! Only throw the oyster-shellsdown, and come with Aunt Judy. It will be much better funthan staying here.”

No. 8 lowered his pinafore at the word of command, and droppedthe discarded oyster-shells, one by one—where do youthink?—why—right into the middle of his littlegarden! an operation which seemed to be particularly agreeable tohim, if one might judge by his face. He was not sorryeither to be relieved from the weight.

“You see, Aunt Judy,” continued No. 6 to hersister, who had now joined them, “it doesn’t so muchmatter about the oyster-shell trimming; but No. 8’s gardenis always in such a mess, that I must have a wall or somethingbetween us!”

“You shall have a wall or a path decidedly,”replied Aunt Judy: “a road is the next best thing to ariver for a boundary-line. But now, all of you, pick up thetools and come with me, and you shall do some regular work, andbe paid for it at the rate of half-a-farthing for every halfhour. Think what a magnificent offer!”

The little ones thought so in reality, and welcomed thearrangement with delight, and trudged off behind Aunt Judy,calculating so hard among themselves what their conjointhalf-farthings would come to, for the half-hours they allintended to work, and furthermore, what amount or variety of“goodies” they would purchase, that Aunt Judy halffancied herself back in the depths of the “Rule ofFalse” again!

She led them at last to a pretty shrubbery-walk, of which theywere all very fond. On one side of it was a quick-sethedge, in which the honeysuckle was mixed so profusely with thethorn, that they grew and were clipped together.

It was the choicest spot for a quiet evening stroll in summerthat could possibly be imagined. The sweet scent from thehoneysuckle flowers stole around you with a welcome as you movedalong, and set you a dreaming of some far-off region where thedelicious sensations produced by the odour of flowers may not beas transient as they are here.

There was an alcove in the middle of the walk—not one ofthe modern mockeries of rusticity—but a real old-fashionedlath-and-plaster concern, such as used to be erected in front ofa bowling-green. It was roofed in, was open only on thesunny side, and was supported by a couple of little Ionicpillars, up which clematis and passion-flower were studiouslytrained.

There was a table as well as seats within; and the alcove wasa very nice place for either reading or drawing in, as itcommanded a pretty view of the distant country. It wasalso, and perhaps especially, suited to the young people in theirmore poetical and fanciful moods.

The little ones had no sooner reached the entrance of thefavourite walk, than they scampered past Aunt Judy to run a race;but No. 6 stopped suddenly short.

“Aunt Judy, look at these horrible weeds! Ah! I dobelieve this is what you have brought us here for!”

It was indeed; for some showers the evening before, had causedthem to flourish in a painfully prominent manner, and thefavourite walk presented a somewhat neglected appearance.

So Aunt Judy marked it off for the little ones to weed,repeated the exhilarating promise of the half-farthings, andseated herself in the alcove to puzzle out the length of thefish.

At first it was rather amusing to hear, how even in the midstof their weeding, the little ones pursued their calculations ofthe anticipated half-farthings, and discussed the niceness andprices of the various descriptions of “goodies.”

But by degrees, less and less was said; and at last, thehalf-farthings and “goodies” seemed altogetherforgotten, and a new idea to arise in their place.

The new idea was, that this weeding-task was uncommonlytroublesome!

“I’m sure there are many more weeds in my piecethan in anybody else’s!” remarked the tallest of thechildren, standing up to rest his rather tired back, andcontemplate the walk. “I don’t think Aunt Judymeasured it out fair!”

“Well, but you’re the biggest, and ought to do themost,” responded No. 6.

“A little the most is all very well,”persisted No. 5; “but I’ve got too much themost rather—and it’s very tiresome work.”

“What nonsense!” rejoined No. 6. “Idon’t believe the weeds are any thicker in your piece thanin mine. Look at my big heap. And I’m sureI’m quite as tired as you are.”

No. 6 got up as she spoke, to see how matters were going on;not at all sorry either, to change her position.

“I’ve got the most,” muttered No. 8to himself, still kneeling over his work.

But this was, it is to be feared, a very unjustifiable bit ofbrag.

“If you go on talking so much, you will not get anyhalf-farthings at all!” shouted No. 4, from thedistance.

A pause followed this warning, and the small party ducked downagain to their work.

They no longer liked it, however; and very soon afterwards thejocose No. 5 observed, in subdued tones to the others:—

“I wonder what the little victims would have saidto this kind of thing?”

“They’d have hated it,” answered No. 6, verydecidedly.

The fact was, the little ones were getting really tired, forthe fine May morning had turned into a hot day; and in a fewminutes more, a still further aggravation of feeling tookplace.

No. 6 got up again, shook the gravel from her frock, blew itoff her hands, pushed back a heap of heavy curls from her face,set her hat as far back on her head as she could, andexclaimed:—

“I wish there were no such things as weeds in theworld!”

Everybody seemed struck with this impressive sentiment, forthey all left off weeding at once, and Aunt Judy came forward tothe front of the alcove.

“Don’t you, Aunt Judy?” added No. 6, feelingsure her sister had heard.

“Not I, indeed,” answered Aunt Judy, with acomical smile: “I’m too fond of cream to mytea.”

“Cream to your tea, Aunt Judy? What can that haveto do with it?”

The little ones were amazed.

“Something,” at any rate, responded Aunt Judy;“and if you like to come in here, and sit down, I will tellyou how.”

Away went hoes and weeding-knives at once, and into the alcovethey rushed; and never had garden-seats felt so thoroughlycomfortable before.

“If one begins to wish,” suggested No. 5,stretching his legs out to their full extent, “one may aswell wish oneself a grand person with a lot of gardeners to clearaway the weeds as fast as they come up, and save one thetrouble.”

“Much better wish them away, and save everybody thetrouble,” persisted No. 6.

“No: one wants them sometimes.”

“What an idea! Who ever wants weeds?”

“You yourself.”

“I? What nonsense!”

But the persevering No. 5 proceeded to explain. No. 6had asked him a few days before to bring her some groundsel forher canary, and he had been quite disappointed at finding none inthe garden. He had actually to “trail” into thelanes to fetch a bit.

This was a puzzling statement; so No. 6 contented herself withgrumbling out:—

“Weeds are welcome to grow in the lanes.”

“Weeds are not always weeds in the lanes,”persisted No. 5, with a grin: “they’re sometimeswild-flowers.”

“I don’t care what they are,” pouted No.6. “I wish I lived in a place where there werenone.”

“And I wish I was a great man, with lots of gardeners totake them up, instead of me,” maintained No. 5, who was ina mood of lazy tiresomeness, and kept rocking to and fro on thegarden-chair, with his hands tucked under his thighs.“A weed—a weed,” continued he; “what is aweed, I wonder? Aunt Judy, what is a weed?”

Aunt Judy had surely been either dreaming or cogitating duringthe last few minutes, for she had taken no notice of what wassaid, but she roused up now, and answered:—

“A vegetable out of its place.”

“A vegetable,” repeated No. 5, “whywe don’t eat them, Aunt Judy.”

“You kitchen-garden interpreter, who said we did?”replied she. “All green herbs are vegetables,let me tell you, whether we eat them or not.”

“Oh, I see,” mused No. 5, quietly enough, but inanother instant he broke out again.

“I’ll tell you what though, some of them are realvegetables, I mean kitchen-garden vegetables, to other creatures,and that’s why they’re wanted.Groundsel’s a vegetable, it’s the canary’svegetable. I mean his kitchen-garden vegetable, and if hehad a kitchen-garden of his own, he would grow it as we dopeas. So I was right after all, No. 6!”

That twit at the end spoilt everything, otherwise thiswas really a bright idea of No. 5’s.

“Aunt Judy, do begin to talk yourself,” entreatedNo. 6. “I wish No. 5 would be quiet, and notteaze.”

“And he wishes the same of you,” replied AuntJudy, “and I wish the same of you all. What is to bedone? Come, I will tell you a story, on one positiveunderstanding, namely, that whoever teazes, or even twits,shall be turned out of the company.”

No. 5 sat up in his chair like a dart in an instant, and vowedthat he would be the best of the good, till Aunt Judy hadfinished her story.

“After which—” concluded he, with a wink andanother grin.

“After which, I shall expect you to be betterstill,” was Aunt Judy’s emphatic rejoinder. Andpeace being now completely established, she commenced:“There was once upon a time—what do youthink?”—here she paused and looked round in thechildren’s faces.

“A giant!” exclaimed No. 8.

“A beautiful princess!” suggested No. 6.

“Something,” said Aunt Judy, “but Iam not going to tell you what at present. You must find outfor yourselves. Meantime I shall call it something,or merely make a grunting—hm—when I allude to it, aspeople do to express a blank.”

The little ones shuffled about in delighted impatience at thenotion of the mysterious “something” which they wereto find out, and Aunt Judy proceeded:—

“This—hm—then, lived in a large meadowfield, where it was the delight of all beholders. The ownerof the property was constantly boasting about it to his friends,for he maintained that it was the richest, and most beautiful,and most valuable—hm—in all the country round.Surely no other thing in this world ever found itself moreadmired or prized than this something did. Thecommonest passer-by would notice it, and say all manner of finethings in its praise, whether in the early spring, the fullsummer, or the autumn, for at each of these seasons it put on afresh charm, and formed a subject of conversation.‘Only look at that lovely—hm—’ was quitea common exclamation at the sight of it. ‘What acolour it has! How fresh and healthy it looks! Howinvaluable it must be! Why, it must be worth atleast—’ and then the speaker would go calculatingaway at the number of pounds, shillings, and pence,the—hm—would fetch, if put into the money-market,which is, I am sorry to say, a very usual, although verydegrading way of estimating worth.

“To conclude, the mild-eyed Alderney cow, who pasturedin the field during the autumn months, would chew the cud ofapprobation over the—hm—for hours together, andpeople said it was no wonder at all that she gave such deliciousmilk and cream.”

Here a shout of supposed discovery broke from No. 5.“I’ve guessed, I know it!”

But a “hush” from Aunt Judy stopped him short.

“No. 5, nobody asked your opinion, keep it to yourself,if you please.”

No. 5 was silenced, but rubbed his hands nevertheless.

“Well,” continued Aunt Judy, “that‘something’ ought surely to have been the mostcontented thing in the world. Its merits were acknowledged;its usefulness was undoubted; its beauty was the theme ofconstant admiration; what had it left to wish for? Reallynothing; but by an unlucky accident it became dissatisfied withits situation in a meadow field, and wished to get into a higherposition in life, which, it took for granted, would be moresuited to its many exalted qualities. The‘something’ of the field wanted to inhabit agarden. The unlucky accident that gave rise to this foolishidea, was as follows:—

“A little boy was running across the beautiful meadowone morning, with a tin-pot full of fishing bait in his hand,when suddenly he stumbled and fell down.

“The bait in the tin-pot was some lob-worms, which thelittle boy had collected out of the garden adjoining the field,and they were spilt and scattered about by his fall.

“He picked up as many as he could find, however, and ranoff again; but one escaped his notice and was left behind.

“This gentleman was insensible for a few seconds; but assoon as he came to himself, and discovered that he was in astrange place, he began to grumble and find fault.

“‘What an uncouth neighbourhood!’ Suchwere his exclamations. ‘What rough impracticableroads! Was ever lob-worm so unlucky before!’ Itwas impossible to move an inch without bumping his sides againstsome piece of uncultivated ground.

“Judge for yourselves, my dears,” continued AuntJudy, pathetically, “what must have been the feelings ofthe ‘something’ which had lived proudly andhappily in the meadow field for so long, on hearing suchoffensive remarks.

“Its spirit was up in a minute, just as yours would havebeen, and it did not hesitate to inform the intruder thattravellers who find fault with a country before they have takenthe trouble to inquire into its merits, are very ignorant andimpertinent people.

“This was blow for blow, as you perceive; and theteaze-and-twit system was now continued with greatanimation on both sides.

“The lob-worm inquired, with a conceited wriggle, whatcould be the merits of a country, where gentlemanly, gliding,thin-skinned creatures like himself were unable to move aboutwithout personal annoyance? Whereupon the amiable‘something’ made no scruple of telling thelob-worm that his betters found no fault with the place,and instanced its friend and admirer the Alderney cow.

“On which the lob-worm affected forgetfulness, andexclaimed, ‘Cow? cow? do I know the creature?Ah! Yes, I recollect now; clumsy legs, horny feet, and thatsort of thing,’ proceeding to hint that what was goodenough for a cow, might yet not be refined enough for his ownmore delicate habits.

“‘It is my misfortune, perhaps,’ concludedhe, with mock humility, ‘to have been accustomed to higherassociations; but really, situated as I am here, I could almostfeel disposed to—why, positively, to wish myself a cow,with clumsy legs and horny feet. What one may live to cometo, to be sure!’

“Well,” Aunt Judy proceeded, “will youbelieve it, the lob-worm went on boasting till the poor deluded‘something’ believed every word he said, andat last ventured to ask in what favoured spot he had acquired hissuperior tastes and knowledge.

“And then, of course, the lob-worm had the opportunityof opening out in a very magnificent bit of brag, and did notfail to do so.

“Travellers can always boast with impunity to stationaryfolk, and the lob-worm had no conscience about speaking thetruth.

“So on he chattered, giving the most splendid account ofthe garden in which he lived. Gorgeous flowers, velvetlawns, polished gravel-walks, along which he was wont to take hisearly morning stroll, before the ruder creatures of theneighbourhood, such as dogs, cats, &c. were up and about,were all his discourse; and he spoke of them as if they were hisown, and told of the nursing and tending of every plant in thelovely spot, as if the gardeners did it all for his convenienceand pleasure.

“Of the little accidents to which he and his race havefrom time immemorial been liable from awkward spades, or thosevery early birds, by whom he ran a risk of being snapped up everytime he emerged out of the velvet lawns for the morning strolls,he said just nothing at all.

“All was unmixed delight (according to his account) inthe garden, and having actually boasted himself into good humourwith himself, and therefore with everybody else, he concluded byexpressing the condescending wish, that the‘something’ in the field should get itselfremoved to the garden, to enjoy the life of which he spoke.

“‘Undeniably beautiful as you are here,’cried he, ‘your beauty will increase a thousand fold, underthe gardener’s fostering care. Appreciated as you arenow in your rustic life, the most prominent place will beassigned to you when you get into more distinguished society; sothat everybody who passes by and sees you, will exclaim indelight, ‘Behold thisexquisite—hm—!’”

“Oh dear, Aunt Judy,” cried No. 6, “was the‘hum,’ as you will call it, so silly as to believewhat he said?”

“How could the poor simple-minded thing be expected toresist such elegant compliments, my dear No. 6?” answeredAunt Judy. “But then came the difficulty. The‘something’ which lived in the field had nomore legs than the lob-worm himself, and, in fact, was incapableof locomotion.”

“Of course it was!” ejacul*ted No. 5.

“Order!” cried Aunt Judy, andproceeded:—

“So the—hm—hung down its graceful head indespair, but suddenly a bright and loving thought struckit. It could not change its place and rise in life itself,but its children might, and that would be some consolation.It opened its heart on this point to the lob-worm, and althoughthe lob-worm had no heart to be touched, he had still a tongue totalk.

“If the—hm—would send its children to thegarden at the first opportunity, he would be delighted,absolutely charmed, to introduce them in the world. Hewould put them in the way of everything, and see that they wereproperly attended to. There was nothing he couldn’tor wouldn’t do.

“This last pretentious brag seemed to have exhaustedeven the lob-worm’s ingenuity, for, soon after he haduttered it, he shuffled away out of the meadow in the bestfashion that he could, leaving the ‘something’in the field in a state of wondering regret. But itrecovered its spirits again when the time came for sending itschildren to the favoured garden abode.

“‘My dears,’ it said, ‘you will soonhave to begin life for yourselves, and I hope you will do so withcredit to your bringing up. I hope you are now ambitiousenough to despise the dull old plan of dropping contentedly down,just where you happen to be, or waiting for some chance traveller(who may never come) to give you a lift elsewhere. Thatparadise of happiness, of which the lob-worm told us, is close athand. Come! it only wants a little extra exertion on yourpart, and you will be carried thither by the wind, as easily asthe wandering Dandelion himself. Courage, my dears! nothingout of the common is ever gained without an effort. Seenow! as soon as ever a strong breeze blows the proper way, Ishall shake my heads as hard as ever I can, that you may beoff. All the doors and windows are open now, you know, andyou must throw yourselves out upon the wind. Only rememberone thing, when you are settled down in the beautiful garden,mind you hold up your heads, and do yourselves justice, mydears.’

“The children gave a ready assent, of course, as proudas possible at the notion; and when the favourable breeze came,and the maternal heads were shaken, out they all flew, andtrusted themselves to its guidance, and in a few minutes settleddown all over the beautiful garden, some on the beds, some on thelawn, some on the polished gravel-walks. And all I can sayis, happiest those who were least seen!”

“Grass weeds! grass weeds!” shouted theincorrigible No. 5, jumping up from his seat and performing twoor three Dervish-like turns.

“Oh, it’s too bad, isn’t it, AuntJudy,” cried No. 6, “to stop your story in themiddle?”

Whereupon Aunt Judy answered that he had not stopped the storyin the middle, but at the end, and she was glad he had found outthe meaning of her—hm—!

But No. 6 would not be satisfied, she liked to hear thecomplete finish up of everything. “Did the‘hum’s’ children ever grow up in thegarden, and did they ever see the lob-worm again?”

“The—hm’s—children did springup in the garden,” answered Aunt Judy, “and did theirbest to exhibit their beauty on the polished gravel-walks, wherethey were particularly delighted with their own appearance oneMay morning after a shower of rain, which had made them moreprominent than usual. ‘Remember our mother’sadvice,’ cried they to each other. ‘This is thehappy moment! Let us hold up our heads, and do ourselvesjustice, my dears.’

“Scarcely were the words spoken, when a troop of rudecreatures came scampering into the walk, and a particularlyunfeeling monster in curls, pointed to the beautiful up-standinglittle—hms—and shouted, ‘Aunt Judy, look atthese horrible weeds!’

“I needn’t say any more,” concluded AuntJudy. “You know how you’ve used them; you knowwhat you’ve done to them; you know how you’ve evenwished there were no such things in the world!”

“Oh, Aunt Judy, how capital!” ejacul*ted No. 6,with a sigh, the sigh of exhausted amusem*nt.

“‘The hum was a weed too, then, wasit?” said No. 8. He did not quite see his way throughthe tale.

“It was not a weed in the meadow,” answered AuntJudy, “where it was useful, and fed the Alderney cow.It was beautiful Grass there, and was counted as such, becausethat was its proper place. But when it put its nose intogarden-walks, where it was not wanted, and had no business, theneverybody called the beautiful Grass a weed.”

“So a weed is a vegetable out of its place, yousee,” subjoined No. 5, who felt the idea to be half hisown, “and it won’t do to wish there were none in theworld.”

“And a vegetable out of its place being nothing betterthan a weed, Mr. No. 5,” added Aunt Judy, “itwon’t do to be too anxious about what is so often falselycalled, bettering your condition in life. Come, the storyis done, and now we’ll go home, and all the patientlisteners and weeders may reckon upon getting one or morefarthings apiece from mamma. And as No. 6’s wish isnot realized, and there are still weeds [47] in the world, and among them Grassweeds, I shall hope to have some cream to mytea.”

p. 48COOKSTORIES.

“Down too, down at your own fireside,
With the evil tongue and the evil ear,
For each is at war with mankind.”

Tennyson’s Maud.

Aunt Judy had gone to the nurserywardrobe to look over some clothes, and the little ones werehaving a play to themselves. As she opened the door, theywere just coming to the end of an explosive burst of laughter, inwhich all the five appeared to have joined, and which they hadsome difficulty in stopping. No. 4, who was a biggish girl,had giggled till the tears were running over her cheeks; and No.8, in sympathy, was leaning back in his tiny chair in a sort ofecstasy of amusem*nt.

The five little ones had certainly hit upon some veryentertaining game.

They were all (boys and girls alike) dressed up as elderlyladies, with bits of rubbishy finery on their heads and roundtheir shoulders, to imitate caps and scarfs; the boys’ hairbeing neatly parted and brushed down the middle; and they wereseated in form round what was called “the Doll’sTable,” a concern just large enough to allow of a smallcrockery tea-service, with cups and saucers and little plates,being set out upon it.

“What have you got there?” was all Aunt Judyasked, as she went up to the table to look at them.

“Cowslip-tea,” was No. 4’s answer, layingher hand on the fat pink tea-pot; and thereupon the laughingexplosion went off nearly as loudly as before, though for noaccountable reason that Aunt Judy could divine.

“It’s so good, Aunt Judy, do tasteit!” exclaimed No. 8, jumping up in a great fuss, andholding up his little cup, full of a pale-buff fluid, to AuntJudy.

“You’ll have everything over,” cried No. 4,calling him to order; and in truth the table was not thesteadiest in the world.

So No. 8 sat down again, calling out, in an almost stutteringhurry, “You may keep it all, Aunt Judy, I don’t wantany more.”

But neither did Aunt Judy, after she had given it one taste;so she put the cup down, thanking No. 8 very much, but pullingsuch a funny face, that it set the laugh going once more; in themiddle of which No. 4 dropped an additional lump of sugar intothe rejected buff-coloured mixture, a proceeding which evidentlygave No. 8 a new relish for the beverage.

Aunt Judy had got beyond the age when cowslip-tea was lookedupon as one of the treats of life; and she had not, on the otherhand, lived long enough to love the taste of it for thememory’s sake of the enjoyment it once afforded.

Not but what we are obliged to admit that cowslip-tea is oneof those things which, even in the most enthusiastic days ofyouth, just falls short of the absolute perfection one expectsfrom it.

Even under those most favourable circ*mstances of having hadthe delightful gathering of the flowers in the sweet sunnyfields—the picking of them in the happy holidayafternoon—the permission to use the best doll’stea-service for the feast—the loan of a nice whitetable-cloth—and the present of half-a-dozen pewter knivesand forks to fancy-cut the biscuits with—nay, even in spiteof the addition of well-filled doll’s sugar-pots andcream-jugs—cowslip-tea always seems to want either a leetlemore or a leetle less sugar—or a leetle more or a leetleless cream—or to be a leetle more or a leetle lessstrong—to turn it into that complete nectar which, ofcourse, it really is.

On the present occasion, however, the children had clearly gothold of some other source of enjoyment over the annualcowslip-tea feast, besides the beverage itself; and Aunt Judy,glad to see them so safely happy, went off to her business at thewardrobe, while the little ones resumed their game.

“Very extraordinary, indeed, ma’am!” beganone of the fancy old ladies, in a completely fancy voice, alittle affected, or so. “Most extraordinary,ma’am, I may say!”

(Here there was a renewed giggle from No. 4, which shecarefully smothered in her handkerchief.)

“But still I think I can tell you of something moreextraordinary still!”

The speaker having at this point refreshed his ideas by a sipof the pale-coloured tea, and the other ladies having laughedheartily in anticipation of the fun that was coming, one of themobserved:—

“You don’t say so,ma’am—” then clicked astonishment with hertongue against the roof of her mouth several times, and addedimpressively, “Pray let us hear!”

“I shall be most happy, ma’am,” resumed thefirst speaker, with a graceful inclination forwards.“Well!—you see—it was a party. I hadinvited some of my most distinguished friends—really,ma’am, fashionable friends, I may say, to dinner;and, ahem! you see—some little anxiety always attends suchaffairs—even—in the best regulatedfamilies!”

Here the speaker winked considerably at No. 4, and laughedvery loudly himself at his own joke.

“Dear me, you must excuse me, ma’am,” heproceeded. “So, you see, I felt a little fatigued bymy morning’s exertions, (to tell you the truth, there hadbeen no end of bother about everything!) and I retired quietlyup-stairs to take a short nap before the dressing-bellrang. But I had not been laid down quite half an hour, whenthere was a loud knock at the door. Really, ma’am, Ifelt quite alarmed, but was just able to ask, ‘Who’sthere?’ Before I had time to get an answer, however,the door was burst open by the housemaid. Her face wasabsolute scarlet, and she sobbed out:—

“‘Oh, ma’am, what shall we do?’

“‘Good gracious, Hannah,’ cried I,‘what can be the matter? Has the soot come down thechimney? Speak!’

“‘It’s nothing of that sort,ma’am,’ answered Hannah, ‘it’s thecook!’

“‘The cook!’ I shouted. ‘I wishyou would not be so foolish, Hannah, but speak out at once.What about Cook?’

“‘Please, m’m, the cook’s lost!’says Hannah. ‘We can’t find her!’

“‘Your wits are lost, Hannah, Ithink,’ cried I, and sent her to tidy the rooms while Islipt downstairs to look for the cook.

“Fancy a lost cook, ma’am! Was there eversuch a ridiculous idea? And on the day of a dinner-partytoo! Did you ever hear of such a trial to a lady’sfeelings before?”

“Never, I am sure,” responded the ladyopposite. “Did you, ma’am?”turning to her neighbour.

But the other three ladies all shook their heads, bit theirlips, and declared that they “Never had, they weresure!”

“I thought not!” ejacul*ted the narrator.“Well, ma’am, I went into the kitchens, the larder,the pantries, the cellars, and all sorts of places, and still nocook! Do you know, she really was nowhere! Actually,ma’am, the cook was lost!”

Shouts of laughter burst forth here; but the lady (who was No.5) put up his hand, and called out in his own naturaltones:—

“Stop! I haven’t got to the endyet!”

“Order!” proclaimed No. 4 immediately, in a verycommanding voice, and thumping the table with the head of an oldwooden doll to enforce obedience.

And then the sham lady proceeded in the same mincing voice asbefore:—

“Well!—dear me, I’m quite put out. Buthowever, you see—what was to be done, that was thething. It wanted only half an hour to dinner-time, andthere was the meat roasting away by itself, and the potatoe-panboiling over. You never heard such a fizzling as it made inyour life—in short, everything was in a mess, and there wasno cook.

“Well! I basted the meat for a few minutes, tookthe potatoe-pan off the fire, and then ran up-stairs to put on mybonnet. Thought I, the best thing I can do is to sendsomebody for the policeman, and let him find thecook. But while I was tying the strings of my bonnet, Ifancied I heard a mysterious noise coming out of the bottomdrawer of my wardrobe. Fancy that, ma’am, with mynerves in such a state from the cook being lost!”

No. 5 paused, and looked round for sympathy, which was mostfreely given by the other ladies, in the shape of sighs andexclamations.

“The drawer was a very deep drawer, ma’am, so Ithought perhaps the cat had crept in,” continued No.5. “Well, I went to it to see, and there it was,partly open, with a cotton gown in it that didn’t belong tome. Imagine my feelings at that, ma’am!So I pulled at the handles to get the drawer quite open, but itwouldn’t come, it was as heavy as lead. It was reallyvery alarming—one doesn’t like such odd thingshappening—but at last I got it open, though I tumbledbackwards as I did so; and what do you think,ma’am—ladies—what do you think was init?”

“The cook!” shrieked No. 4, convulsed withlaughter; and the whole party clapped their hands and roaredapplause.

“The cook, ma’am, actually the cook!”pursued No. 5, “one of the fattest, most poonchylittle women you ever saw. And what do you think was thehistory of it? I kept my up-stairs Pickwick in the cornerof that bottom drawer. She had seen it there that verymorning, when she was helping to dust the room, and took theopportunity of a spare half-hour to slip up and rest herself byreading it in the drawer. Unluckily, however, she hadfallen asleep, and when I got the drawer out, there she lay, andI actually heard her snore. A shocking thing thiseducation, ma’am, you see, and teaching people toread. All the cooks in the country are spoilt!”

Peals of laughter greeted this wonderfully witty concoction ofNo. 5’s, and the lemon-coloured tea and biscuits werepartaken of during the pause which followed.

Aunt Judy meanwhile, who had been quite unable to resistjoining in the laugh herself, was seated on the floor, behind theopen door of the wardrobe, thinking to herself of certainpassages in Wordsworth’s most beautiful ode, in which hehas described the play of children,

“As if their whole vocation
Were endless imitation.”

Truly they had got hold here of strange

“Fragments from their dream of humanlife.”

Where could the children have picked up the original ofsuch absurd nonsense?

Aunt Judy had no time to make it out, for now the mincingvoices began again, and she sat listening.

“Have you had no curious adventures with yourmaids, ma’am?” inquires No. 5 of No. 4.

No. 5 makes an attempt at a bewitching grin as he speaks,fanning himself with a fan which he has had in his hand all thetime he was telling his story.

“Well, ladies,” replied No. 4, only just able tocompose herself to talk, “I don’t think I havebeen quite as fortunate as yourselves in having so manyextraordinary things to tell. My servants have been sadlycommon-place, and done just as they ought. But still,once, ladies—once, a curious little incident didoccur to me.”

“Oh, ma’am, I entreat you—pray let us hearit!” burst from all the ladies at once.

No. 4 had to bite her lip to preserve her gravity, and thenshe turned to No. 5—

“The fan, if you please, ma’am!”

The rule was, that the one fan was placed at the disposal ofthe story-teller for the time, so No. 5 handed it to No. 4, witha graceful bow; and No. 4 waffed it to and fro immediately, andbegan her account:—

“People are so unscrupulous you see, ladies, aboutgiving characters. It’s really shocking. For mypart, I don’t know what the world will come to atlast. We shall all have to be our own servants, Isuppose. People say anything about anything, that’sthe fact! Only fancy, ma’am, three different ladiesonce recommended a cook to me as the best soup-maker in thecountry. Now that sounded a very high recommendation, for,of course, if a cook can make soups, she can doanything—sweetmeats and those kind of things follow ofthemselves. So, ma am, I took her, and had a dinner-party,and ordered two soups, entirely that I might show off what a goodcook I had got. Think what a compliment to her, and howmuch obliged she ought to have been! Well, ma’am, Iordered the two soups, as I said, one white, and the other brown;and everything appeared to be going on in the best possiblemanner, when, as I was sitting in the drawing-room entertainingthe company, I was told I was wanted.

“When I got out of the room, there was the man I hadhired to wait, and says he:—

“‘If you please, ma’am where are theknives? I can’t find any at all!’

“‘No knives!’ says I. ‘Dear me,don’t come to me about the knives. Ask the cook, ofcourse.’

“‘Please, ma’am, I have asked her, and sheonly laughed.’

“‘Then,’ said I, ‘ask thehousemaid. It’s impossible for me to come out andlook for the knives.’

“Well, ladies,” continued No. 4, “would youbelieve it?—could anyone believe it?—when I sat downto dinner, and began to help the soup, no sooner had the silverladle (my ladle is silver, ladies) been plunged into thetureen, than a most singular rattling was heard.

“‘William,’ cried I, half in a whisper, tothe waiter who was holding the plate, ‘what in the world isthis? Surely Cook has not left the bones in?’

“‘Please, ma’am, I don’t know,’was all the man could say.

“Well—there was no remedy now, so I dipped theladle in again, and lifted out—oh! ma’am, I know ifit was anybody but myself who told you, you wouldn’tbelieve it—a ladleful of the lost knives! There theywere, my best beautiful ivory handles, all in the whitesoup! And while I was discovering them, the gentleman atthe other end of the table had found all the kitchen-knives, withblack handles, in the brown soup!

“There never was anything so mortifying before.And what do you think was Cook’s excuse, when I reproachedher?

“‘Please, ma’am,’ said she, ‘Iread in the Young Woman’s Vademecum of InstructiveInformation, page 150, that there was nothing in the world sostrengthening and wholesome as dissolved bones, and ivory-dust;and so, ma’am, I always make a point of throwing in a fewknives into every soup I have the charge of, for the sake of thehandles—ivory-handles for white soups, ma’am, andblack-handles for the browns!’”

Thunders of applause interrupted Cook’s excuse at thispoint, and No. 7 was so overcome that he pushed his chair back,and performed three distinct somersets on the floor, to thecomplete disorganization of his head-dress, which consisted of aturban, from beneath which hung a cluster of false curls.

Turban and wig being replaced, however, and No. 7 reseated andcomposed, No. 4 proceeded:—

“Cook generally takes them out, she informed me, ladies,before the tureens come to table; ‘but,’ said she,‘my back was turned for a minute here, ma’am, andthat stupid William carried them off without asking if they wereready. It’s all William’s fault, ma’am;and I don’t mean to stay, for I don’t like a placewhere the man who waits has no tact!’

“Now, ladies,” continued No. 4, “what do youthink of that by way of a speech from a cook? And I assureyou that a medical man’s wife, to whom I mentioned in thecourse of the evening what Cook had said about dissolved bones,told me that her husband had only laughed, and said Cook wasquite right. So she hired the woman that night herself, andI have been told in confidence since—you’ll notrepeat it, therefore, of course, ladies?”

“Of course not!” came from all sides.

“Well, then, I was told that, before the year was out,the family hadn’t a knife that would cut anything, theywere so cankered with rust. So much for education andlearning to read, as you justly observed, ma’am,before!”

When the emotions produced by this tale had a little subsided,No. 7 was called upon for his experience of maids.

No. 7, with the turban on his head, and a fine red necklaceround his throat, said he took very little notice of the maids,but that he once had had a very tiresome little boy in buttons,who was extremely fond of sugar, and always carried thesugar-shaker in his pocket, and ate up the sugar that was in it,and when it was empty, filled it up with magnesia.

“But once,” he added, “ladies, heactually put some soda in. It was at a party, and we hadour first rhubarb tart for the season, and the company sprinkledit all over with the soda and began to eat, but they were toopolite to say how nasty it was. But, of course, when I washelped I called out. And what do you think the boy inbuttons said?”

Nobody could guess, so No. 7 had to tell them.

“He said he had put it in on purpose, because he thoughtit would correct the acid of the pie. So I said he had bestbe apprenticed to a doctor; so he went—I dare say,ma’am, it was the same doctor who took your cook—butI never heard of him any more, and I’ve never dared to havea boy in buttons again.”

“A very wise decision, ma’am, I’msure!” cried Aunt Judy, who came up to the wonderfultea-table in the midst of the last mound of applause.“And now may I ask what game this is that you are playingat?”

“Oh, we’re telling Cook Stories, AuntJudy,” cried No. 6, seizing her by the arm;“they’re such capital fun! I wish you had heardmine; they were laughing at it when you first came in!”

“It must have been delicious, to judge by the delight itgave,” replied Aunt Judy, smiling, and kissing No.6’s oddly bedizened up-turned face. “But what Iwant to know is, what put Cook Stories, as you call them, intoyour head?”

“Oh! don’t you remember—” and herefollowed a long account from No. 6 of how, about a week before,the little ones had gone somewhere to spend the day, and how ithad turned out a very rainy day, so that they could not havegames out of doors with their young friends, as had beenexpected, but were obliged to sit a great part of the time in thedrawing-room, putting Chinese puzzles together into stupidpatterns, and playing at fox-and-goose, while the ladies weretalking “grown-up conversation,” as No. 6 worded it,among themselves; and, of course, being on their own goodbehaviour, and very quiet, they could not help hearing what wassaid. “And, oh dear, Aunt Judy,” continued No.6, now with both her arms holding Aunt Judy, of whom she was veryfond, (except at lesson times!) round the waist, “it was soodd! No. 7 and I did nothing at last but listen and watchthem; for little Miss, who sat with us, was shy, andwouldn’t talk, and it was so very funny to see the ladiesnodding and making faces at each other, and whispering, andexclaiming, how shocking! how abominable! you don’t say so!and all that kind of thing!”

“Well, but what was shocking, and abominable, and allthat kind of thing?” inquired Aunt Judy.

“Oh, I don’t know—things the nurses, andcooks, and boys in buttons did. Almost all the ladies hadsome story to tell—all the servants had done something orother queer—but especially the cooks, Aunt Judy, there wasno end to the cooks. So one day after we came back, and wedidn’t know what to play at, I said: ‘Do let us playat telling Cook Stories, like the ladies at—.’ So we’ve dressed up, and played atCook Stories, ever since. Dear Aunt Judy, I wish you wouldinvent a Cook Story yourself!” was the conclusion of No.6’s account.

So then the mystery was out. Aunt Judy’swonderings were cut short. Out of the real life ofcivilized intelligent society had come those

“Fragments from their dream of humanlife,”

which Aunt Judy had called absurd nonsense. And absurdnonsense, indeed, it was; but Aunt Judy was seized by the ideathat some good might be got out of it.

So, in answer to No. 6’s wish, she said, with a shysmile:—

“I don’t think I could tell Cook Stories half aswell as yourself. But if, by way of a change, you wouldlike a Lady Story instead, perhaps I might be able toaccomplish that.”

“A Lady Story! Oh, but that would be sodull, wouldn’t it?” inquired No. 6. “Youcan’t make anything funny out of them, surely! Surelythey never do half such odd things as cooks, and boys inbuttons!”

“The ladies themselves think not, of course,” wasAunt Judy’s reply.

“Well, but what do you think, Aunt Judy?”

“Oh, I don’t think it matters what I think.The question is, what do cooks and boys in buttonsthink?”

“But, Aunt Judy, ladies are never tiresome, and idle,and impertinent, like cooks and boys in buttons. Oh! if youhad but heard the real Cook Stories those ladiestold! I say, let me tell you one or two—I do think Ican remember them, if I try.”

“Then don’t try on any account, dear No. 6,”exclaimed Aunt Judy. “I like make-believe CookStories much better than real ones.”

“So do I!” cried No. 7, “they’re somuch the more entertaining.”

“And not a bit less useful,” subjoined Aunt Judy,with a sly smile.

“Well, I didn’t see much good in the realones,” pursued No. 7, in a sort of muse.

“Let us tell you another make-believe one, then,”cried No. 6, who saw that Aunt Judy was moving off, and wanted todetain her.

“Then it’s my turn!” shouted No. 8,jumping up, and stretching out his arm and hand like a youngorator flushed to his work. And actually, before the restof the little ones could put him down or stop him, No. 8contrived to tumble out the Cook Story idea, which had probablybeen brewing in his head all the time of Aunt Judy’stalk.

It was very brief, and this was it, delivered in much haste,and with all the earnestness of a maiden speech.

“I had a button boy too, and he was a—whatd’ye call it—oh, a rascal, that wasit;—he was a rascal, and liked the currants in mince-pies,so he took them all out, and ate them up, and put in glass beadsinstead. So when the people began to ear, their teethcrunched against the beads! Ah! bah! how nasty itwas!”

No. 8 accompanied this remark with a corresponding grimace ofdisgust, and then observed in conclusion:—

“Perhaps he found it in a book, but I don’t knowwhere,” after which he lowered his outstretched arm,smiled, and sat down.

The company clapped applause, and No. 4 especially must havebeen very fond of laughing, for the glass-bead anecdote set heroff again as heartily as ever, and the rest followed in her wake,and while so doing, never noticed that Aunt Judy had slippedaway.

They soon discovered it, however, when their mirth began tosubside; but before they had time to wonder much, there appearedfrom behind the door of the wardrobe a figure, which in theirsecret souls they knew to be Aunt Judy herself, although itlooked a great deal stouter, and had a thick-filled cap on itshead, a white linen apron over its gown, and a pair of spectacleson its nose. At sight of it they showed signs of clappingagain, but stopped short when it spoke to them as a stranger, andwillingly received it as such.

Ah! it is one of the sweet features of childhood that ityields itself up so readily to any little surprise or delusionthat is prepared for its amusem*nt. No nasty pride, nodisinclination to be carried away, no affected indifference,interfere with young children’s enjoyment of what isoffered them. They will even help themselves into thepleasant visions by an effort of will; and perhaps, now and then,end by partly believing what they at first received voluntarilyas an agreeable make-believe.

If, therefore, after the cook figure of Aunt Judy had seateditself by the doll’s table, and the little ones had lookedand grinned at it for some time, hazy sensations began to stealover one or two minds, that this was somehow really acook, it was all in the natural course of things, and nobodyresisted the feeling.

Aunt Judy’s altered voice, and odd, assumed manner,contributed, no doubt, a good deal to the impression.

“Dear, dear! what pretty little darlings you allare!” she began, looking at them one after another.“As sweet as sugar-plums, when you have your own way, andare pleased. Eh, dears? But you don’t think youcan take old Cooky in, do you? No, no, I know what ladiesand gentlemen, and ladies’ and gentlemen’syoung ladies and young gentlemen are, pretty well,dears, I can tell you! Don’t I know all about theshiny hair and smiling faces of the little pets in the parlour,and how they leave parlour-manners behind them sometimes, whenthey run to the kitchen to Cook, and order her here and there,and want half-a-dozen things at once, and must and will have whatthey want, and are for popping their fingers into every pie!

“Well, well,” she proceeded, “theparlour’s the parlour, and the kitchen’s the kitchen,and I’m only a cook. But then I conduct myselfas Cook, even when I’m in the scullery, and I onlywish ladies, and ladies’ young ladies too, wouldconduct themselves as ladies, even when they come into thekitchen; that’s what I call being honourable andupright. Well, dears, I’ll tell you how I came toknow all about it. You see, I lived once in a family wherethere were no less than eight of those precious little pets, anda precious time I had of it with them. But, to be sure, nowit’s past and gone—I can make plenty of excuses forthem, poor things! They were so coaxed and flattered, andmade so much of, what could be expected from them but tiresome,wilful ways, without any sense?

“‘If your mamma would but put you into thescullery, young miss, to learn to wash plates and scour the pansout, she’d make a woman of you,’ used I to think tomyself when a silly child, who thought itself very clever tohinder other people’s work, would come hanging about in thekitchen, doing nothing but teaze and find fault, for that’swhat a girl can always do.

“It was very aggravating, you may be sure, dears, (yousee I can talk to you quite reasonably, because you’re sonicely behaved;)—it was very aggravating, of course; but Iused to make allowances for them. Says I to myself,‘Cook, you’ve had the blessing of being brought up tohard work ever since you were a babby. You’ve had toearn your daily bread. Nobody knows how that brings peopleto their senses till they’ve tried; so don’t you goand be co*cky, because ladies and gentlemen, and ladies’ andgentlemen’s young ladies and young gentlemen,are not quite so sensible as you are. Who knows but what,if you’d been born to do nothing, you might have been nowiser than them! It’s lucky for you you’re onlya cook; but don’t you go and be co*cky, that’sall! Make allowances; it’s the secret oflife!’

“So you see, dears, I did make allowances; andafter the eight little pets was safe in bed till next morning, Iused to feel quite composed, and pitiful-like towards them, poorlittle dears! But certainly, when morning came, and theoldest young master was home for the holidays, it was a tryingtime for me, and I couldn’t think of the allowances anylonger. Either he wouldn’t get up and come down tilleveryone else had had their breakfast, and so he wanted freshwater boiled, and fresh tea made, and another muffin toasted, andmore bacon fried; or else he was up so outrageous early, that hewas scolding because there was no hot water before the fire waslit—bless you, he hadn’t a bit of sense in his head,poor boy, not a bit! And how should he? Why, he wentto school as soon as he was out of petticoats, and was set to allthat Latin and Greek stuff that never puts anything useful intofolks’ heads, but so much more chatter and talk; so he cameback as silly as he went, poor thing! Dear me, on a wetday, after lesson-time, those boys were like so many crazycreatures. ‘Cook, I must make a pie,’ saysone. ‘There’s a pie in the oven already, MasterJames,’ says I. ‘I don’t care about thepie in the oven,’ says he, ‘I want a pie of myown. Bring me the flour, and the water, and the butter, andall the things—and, above all, the rolling-pin—andclear the decks, will you, I say, for my pie. Heregoes!’ And here used to go, my dears, for MasterJames had no sense, as I told you; and so he’d shove all mypots and dishes away, one on the top of the other; and let me beas busy as I would, and dinner ever so near ready, the dressermust be cleared, and everything must give way to hispie! His pie, indeed—I wish I had had the managementof his pie just then! I’d have taught him what it wasto come shaking the rolling-pin at the head of a respectablecook, who wanted to get her business done properly, as in dutybound!

“But he wasn’t the only one. There waslittle Whipper-snapper, his younger brother, squeaking out inanother corner, ‘I shan’t make a pie, James, I shallmake toffey; it’s far better fun. You’d bettercome and help me. Where’s the treacle pot,Cook? Cook! I say, Cook! where’s thetreacle-pot? And look at this stupid kettle and pan.What’s in the pan, I wonder? Oh, kidney-beans!Who cares for kidney-beans? How can I make toffey, when allthese things are on the fire? Stay, I’ll hand themall off!’

“And, sure enough, if I hadn’t rushed from MasterJames, who was drinking away at my custard out of the bowl, toseize on Whipper-snapper, who had got his hand on thevegetable-pan already, he would have pulled it and the kettle,and the whole concern, off the fire, and perhaps scalded himselfto death.

“Then, of course, there comes a scuffle, and MasterWhipper-snapper begins to roar, and out comes Missus, who, poorthing, had no more sense in her head than her sons, thoughshe’d never been to school to lose it over Latin and Greek;and, says she, with all her ribbons streaming, and her petticoatsswelled out like a window-curtain in a draught—saysshe:—

“‘Cook! I desire that you will not touch mychildren!’

“‘As you please, ma’am,’ says I,‘if you’ll be so good as to stop the young gentlemenfrom touching my pans, and—’ I was going to say‘custard,’ but Master James shouts out quitequick:—

“‘Why, I only wanted to make a pie,mamma.’

“‘And I only wanted to make some toffey!’cries Whipper-snapper; and then mamma answers, like a duch*ess atcourt:—

“‘There can’t possibly be any objection, mydears; and I wish, Cook, you would he a little more good-naturedto the children;—your temper is sadly againstyou!’

“And out she sails, ribbons and window-curtains and all;and, says I to myself, as I cooled down, (for the young gentlemenluckily went away with their dear mama,)—says I to myself,‘It’s a very fine thing, no doubt, to go about inribbons, and petticoats, and grand clothes; but, if one mustneeds carry such a poor, silly head inside them, as Missus does,I’d rather stop as I am, and be a cook with some senseabout me.’

“I don’t say, my dears,” continued thesupposed cook, “that I spoke very politely just then; butwho could feel polite, when their dinner had been put back atleast half-an-hour over such nonsense as that? Missus usedto say the ‘dear boys’ came to the kitchen on a wetday, because they’d got nothing else to do!Nothing else to do! and had learnt Latin and Greek, and all sortsof schooling besides! So much for education, thoughtI. Why, it would spoil the best lads that ever were borninto the world. For, of course, you know if these younggentlemen had been put to decent trades, they’d have foundsomething else to do with their fingers besides mischief andwaste. And, dear me, I talk about not having been polite toMissus just then, but now you tell me, dears, what Missus, withall her education, would have said if she’d been in myplace, when one young gentleman was drinking her custard, andanother young gentleman was pulling her pans on the floor!Do you think she’d have been a bit more polite than Iwas? Wouldn’t she have called me all the stupidcreatures that ever were born, and told the story over and overto all her friends and acquaintance to make them stare, and saythere were surely no such simpletons in the world as ladies andgentlemen, and ladies’ and gentlemen’s young ladiesand young gentlemen?

“However, I did not go as far as that, because, you see,I had some sense about me, and could make allowances for all thenonsense the poor things are brought up to.”

There was no resisting the twinkle in Aunt Judy’s eyewhen she came to this point, though it shone through an old pairof Nurse’s spectacles; and the little ones clapped theirhands, and declared it was every bit as good as a Cook story,only a great deal better! That twinkle had quitebrought Aunt Judy back to them again, in spite of hercook’s attire, and No. 6 cried out:—

“Oh! don’t stop, Aunt Judy! Do go on, Cookydear! do tell some more! Did you always live in that place,please?”

“There now!” exclaimed Aunt Judy, throwing herselfback in the chair, “isn’t that a regular younglady’s question, out and out? Who but a young lady,with no more sense in her head than a pin, would have thought ofasking such a thing? Why, miss, is there a joint in theworld that can bear basting for ever? No, no! a time comeswhen it must be taken down, if any good’s to be left in it;and so at the end of three years my basting-time was over, andthe time for taking down was come.

“‘Cook,’ says I to myself, ‘you mustgive in. If you go on with those cherubs (that was theircompany name, you know) much longer, there won’t be a bitof you left!’ And, sure enough, that very morning,dears, they’d come down upon me with a fresh grievance, andI couldn’t stand it, I really couldn’t! Thesweeps had been by four o’clock to the kitchen chimney, andI’d been up and toiling every minute since, andhadn’t had time to eat my breakfast, when in theyburst—the young ladies, not the sweeps, dears, Imean:—and there they broke out at once—I hadn’tfed their sea-gulls before breakfast—(a couple ofdull-looking grey birds, with big mouths, that had come in ahamper over night as a present to the cherubs;) and it seems Iought to have been up before daylight almost, to look for slugsfor them in the garden till they’d got used to theplace!

“Oh, these ladies and gentlemen! they’d need knowsomething of some sort to make amends, for there are many thingsthey never know all their life long!

“‘Young ladies,’ says I, ‘Ididn’t come here to get meals ready for sea-gulls, butChristian ladies and gentlemen. If the sea-gulls want acook, your mamma must hire them one on purpose. I’veplenty to do for her and the family, without looking after suchnonsense as that!’

“‘That’s what you always say,’whimpers the youngest Miss; ‘and you know they don’twant any cooking, but only raw slugs! And you know youmight easily look for them, because you’ve got almostnothing to do, because it’s such an easy place, mammaalways says. But you’re always cross, mamma says thattoo, and everybody knows you are, because she tellseverybody!’

“When little Miss had got that out, she thoughtshe’d finished me up; and so she had, for when I heard thatMissus was so ungenteel as to go talking of what I did, to allher acquaintance, and had nothing better to talk about, I made upmy mind that I’d give notice that very day.

“‘Very well, miss,’ says I, ‘yourmamma shall soon have something fresh to talk about, and I hopeshe’ll find it a pleasant change.’

“There was some of them knew what I meant at once, forafter they’d scampered off I heard shouts up and down thestairs from one to the other, ‘Cook’sgoing!’ ‘We shall have a new cooksoon!’ ‘What a lark we’ll have with thetoffey and the pies! We’ll make her do just as wechoose!’

“‘There, now,’ thought I to myself,‘there’ll be somebody else put down to baste beforelong. Well, I’m glad my time’sover.’ And thereupon I fell to wishing I was backagain in father and mother’s ricketty old cottage, thatI’d once been so proud to leave, to go and live withgentlefolks. But, you see, it was no use wishing, forI’d my bread to earn, and must turn out somewhere, let itbe as disagreeable as it would. Father and mother weredead, and there was no ricketty cottage for me to go back to, soI wiped my eyes, and told myself to make the best of what had tobe.

“Well, dears,” pursued Cooky, after a short pause,during which the little ones looked far more inclined to cry thanlaugh, “Missus was quite taken aback when she heard Iwouldn’t stay any longer.

“‘Cook,’ she said, ‘I’mperfectly astonished at your want of sense in not recognizing thevalue of such a situation as mine! and as to your complaintsabout the children, anything more ridiculously unreasonable Inever heard! Such superior, well-taught young people, youare not very likely to meet with again in a hurry!’

“‘Perhaps not, ma’am,’ says I,‘in French, and crochet, and the piano, and Latin, andthings I don’t understand, being only a cook. But Iknow what behaviour is, and that’s what I’m sure theyoung ladies and gentlemen have never been taught; or if theyhave, they’re so slow at taking it in, that I think I shalldo better with a family where the behaviour-lessons comefirst!’

“Missus was very angry, and so was I; but at last shesaid:—

“‘Cook, I shall not argue with you any longer; youknow no better, and I suppose I must make allowances foryou.’

“‘I’m much obliged to you, ma’am,I’m sure,’ was my answer; ‘it’s whatI’ve always done by you ever since I came to the house, andI’ll do it still with pleasure, and think no more ofwhat’s been said.’

“I spoke from my heart, I can tell you, dears, for Ifelt very sorry for Missus, and thought she was but a lady afterall, and perhaps I’d hardly made allowances enough.I’d lost my temper, too, as I knew after she wentaway. But, you see, while she was there, it was somortifying to be spoken to as if all the sense was on her side,when I knew it was all on mine, wherever the French and crochetmay have been. Well, but the day before I left, I brokedown with another of them, as it’s fair that you shouldknow.

“I’d felt very lonely that day, busy as I was, andin the afternoon I took myself into the scullery to give the pansa sort of good-bye cleaning, and be out of everybody’sway. But there, in the midst of it, comes the eldest younggentleman flinging into the kitchen, shouting, ‘Cook!Cook! Where’s Cook?’ as usual. I thoughthe was after some of his old tricks, and I had beenfretting over those pans, thinking what a sad job it was to haveno home to go to in the world, so I gave him a very shortanswer.

“‘Master James,’ says I, ‘I’vedone with nonsense now, I can’t attend to you. Youmust wait till the next cook comes.’

“But Master James came straight away to the scullerydoor, and says he, ‘Cook, I’m not coming toteaze. I’ve brought you a needle-book. There,Cook! It’s full of needles. I put them all inmyself. Keep it, please.’

“Dear, dear, I can’t forget it yet,” pursuedCook, “how Master James stood on the little stone step ofthe scullery, with his arm stretched out, and the needle-bookthat he’d bought for me in his hand. I don’tknow how I thanked him, I’m sure; but I had to go back tothe sink and wash the dirt off my hands before I could touch thepretty little thing, and then I told him I would keep it as longas ever I lived.

“He laughed, and says he, ‘Now shake hands,Cooky,’ and so we shook hands; and then off he ran, and Iwent back to my pans and fairly cried. ‘Why,Cook,’ says I to myself, ‘that lad’s got asgood a heart as your own, after all. And as to sense andbehaviour, they haven’t been forced upon him yet, as theyhave upon you. Latin’s Latin, and conduct’sconduct, and one doesn’t teach the other; and it’stoo bad to expect more of people than what they’ve hadopportunity for.’

“Well, dears, that was the rule I always went by, andI’ve been in many situations since—with singleladies, and single gentlemen, and large families, and all; andthere was something to put up with in all of them; and theyalways told me there was a good deal to put up with in me, andperhaps there was. However, it doesn’t matter, solong as Missus and servant go by one rule—to makeallowances, and not expect more from people than whatthey’ve had opportunity for; and, above all, never tobe co*cky when all the advantage is on their own side.It’s a good rule, dears, and will stop many a foolish wordand idle tale, if you’ll go by it.”

Aunt Judy had finished at last, and she took off the oldspectacles and laid them on the doll’s table, andpaused.

“It is a good rule,” observed No. 4,“and I shall go by it, and not tell real Cook Stories whenI grow up, I hope.”

“I love old Cooky,” cried No. 6, getting up andhugging her round the neck; “but is it wrong, Aunt Judy, totell funny make-believe Cook Stories, like ours?”

“Not at all, No. 6,” replied Aunt Judy.“My private belief is, that if you tell funny make-believeCook Stories while you’re little, you will be ashamed oftelling stupid real ones when you’re grown up.”

p.77RABBITS’ TAILS.

“Death and its two-fold aspect!wintry—one,
Cold, sullen, blank, from hope and joy shut out;
The other, which the ray divine hath touch’d,
Replete with vivid promise, bright as spring.”

Wordsworth.

“Well then; but you mustremember that I have been ill, and cannot be expected to inventanything very entertaining.”

“Oh, we do remember, indeed, Aunt Judy; we have been somiserable,” was the answer; and the speaker added, shovingher little chair close up to her sister’s:—

“I said if you were not to get better, I shouldn’twant to get better either.”

“Hush, hush, No. 6!” exclaimed Aunt Judy, quitestartled by the expression; “it was not right to say orthink that.”

“I couldn’t help it,” persisted No. 6.“We couldn’t do without you, I’msure.”

“We can do without anything which God chooses to takeaway,” was Aunt Judy’s very serious answer.

“But I didn’t want to do without,” murmuredNo. 6, with her eyes fixed on the floor.

“Dear No. 6, I know,” replied Aunt Judy, kindly;“but that is just what you must try not to feel.”

“I can’t help feeling it,” reiterated No. 6,still looking down.

“You have not tried, or thought about it yet,”suggested her sister; “but do think. Think what poorignorant infants we all are in the hands of God, not knowing whatis either good or bad for us; and then you will see how glad andthankful you ought to be, to be chosen for by somebody wiser thanyourself. We must always be contented with God’schoice about whatever happens.”

No. 6 still looked down, as if she were studying the patternof the rug, but she saw nothing of it, for her eyes were swimmingover with the tears that had filled into them, and at last shesaid:—

“I could, perhaps, about some things, but only notthat about you. Aunt Judy, you know what Imean.”

Aunt Judy leant back in her chair. “Only notthat.” It was, as she knew, the cry of theuniversal world, although it broke now from the lips of achild. And it was painful, though touching, to feel herselfthe treasure that could not be parted with.

So there was a silence of some minutes, during which the handof the little sister lay in that of the elder one.

But the latter soon roused up and spoke.

“I’ll tell you what, No. 6, there’s nothingso foolish as talking of how we shall feel, and what we shall do,if so-and-so happens. Perhaps it never may happen, or, ifit does, perhaps we may be helped to bear it quite differentlyfrom what we have expected. So we won’t say anythingmore about it now.”

“I’m so glad!” exclaimed No. 6, completelyreassured and made comfortable by the cheerful tone of hersister’s remark, though she had but a very imperfect ideaof the meaning of it, as she forthwith proved by rambling offinto a sort of self-defence and self-justification.

“And I’m not really a baby now, you know, AuntJudy! And I do know a great many things that are good andbad for us. I know that you are good for us, evenwhen you scold over sums.”

“That is a grand admission, I must own,” repliedAunt Judy, smiling; “I shall remind you of it someday.”

“Well, you may,” cried No. 6, earnestly; andadded, “you see I’m not half as silly as youthought.”

Aunt Judy looked at her, wondering how she should get thechild to understand what was passing through her own mind;wondering, too whether it was right to make the attempt; and shedecided that on the whole it was; so she answered:—

“Ay, we grow wise enough among ourselves as we growolder, and get to know a few more things. You are certainlya little wiser than a baby in long petticoats, and I am a littlewiser than you, and mamma wiser than us both. But towardsGod we remain ignorant infants all our lives. That was whatI meant.”

“But surely, Aunt Judy,” interrupted No. 6,“mamma and you know—” There shestopped.

“Nothing about God’s dealings,” pursued AuntJudy, “but that they are sure to be good for us, even whenwe like them least, and cannot understand them at all. Weknow so little what we ought really to like and dislike, dear No.6, that we often fret and cry as foolishly as the two childrendid, who, while they were in mourning for their mother, broketheir hearts over the loss of a set of rabbits’tails.”

No. 6 sprang up at the idea. She had never heard ofthose children before. Who were they? Had Aunt Judyread of them in a book, or were they real children? Howcould they have broken their hearts about rabbits’tails? It must be a very curious story, and No. 6 begged tohear it.

Aunt Judy had, however, a little hesitation about thematter. There was something sad about the story; and therewas no exact teaching to be got out of it, though certainly if ithelped to shake No. 6’s faith in her own wisdom, a goodeffect would be produced by listening to it. Also it wasnot a bad thing now and then to hear of other people having tobear trials which have not fallen to our own lot. It mustsurely have a tendency to soften the heart, and make us feel moredependent upon the God who gives and takes away. On thewhole, therefore, she would tell the story, so she made No. 6 sitquietly down again, and began as follows:—

“There were once upon a time two little motherlessgirls.”

No. 6’s excitement of expectation was hardly over, soshe tightened her hand over Aunt Judy’s, andejacul*ted:—

“Poor little things!”

“You may well say so,” continued Aunt Judy.“It was just what everybody said who saw them at thetime. When they went about with their widowed father in thecountry village where ‘they lived, even the poor women whostood at their cottage door-steads, would look after them whenthey had passed, and say with a sigh:—

“‘Poor little things!’

“When they went up to London in the winter to stay withtheir grandmamma, and walked about in the Square in their littleblack frocks and crape-trimmed bonnets, the ladies who sawthem,—even comparative strangers,—would turn roundarid say:—

“‘Poor little things!’

“If visitors came to call at the house, and the childrenwere sent for into the room, there was sure to be a whisperedexclamation directly among the grown-up people of, ‘Poorlittle things!’ But oh, No. 6! the childrenthemselves did not think about it at all. What did theyknow,—poor little things,—of the real misfortunewhich had befallen them! They were sorry, of course, atfirst, when they did not see their mamma as usual, and when shedid not come back to them as soon as they expected. Butsome separation had taken place during her illness; and sometimesbefore, she had been poorly and got well again; and sometimes shehad gone out visiting, and they had had to do without her tillshe returned; and so, although the days and weeks of her absencewent on to months, still it was only the same thing they had feltbefore, continued rather longer; and meantime the little eventsof each day rose up to distract their attention. They gotup, and dined, and went to bed as usual. They weresometimes merry, sometimes naughty, as usual. People madethem nice presents, or sent for them to pleasant treats, asusual—perhaps more than usual; their father did all hecould to supply the place of the lost one, but never could nameher name; and soon they forgot that they had ever had a mamma atall. Soon? Ay, long before friends and strangers leadleft off saying ‘Poor little things’ at sight ofthem, and long before the black frocks and crape-trimmed bonnetswere laid aside, which, indeed, they wore double the usual lengthof time.”

“And how old were they?” asked No. 6, in awhisper.

“Four and five,” replied Aunt Judy; “oldenough to know what they liked and disliked from hour tohour. Old enough to miss what had pleased them, tillsomething else pleased them as well. But not old enough tolook forward and know how much a mother is wanted in life; and,therefore, what a terrible loss the loss of a motheris.”

“It’s a very sad story I’m afraid,”remarked No. 6.

“Not altogether,” said Aunt Judy, smiling,“as you shall hear. One day the two little motherlessgirls went hand in hand across one of the courts of the greatCharity Institution in London, where their grandmamma lived, intothe old archway entrance, and there they stood still, lookinground them, as if waiting for something. The old archwayentrance opened into a square, and underneath its shelter therewas a bench on one side, and on the other the lodge of theporter, whose business it was to shut up the great gates atnight.

“The porter had often before looked at the motherlesschildren as they passed into the shadow of his archway, and saidto himself, ‘Poor little things;’ for just so, duringmany years of his life, he had watched their young mother passthrough, and had exchanged words of friendly greeting withher.

“And even now, although it was at least a year and ahalf since her death, when he saw the waiting children seatthemselves on the bench opposite his door, the old thought stoleover his mind. How sad that she should have been taken awayso early from those little ones! How sad for them to beleft! No one—nothing—in this world, couldsupply the loss of her protecting care.—Poor littlethings!—and not the less so because they werealtogether unconscious of their misfortune; and here, with themourning casting a gloom over their fair young faces, werelooking with the utmost eagerness and delight towards thedoorway,—now and then slipping down from their seats totake a peep into the Square, and see if what they expected wascoming,—now and then giggling to each other about the graveface of the old man on the other side of the way.

“At last, one, who had been peeping a bit as before,exclaimed, with a smothered shout, ‘Here he is!’ andthen the other joined her, and the two rushed out together intothe Square and stood on the pavement, stopping the way in frontof a lad, who held over his arm a basket containing hares’and rabbits’ skins, in which he carried on a smalltrade.

“They looked up with their smiling faces into his, andhe grinned at them in return, and then they said, ‘Have yougot any for us to-day?’ on which he set down his basketbefore them, and told them they might have one or two if theypleased, and down they knelt upon the pavement, examining thecontents of his basket, and talked in almost breathless whispersto each other of the respective merits, the softness, colour, andprettiness, of—what do you think?”

At the first moment No. 6, being engrossed by the story, couldnot guess at all; but in another instant she recollected, andexclaimed:—

“Oh, Aunt Judy, do you mean those were therabbits’ tails you told about?”

“They were indeed, No. 6,” replied Aunt Judy;“their grandmamma’s cook had given them one or twosometime before, and there being but few entertaining games whichtwo children can play at alone, and these poor little thingsbeing a good deal left to themselves, they invented a play oftheir own out of the rabbits’ tails. I think thepleasant feel of the fur, which was so nice to cuddle and kiss,helped them to this odd liking; but whatever may have been thecause, certain it is they did get quite fond ofthem—pretended that they could feel, and were real livingthings, and talked of them, and to them, as if they were a partyof children.

“They called them ‘Tods’ and‘Toddies,’ but they had all sorts of names besides,to distinguish one from the other. There was,‘Whity,’ and ‘Browny,’ and‘Softy,’ and ‘Snuggy,’ and‘Stripy,’ and many others. They knew almostevery hair of each of them, and I believe could have told whichwas which, in the dark, merely by their feel.

“This sounds ridiculous enough, does it not, dear No.6?” said Aunt Judy, interrupting herself.

No. 6 smiled, but she was too much interested to wish to talk;so the story proceeded.

“Now you must know that I have looked rather curiouslyat hares’ and rabbits’ tails myself since I firstheard the story; and there actually is more variety in them thanyou would suppose. Some are nice little fatthings—almost round, with the hair close and fine; otherslonger and more skinny, and with poor hair, although what thereis may be of a handsome colour. And as to colour, even inrabbits’ tails, which are white underneath, there are allshades from grey to dark brown one the upper side; and thepatterns and markings differ, as you know they do on the fur of acat. In short, there really is a choice even inhares’ and rabbits’ tails, and the more you look atthem, the more delicate distinctions you will see.

“Well, the poor little girls knew all about this, and agreat deal more, I dare say, than I have noticed, for they hadplayed at fancy-life with them, till the Tods had become far moreto them than any toys they possessed; actually, in fact, thingsto love; and I dare say if we could have watched them at nightputting their Tods to bed, we should have seen every one of themkissed.

“It was a capital thing, as you may suppose, for keepingthe children quiet as well as happy in the nursery, at the top ofthe London house, in one particular corner of which the basket ofTods was kept. But when grandmamma’s bell rang, whichit did day by day as a summons, after the parlour breakfast wasover, the Tods were put away; and it was dolls, or reasonabletoys of some description, which the motherless little girls tookdown with them to the drawing-room; and I doubt whether eithergrandmamma or aunt knew of the Tod family in the basketup-stairs.

“After the affair had gone on for a little time, thechildren were accidentally in the kitchen when the rabbit-skindealer called, and the cook begged him to give them a tail ortwo; and thenceforth, of course, they looked upon him as one oftheir greatest friends; and if they wanted fresh Tods, they wouldlie in wait for him in the archway entrance, for fear he shouldgo by without coming in to call at their grandmamma’shouse. And on the day I have described, two new brothers,‘Furry’ and ‘Buffy,’ were introduced tothe Tod establishment, and the talking and delight that ensued,lasted for the whole afternoon.

“Nobody knew, I believe; but certainly if anybody hadknown how the hearts of those children were getting involved overthe dead rabbits’ tails, it would have been only right tohave tried to lead their affection into some betterdirection. What a waste of good emotions it was, when theycuddled up their Tods in an evening; invented histories of whatthey had said and done during the day, and put them by at lastwith caresses something very nearly akin to humanlove!”

“Oh, dear Aunt Judy,” exclaimed No. 6, “iftheir poor mamma had but been there!”

“All would have been right then, would it not, No.6?”

No. 6 said “Yes” from the very depths of herheart.

“As it seems to us, you should say,”continued Aunt Judy; “but that is all. It could nothave seemed so to the God who took their mother away.”

“Aunt Judy—”

“No. 6, I am telling you a very serious truth. Hadit indeed been right for the children that their mother shouldhave lived, she would not have been taken away. Forsome reason or other it was necessary that they should be withoutthe comfort, and help, and protection, of her presence in thisworld. We cannot understand it, but a time may come when wemay see it all as clearly as we now see the folly of thosechildren who so doted upon senseless rabbits’tails.”

“Oh, Aunt Judy, but it was still very, verysad.”

“Yes, about that there cannot be a doubt, and I am asmuch inclined as anybody else to say, ‘Poor littlethings’ every time I mention them. But now let me goon with the story, for it has a sort of end as well asbeginning. The Tod affair came at last to theirgrandmamma’s ears.”

“I am so glad,” cried No. 6.

“You will not say so when I tell you how ithappened,” was Aunt Judy’s rejoinder.“The fact was, that one unfortunate day one of the Todsdisappeared. Whether it lead been left out of the basketwhen grandmamma’s bell rang, and so got swept away by thenurse and burnt, I cannot say; but, at any rate, when thechildren went to their play one morning, ‘Softy,’their dear little ‘Softy,’ was gone. He was thefattest-furred and finest-haired of all the Tod family, and theone about whom they invented the prettiest stories; he was, infact, the model, the out-of-the-way-amiable pattern Tod.They could not believe at first that he really was gone.They hunted for him in every hole and corner of their nursery andbed-room; they looked for him all along the passages; they tossedall the other Tods out of the basket to find him, as if theyreally were—even in their eyes—nothing butrabbits’ tails; they asked all the servants about him, tilleverybody’s patience was exhausted, and they got angry; andthen at last the children’s hope and temper were bothexhausted too, and they broke out into passionate crying.

“This was vexatious to the nurse, of course; but hermethod of consolation was not very judicious.

“‘Why, bless my heart,’ was her beginning,‘what nonsense! Didn’t the children know aswell as she did, that hares’ and rabbits’ tails werenot alive, and couldn’t feel? and what could it signify ofone of them was thrown away and lost? They’d abasket-full left besides, and it was plenty of such rubbish asthat! They were all very well to play with up in thenursery, but they were worth nothing when all was said anddone!’

“This was completely in vain, of course. Thechildren sat on the nursery floor and cried on just the same; andby-and-by went away to the corner of the room where theTod-basket was kept, and bewailed the loss of poor‘Softy’ to his brothers and sisters inside.

“As the time approached, however, for grandmamma’ssummoning bell, the nurse began to wonder what she could do tostop this fretting, and cool the red eyes; so she tried thecoaxing plan, by way of a change.

“‘If she was such nice little girls with beautifuldolls and toys, she never would fret so about a rabbit’stail, to be sure! And, besides, the boy was sure to beround again very soon with the hare and rabbit skins; and if theywould only be good, and dry their eyes, she would get him to givethem as many more as they pleased. Quite fresh newones. She dared say they would be as pretty again as theone that was lost.’

“If nurse had wished to hit upon an injudicious remark,she could not have succeeded better. What did they care for‘fresh new’ Tods instead of their dear‘Softy?’ And the mere suggestion that anyothers could be prettier, turned their regretful love into a sortof passionate indignation; yet the nurse had meant well, and wasastonished when the conclusion of what was intended to be a kindharangue, was followed by a louder burst of crying than ever.

“It must be owned that the little girls had by this timegot out of grief into naughtiness; and there was now quite asmuch petted temper as sorrow in their tears; and lo! while theywere in the midst of this fretful condition, grandmamma’ssummoning bell was heard, and they were obliged to go down toher.

“You can just imagine their appearance when they enteredthe drawing-room with their eyes red and swelled, their cheeksflushed, and anything but a pleasant expression over theirfaces. Of course, grandmamma and aunt immediately madeinquiries as to the reason of so much disturbance, but thechildren were scarcely able to utter the usual ‘goodmorning;’ and when called upon to tell their cause oftrouble, did nothing but begin to cry afresh.

“Whereupon their aunt was dispatched up-stairs to findout what was amiss; and then, for the first time, she heard fromthe nurse the history of the Tod family, the children’sdevotion to them, and their present vexatious grief about theloss of a solitary one of what she called their stupid bits ofnonsense.

“Foolish as the whole affair sounds in looking back uponit, it certainly was one which required rather delicate handling,and I doubt whether anybody but a mother could have handled itproperly. Grandmamma and aunt had every wish to do for thebest, but they hardly took enough into consideration, either thebereaved condition of those motherless little ones, or theirhighly fanciful turn of mind. Yet nobody was to blame; thechildren spent all the summer with their father in the country,and all the winter with their grandmamma in London; and,therefore, no continued knowledge of their characters waspossible, for they were always birds of passage everywhere.Certainly, however, it was a great mistake, under suchcirc*mstances, for grandmamma and aunt to have broken rudely intothe one stronghold of childish comfort, which they had raised upfor themselves.”

Aunt Judy paused, and No. 6 really looked frightened as towhat was coming next, and asked what Aunt Judy could mean thatthey did. “Were they very angry?”

“No, they were not very angry,” Aunt Judy said;“perhaps if they had been only that, the whole thing wouldhave passed over and been forgotten.

“But they held grave consultation upon the subject, andmade it too serious, in my opinion, and I dare say you will thinkso too. Meantime the naughty children were turned out ofthe room while they talked, and the mystery of this, soberedtheir temper considerably; so that they made no furtherdisturbance, but wandered up and down the stairs, and about thehall, in silent discomfort.

“At one time they thought they heard the drawing-roomdoor open, and their aunt go up-stairs towards the nurserydepartment again; but then for a long while they heard no more;and at last, childlike, began to amuse themselves by seeing howfar along the oil-cloth pattern they could each step, as theywalked the length of the hall, the great object being to stretchfrom one particular diamond to another, without touching anyintermediate mark.

“In the midst of the excitement of this, they heardtheir aunt’s voice calling to them from the middle of thelast flight of stairs. There was something in her face,composed as it was, which alarmed them directly, and there theystood quite still, gazing at her.

“‘Grandmamma and I,’ she began, ‘thinkyou have been very silly indeed in making such a fuss about thoserabbits’ tails; and you have been very naughty indeedto-day, very naughty, in crying so ridiculously, andteazing all the servants, because of one being lost. Youcan’t play with them rationally, nurse is sure, and so wethink you will be very much better without them. Grandmammahas sent me to tell you—You will never see the Tods,as you call them, any more.’

“Aunt Judy, it was horrible!” cried No. 6;“savage and horrible!” she repeated, and burst thenext instant into a flood of tears.

“Oh, my old darling No. 6,” cried Aunt Judy,covering the sobbing child quite round with both her arms,“surely you are not going into hysterics about therabbits’ tails too! I doubt if even their littlemammas did that. Come! you must cheer up, or mamma willleave to be sent for to say that if you are so unreasonable, youmust never listen to Aunt Judy’s stories anymore.”

No. 6’s emotion began to subside under the comfortableembrace, and Aunt Judy’s joke provoked a smile.

“There now, that’s good!” cried Aunt Judy;“and now, if you won’t be ridiculous, I will finishthe story. I almost think the prettiest part is tocome.”

This was consolation indeed; but No. 6 could not resist aremark.

“But, Aunt Judy, wasn’t thataunt—”

“Hush, hush,” interrupted Aunt Judy, “Iapologized for both aunt and grandmamma before I told you whatthey did. They meant to do for the best, and

‘The best can do no more.’

They cured the evil too, though in what you and I think rathera rough manner. And rough treatment is sometimes veryeffectual, however unpleasant. It was but a preparation forthe much harder disappointments of older life.”

“Poor little things!” ejacul*ted No. 6, oncemore. “Just tell me if they crieddreadfully.”

“I don’t think I care to talk much about that,dear No. 6,” answered her sister. “They hadcried almost as much as they could do in one day, and werestupified by the new misfortune, besides which, they had afeeling all the time of having brought it on themselves by beingdreadfully naughty. It was a sad muddle altogether, I mustconfess. The shock upon the poor children’s minds atthe time must have been very great, for the memory of thatbereavement clung to them through grown-up life, as a veryunpleasant recollection, when a thousand more important thingshad passed away forgotten from their thoughts. In fact, asI said, the motherless little girls really broke their heartsover a parcel of rabbits’ tails. But I must go onwith the story. After a day or two of dull desolation, thechildren wearied even of their grief. And both grandmammaand aunt became very sorry for them, although the fatal subjectof the Tods was never mentioned; but they bought them severalbeautiful toys which no child could help looking at or beingpleased with. Among these presents was a brown fur dog,with a very nice face and a pair of bright black eyes, and acurly tail hung over his back in a particularly graceful manner;and this was, as you may suppose, in the children’s eyes,the gem of all their new treasures. The feel of himreminded them of the lost Tods; and in every respect he was, ofcourse, superior. They named him ‘Carlo,’ andin a quiet manner established him as the favourite creature oftheir play. And thus, by degrees, and as time went on,their grief for the loss of the Tods abated somewhat; and at lastthey began to talk about them to each other, which was a suresign that their feelings were softened.

“But you will never guess what turn their conversationtook. They did not begin to say how sorry they had been, orwere; nor did they make any angry remarks about theiraunt’s cruelty; but one day as they were sitting playingwith Carlo, in what may be called the Tod corner of the nursery,the eldest child said suddenly to her sister, in a low voice

“‘What do you think our aunt has reallydone with the Tods?’

“A question which seemed not at all to surprise theother, for she answered, in the same mysterious tone:—

“‘I don’t know, but I don’t think shecould burn them.’

“‘And I don’t, either,’ was therejoinder. ‘Perhaps she has only put them somewherewhere we cannot get at them.’

“The next idea came from the younger child:—

“‘Do you think she’ll ever let us have themback again?’

“But the answer to this was a long shake of the headfrom the wiser elder sister. And then they began to playwith Carlo again.

“But after that day they used often to exchange a fewwords together on the subject, although only to the sameeffect—their aunt could not have burnt them, theyfelt sure. She never said she had burnt them. Sheonly said, ‘You will never see the Tods anymore.’

“Perhaps she had only put them by; perhaps she had putthem by in some comfortable place; perhaps they were in theirlittle basket in some closet, or corner of the house, quite assnug as up in the nursery.

“And here the conversation would break off again.As to asking any questions of their aunt, that was a thingthat never crossed their minds. It was impossible; thesubject was so fatally serious! . . . But I believe there was aninvoluntary peeping about into closets and out-of-the-way placeswhenever opportunity offered; yet no result followed, and theTods were not found.

“One night, two or three months later, and just beforethe little things were moved back from London to their countryhome; and when they were in bed in their sleeping room, as usual,and the nurse had left them, and had shut the door between themand the day nursery, where she sat at work, the elder childcalled out in a whisper to the younger one:—

“‘Sister, are you asleep?’

“‘No. Why?’

“‘I’ll tell you of a place where the Todsmay be.’

“‘Where?’

“‘The cellar.’

“‘Do you think so?’

“‘Yes. I think we’ve looked everywhereelse. And I think perhaps it’s very nice down therewith bits of sawdust here and there on the ground. I sawsome on the bottle to-day, and it was quite soft. Auntwould be quite sure we should never see them there. I daresay it’s very snug indeed all among the barrels and emptybottles in that cellar we once peeped into.’

“The younger child here began to laugh in delightedamusem*nt, but the elder one bade her ‘hush,’ or thenurse would hear them; and then proceeded whispering asbefore

“‘It’s a great big place, and they couldeach have a house, and visit each other, and hide, and makefun.’

“‘And I dare say Softy was put there first,’interposed the younger sister.

“‘Ay, and how pleased the others would be to findhim there! Only think!’

“And they did think. Poor little things,they lay and thought of that meeting when ‘theothers’ were put in the cellar where ‘Softy’already was, ready to welcome them to his new home; and theytalked of all that might have happened on such an occasion, andtold each other that the Tods were much happier altogether there,than if the others had remained in the nursery separated fromdear little Softy. In short, they talked till the dooropened, and the nurse, unsuspicious of the state of her youngcharges, went to bed herself, and sleep fell on the wholeparty.

“But a new world had now opened before them out of thevery midst of their sorrow itself. The fancy home of theTods was almost a more available source of amusem*nt, than evenplaying with the real things had been; and sometimes in the earlymorning, sometimes for the precious half-hour at night, beforesleep overtook them, the little wits went to work with freshdetails and suppositions, and they related to each other, inturns, the imaginary events of the day in the cellar among thebarrels. Each morning, when they went down-stairs, Carlowas put in the Tod corner of the nursery and instructed to slipaway, as soon as he could manage it, to the Tods in the cellar,and hear all that they had been about.

“And marvellous tales Mr. Carlo used to bring back, ifthe children’s accounts to each other were to betrusted. Such running about, to be sure, took place amongthose barrels and empty bottles. Such playing atbo-peep. Such visits of ‘Furry’ and his familyto ‘Buffy’ and his family, when the little‘Furrys’ and ‘Buffys’ could not be keptin order, but would go peeping into bungholes, and tumblingnearly through, and having to be picked out by Carlo, drabbledand chilled, but ready for a fresh frolic five minutes after!

“Such comical disputes, too, they had, as to how far thegrounds round each Tod’s house extended; such funnyadventures of getting into their neighbour’s corner insteadof their own, in the dim light that prevailed, and being mistakenfor a thief; when Carlo had to come and act as judge among them,and make them kiss and be friends all round!

“Such dinners, too, Carlo brought them, as he passedthrough the kitchen on his road to the cellar, and watched hisopportunity to carry off a few un-missed little bits for hisfriends below. Dear me! his contrivances on that score wereendless, and the odd things he got hold of sometimes by mistake,in his hurry, were enough to kill the Tods with laughing—tosay nothing of the children who were inventing the history!

“Then the care they took to save the little drops at thebottom of the bottles, for Carlo, in return for all the troublehe had, was most praiseworthy; and sometimes, when there was arather larger quantity than usual, they would have such afeast!—and drink the healths of their dear littlemistresses in the nursery up-stairs.

“In short, it was as perfect a fancy as their love forthe Tods, and their ideas of enjoyment could make it.Nothing uncomfortable, nothing sad, was ever heard of in thatcellar-home of their lost pets. No quarrelling, no crying,no naughtiness, no unkindness, were supposed to trouble it.Nothing was known of, there, but comfort and fun, and innocentblunders and jokes, which ended in fun and comfort again.One thing, therefore, you see, was established as certainthroughout the whole of the childish dream:—the departedfavourites were all perfectly happy, as happy as it was possibleto be; and they sent loving messages by Carlo to their oldfriends to say so, and to beg them not to be sorry forthem, for, excepting that they would like some day to seethose old friends again, they had nothing left to wish for intheir new home:—

“And here the Tod story ends!” remarked Aunt Judy,in conclusion, “and I beg you to observe, No. 6, that, likeall my stories, it ends happily. The children had now gothold of an amusem*nt which was safe from interference, and whichlasted—I am really afraid to say how long; for even afterthe fervour of their Tod love had abated, they found an endlesssource of invention and enjoyment in the cellar-home romance, andtold each other anecdotes about it, from time to time, for more,I believe, than a year.”

When Aunt Judy paused here, as if expecting some remark, allthat No. 6 could say, was:—

“Poor little things!”

“Ay, they were still that,” exclaimed Aunt Judy,“even in the midst of their new-found comfort. Oh,No. 6, when one thinks of the strange way in which they first ofall created a sorrow for themselves, and then devised forthemselves its consolation, what a pity it seems that no good wasgot out of it!”

It was not likely that No. 6 should guess what the good waswhich Aunt Judy thought might have been got out of it; and so shesaid; whereupon Aunt Judy explained:—

“Did it not offer a quite natural opportunity,—ifany kind friend had but known of it,—of speaking to thosechildren of some of the sacred hopes of our Christianfaith?—of leading them, through kind talk about their ownpretty fancies, to the subject of what really becomes ofthe dear friends who are taken away from us by death?

“Had I been their Aunt Judy,” shecontinued, “I should have thought it no cruelty, butkindness then, to have spoken to them about their lost mother,and told them that she was living now in a place where she wasmuch, much happier, than she had ever been before, and where oneof the very few things she had left to wish for, was, that oneday she might see them again: not in this world, where people areso often uncomfortable and sad, but in that happy one where thereis no more sorrow, or crying, for God Himself wipes away thetears from all eyes.

“I should have told them besides,” pursued AuntJudy, “that it would not please their dear mother at allfor them to fret for her, and fancy they couldn’t dowithout her, and be discontented because God had taken heraway, and think it would have been much better for them if He hadnot done so—(as if He did not know a thousand times betterthan they could do:)—but that it would please her very muchfor them to pray to God to make them good, so that they might allmeet together at last in that very happy place.

“In short, No. 6, I would have led them, if possible, tomake a comforting reality to themselves of the next world, asthey had already got a comforting fancy out of the cellar-dreamof the Tods. And that is the good, dear child, which Imeant might have been got out of the Tod adventure.”

Aunt Judy ceased, but there was no chance of seeing the effectof what she had said on No. 6’s face, for it was laid onher sister’s lap; probably to hide the tears which wouldcome into her eyes at Aunt Judy’s allusion to what she hadsaid about her.

At last a rather husky voice spoke:—

“You can’t expect people to like what is so verysad, even if it is—what you call—right—and allthat.”

“No! neither does God expect it!” was AuntJudy’s earnest reply. “We are allowed to besorry when trials come, for we feel the suffering, and cannot atpresent understand the blessing or necessity of it. But weare not allowed to ‘sorrow without hope;’ and we arenot allowed, even when we are most sorry, to be rebellious, andfancy we could choose better for ourselves than God chooses forus.”

Aunt Judy’s lesson, as well as story, was ended now, andshe began talking over the entertaining part of the Tod history,and then went on to other things, till No. 6 was quite herselfa*gain, and wanted to know how much was true about the motherlesslittle girls; and when she found from Aunt Judy’s answerthat the account was by no means altogether an invention, shewent into a fever-fidget to know who the children were, and whathad become of them; and finally settled that the one thing in theworld she most wished for, was to see them.

Nor would she be persuaded that this was a foolish idea, untilAunt Judy asked her how she would like to be introduced to acouple of very old women, with huge hooked noses, andbeardy, nut-cracker chins, and be told that those were themotherless little girls who had broken their hearts overrabbits’ tails!—an inquiry which tickled No.6’s fancy immensely, so that she began to laugh, andsuggest a few additions of her own to the comical picture, in thecourse of doing which, she fortunately quite lost sight of the“one thing” which a few minutes before she had“most wished for in the world!”

p.104“OUT OF THE WAY”

“Oh wonderful Son that can so astonish aMother!”

Hamlet.

“What a horrid nuisance youare, No. 8, brushing everything down as you go by! Whycan’t you keep out of the way?”

“Oh, you mustn’t come here, No. 8. AuntJudy, look! he’s sitting on my doll’s bestcloak. Do tell him to go away.”

“I can’t have you bothering me, No. 8; don’tyou see how busy I am, packing? Get away somewhereelse.”

“You should squeeze yourself into less than nothing, andbe nowhere, No. 8.”

The suggestion, (uttered with a jocose grin,) came from asmall boy who had ensconced himself in the corner of a window,where he was sitting on his heels, painting the Union Jack of aship in the Illustrated London News. He hadcertainly acted on the advice he gave, as nearly as waspossible. Surely no little boy of his age ever got into sosmall a compass before, or in a position more effectually out ofeverybody’s possible way. The window corner lednowhere, and there was nothing in it for anybody to want.

“No. 8, I never saw anything so tiresome as youare. Why will you poke your nose in where you’re notwanted? You’re always in the way.”

“‘He poked his flat nose into everyplace;’”

sung, sotto voce, by the small boy in the windowcorner.

No. 8 did not stop to dispute about it, though, in point offact, his nose was not flat, so at least in that respect he didnot resemble the duck in the song.

He had not, however, been successful in gaining the attentionof his friends down-stairs, so he dawdled off to make anexperiment in another quarter.

“Why, you’re not coming into the nursery now,Master No. 8, surely! I can’t do with you fidgettingabout among all the clothes and packing. There isn’ta minute to spare. You might keep out of the way tillI’ve finished.”

“Now, Master No. 8, you must be off. There’sno time or room for you in the kitchen this morning.There’s ever so many things to get ready yet. Runaway as fast as you can.”

“What are you doing in the passages, No. 8?Don’t you see that you are in everybody’s way?You had really better go to bed again.”

But the speaker hurried forward, and No. 8 betook himself tothe staircase, and sat down exactly in the middle of the middleflight. And there be amused himself by peeping through thebanisters into the hall, where people were passing backwards andforwards in a great fuss; or listening to the talking and noisethat were going on in the rooms above.

But be was not “out of the way” there, as he soonlearnt. Heavy steps were presently heard along the landing,and heavy steps began to descend the stairs. Two men werecarrying down a heavy trunk.

“You’ll have to move, young gentleman, if youplease,” observed one; “you’re right in the wayjust there!”

No. 8 descended with all possible speed, and arrived on themat at the bottom.

“There now, I told you, you were always in theway,” was the greeting he received. “How stupidit is! Try under the table, for pity’ssake.”

Under the table! it was not a bad idea; moreover, it was a newone—quite a fresh plan. No. 8 grinned andobeyed. The hall table was no bad asylum, after all, for alittle boy who was always in the way everywhere else; besides, hecould see everything that was going on. No. 8 crept under,and squatted himself on the cocoa-nut matting. He lookedup, and looked round, and felt rather as if he was in a tent,only with a very substantial covering over his head.

Presently the dog passed by, and was soon coaxed to lie downin the table retreat by the little boy’s side, and the twoamused themselves very nicely together. The fact was, thefamily were going from home, and the least the little ones coulddo during the troublesome preparation, was not to be troublesomethemselves; but this is sometimes rather a difficult thing forlittle ones to accomplish. Nevertheless, No. 8 hadaccomplished it at last.

“Capital, No. 8! you and the dog are quite apicture. If I had time, I would make a sketch ofyou.”

That was the remark of the first person who went byafterwards, and No. 8 grinned as he heard it.

“Well done, No. 8! that’s the best contrivance Iever saw!”

Remark the second, followed by a second grin.

“Why, you don’t mean to say that you’reunder the table, Master No. 8? Well you are a goodboy! I’m sure I’ll tell your mamma.”

Another grin.

“You dear old fellow, to put yourself so nicely out ofthe way! You’re worth I don’t knowwhat.”

Grin again.

“Master No. 8 under the table, to be sure! Well,and a very nice place it is, and quite suitable. Ever somuch better than the hot kitchen, when there’s baking andall sorts of things going on. Here, lovey! here’s alittle cake that was spared, that I was taking to the parlour;but, as you’re there, you shall have it.”

No. 8 grinned with all his heart this time.

“I wish I’d thought of that! Why, I couldhave painted my ship there without being squeezed!”

It needs scarcely to be told that this was the observation ofthe small boy who had watched an opportunity for emerging fromthe window corner without fuss, and was now carrying his littlepaint-box up-stairs to be packed away in the children’sbag. As he spoke, he stooped down to look at No. 8 and thedog, and smiled his approbation, and No. 8 smiled in return.

“No. 8, how snug you do look!”

Once more an answering grin.

“No. 8, you’re the best boy in the world; and ifyou stay there till Nurse is ready for you, you shall have apenny all to yourself.”

No. 8’s grin was accompanied by a significant nod thistime, to show that he accepted the bargain.

“My darling No. 8, you may come out now. There!give me a kiss, and get dressed as fast as you can. The flywill be here directly. You’re a very good boyindeed.”

“No. 8, you’re the pattern boy of the family, andI shall come with you in the fly, and tell you a story as we goalong for a reward.”

No. 8 liked both the praise, and the cake, and the penny, andthe kiss, and the promise of the rewarding story for going underthe table; but the why and wherefore of all these charming facts,was a complete mystery to him. What did that matter,however? He ran up-stairs, and got dressed, and was readybefore anyone else; and, by a miracle of good fortune, was on thesteps, and not in the middle of the carriage-drive, when the flyarrived, which was to take one batch of the large family party tothe railway station.

No one was as fond of the fly conveyance as of the opencarriage; for, in the first place, it was usually very full andstuffy; and, in the second, very little of the country could beseen from the windows.

But, on the present occasion, Aunt Judy having offered herservices to accompany the fly detachment, there was a wonderfulalteration of sentiment, as to who should be included. AuntJudy, however, had her own ideas. The three little onesbelonged to the fly, as it were by ancient usage and custom, andmore than five it would not hold.

Five it would hold, however, and five accordingly got in, No.4 having pleaded her own cause to be “thrown in:” andat last, with nurses and luggage and No. 5 outside, away theydrove, leaving the open carriage and the rest to follow.

Nothing is perfect in this world. Those who had the airydrive missed the story, and regretted it; but it was fair thatthe pleasure should be divided.

And, after all, although the fly might be a little stuffy andclosely packed, and although it cost some trouble to settle downwithout getting crushed, and make footstools of carpet bags, andlet down all the windows,—the commotion was soon over; andit was a wonderful lull of peace and quietness, after theconfusion and worry of packing and running about, to sit even ina rattling fly. And so for five minutes and more, all thetravellers felt it to be, and a soothing silence ensued; someleaning back, others looking silently out at the retreatinglandscape, or studying with earnestness the wonderful red plushlining of the vehicle itself.

But presently, after the rest had lasted sufficiently long torecruit all the spirits, No. 7 remarked, not speaking to anybodyin particular, “I thought Aunt Judy was going to tell us astory.”

No. 7 was a great smiler in a quiet way, and he smiled now, ashe addressed his remark to the general contents of the fly.

Aunt Judy laughed, and inquired for whom the observation wasmeant, adding her readiness to begin, if they would agree to sitquiet and comfortable, without shuffling up and down, ordisputing about space and heat; and, these points being agreedto, she began her story as follows:—

“There were once upon a time a man and his wife who hadan only son. They were Germans, I believe, for all thefunny things that happen, happen in Germany, as you know byGrimm’s fairy tales.

“Well! this man, Franz, had been a watchmaker and menderin an old-fashioned country town, and he had made such acomfortable fortune by the business, that he was able to retirebefore he grew very old; and so he bought a very pretty littlevilla in the outskirts of the town, had a garden full of flowerswith a fountain in the middle, and enjoyed himself very much.

“His wife enjoyed herself too, but never so much as whenthe neighbours, as they passed by, peeped over the palings, andsaid, ‘What a pretty place! What lucky people thewatchmaker and his wife are! How they must enjoythemselves!’

“On such occasions, Madame Franz would run to herhusband, crying out, ‘Come here, my dear, as fast as youcan! Come, and listen to the neighbours, saying, how wemust enjoy ourselves!’

“Franz was very apt to grunt when his wife summoned himin this manner, and, at any rate, never would go as sherequested; but little Franz, the son, who was very like hismother, and had got exactly her turn-up nose and sharp eyes,would scamper forward in a moment to hear what the neighbours hadto say, and at the end would exclaim:—

“‘Isn’t it grand, mother, that everybodyshould think that?’

“To which his mother would reply:—

“‘It is, Franz, dear! I’m so glad youfeel for your mother!’ and then the two would embrace eachother very affectionately several times, and Madame Franz wouldgo to her household business, rejoicing to think that, if herhusband did not quite sympathize with her, her son did.

“Young Franz had been somewhat spoilt in his childhood,as only children generally are. As to his mother, fromthere being no brothers and sisters to compare him with, shethought such a boy had never been seen before; and she told oldFranz so, so often, that at last he began to believe ittoo. And then they got all sorts of masters for him, toteach him everything they could think of, and qualify him, as hismother said, for some rich young lady to fall in love with.That was her idea of the way in which he was one day to make hisfortune.

“At last, a time came when his mother thought the younggentleman quite finished and complete; fit for anything andanybody, and likely to create a sensation in the world. Soshe begged old Franz to dismiss all his masters, and give him ahandsome allowance, that he might go off on his travels and makehis fortune, in the manner before mentioned.

“Old Mr. Franz shook his head at first, and called itall a parcel of nonsense. Moreover, he declared that MasterFranz was a mere child yet, and would get into a hundred foolishscrapes in less than a week; but mamma expressed her opinion sopositively, and repeated it so often, that at last papa began toentertain it too, and gave his consent to the plan.

“The fact was, though I am sorry to say it, Mr. Franzwas henpecked. That is, his wife was always trying to makehim obey her, instead of obeying him, as she ought to have done;and she had managed him so long, that she knew she could persuadehim, or talk him (which is much the same thing) into anything,provided she went on long enough.

“So she went on about Franz going off on his travelswith a handsome allowance, till Papa Franz consented, and settledan income upon him, which, if they had been selfish parents, theywould have said they could not afford; but, as it was, theytalked the matter over together, and told each other that it wasvery little two old souls like themselves would want when theirgay son was away; and so they would draw in, and live quitequietly, as they used to do in their early days before they grewrich, and would let the lad have the money to spend upon hisamusem*nts.

“Young Franz either didn’t know, or didn’tchoose to think about this. Clever as he was about manythings, he was not clever enough to take in the full value of thesacrifices his parents were making for him; so he thanked themlightly for the promised allowance, rattled the first paymentcheerfully into his purse, and smiled on papa and mamma withalmost condescending complacency. When he was equipped inhis best suit, and just ready for starting, his mother took himaside.

“‘Franz, my dear,’ she said, ‘you knowhow much money and pains have been spent on your education.You can play, and dance, and sing, and talk, and make yourselfheard wherever you go. Now mind you do make yourself heard,or who is to find out your merits? Don’t be shy anddowncast when you come among strangers. All you have tothink about, with your advantages, is to make yourselfa*greeable. That’s the rule for you! Makeyourself agreeable wherever you go, and the wife and the fortunewill soon be at your feet. And, Franz,’ continuedshe, laying hold of the button of his coat, ‘there issomething else. You know, I have often said that the oneonly thing I could wish different about you is, that your noseshould not turn up quite so much. But you see, my darlingboy, we can’t alter our noses. Nevertheless, lookhere! you can incline your head in such a manner as almost tohide the little defect. See—thisway—there—let me put it as I mean—a little downand on one side. It was the way I used to carry my headbefore I married, or I doubt very much whether your father wouldhave looked my way. Think of this when you’re incompany. It’s a graceful attitude too, and you willfind it much admired.’

“Franz embraced his mother, and promised obedience toall her commands; but he was glad when her lecture ended, for hewas not very fond of her remarks upon his nose. Just thenthe door of his father’s room opened, and he calledout:—

“‘Franz, my dear, I want to speak toyou.’

“Franz entered the room, and ‘Now, my dearboy,’ said papa, ‘before you go, let me give you oneword of parting advice; but stop, we will shut the door first, ifyou please. That’s right. Well, now, lookhere. I know that no pains or expense have been spared overyour education. You can play, and dance, and sing, andtalk, and make yourself heard wherever you go.’

“‘My dear sir,’ interrupted Franz, ‘Idon’t think you need trouble yourself to go on. Mymother has just been giving me the advice beforehand.’

“‘No, has she though?’ cried old Franz,looking up in his son’s face; but then he shook his head,and said:—

“‘No, she hasn’t, Franz; no, shehasn’t; so listen to me. We’ve all made a fussabout you, and praised whatever you’ve done, andyou’ve been a sort of idol and wonder among us. But,now you’re going among strangers, you will find yourselfMr. Nobody, and the great thing is, you must be contented to beMr. Nobody at first. Keep yourself in the background, tillpeople have found out your merits for themselves; and never getinto anybody’s way. Keep out of the way, infact, that’s the safest rule. It’s the secretof life for a young man—How impatient you look! but mark mywords:—all you have to attend to, with your advantages, is,to keep out of the way.’

“After this bit of advice, the father bestowed hisblessing on his dear Franz, and unlocked the door, close to whichthey found Mrs. Franz, waiting rather impatiently till theconference was over.

“‘What a time you have been, Franz!’ shebegan; but there was no time to talk about it, for they all knewthat the coach, or post-wagon, as they call it in Germany, waswaiting.

“Mrs. Franz wrung her son’s hand.

“‘Remember what I’ve said, my dearestFranz!’ she cried.

“‘Trust me!’ was Mr. Franz’ssignificant reply.

“‘You’ll not forget my rule?’whispered papa.

“‘Forget, sir? no, that’s notpossible,’ answered Mr. Franz in a great hurry, as he ranoff to catch the post-wagon; for they could see it in thedistance beginning to move, though part of the younggentleman’s luggage was on board.

“Well! he was just in time; but what do you think wasthe next thing he did, after keeping the people waiting? Asudden thought struck him, that it would be as well for thedriver and passengers to know how well educated he had been, sohe began to give the driver a few words of geographicalinformation about the roads they were going.

“‘Jump in directly, sir, if you please,’ wasthe driver’s gruff reply.

“‘Certainly not, till I’ve made youunderstand what I mean,’ says Master Franz, quitefacetiously. But, then, smack went the whip, and the horsesgave a jolt forwards, and over the tip of the learned younggentleman’s foot went the front wheel.

“It was a nasty squeeze, though it might have beenworse, but Franz called out very angrily, something or otherabout ‘disgraceful carelessness,’ on which the driversmacked his whip again, and shouted:—

“‘Gentlemen that won’t keep out of the way,must expect to have their toes trodden on.’ Everybodylaughed at this, but Franz was obliged to spring inside, withouttaking any notice of the joke, as the coach was now really goingon; and if he had began to talk, he would have been leftbehind.

“And now,” continued Aunt Judy, stopping herself,“while Franz is jolting along to the capital town of thecountry, you shall tell me whose advice you think he followedwhen he got to the end of the journey, and began life forhimself—his father’s or hismother’s?”

There was a universal cry, mixed with laughter, of “Hismother’s!”

“Quite right,” responded Aunt Judy.“His mother’s, of course. It was far the mostagreeable, no doubt. Keeping out of the way is a ratherdifficult thing for young folks to manage.”

A glance at No. 8 caused that young gentleman’s face togrin all over, and Aunt Judy proceeded:—

“After his arrival at the great hotel of the town, hefound there was to be a public dinner there that evening, whichanybody might go to, who chose to pay for it; and this he thoughtwould be a capital opportunity for him to begin life: so,accordingly, he went up-stairs to dress himself out in his verybest clothes for the occasion.

“And then it was that, as he sat in front of the glass,looking at his own face, while he was brushing his hair andwhiskers, and brightening them up with bear’s-grease, hebegan to think of his father and mother, and what they had said,and what he had best do.

“‘An excellent, well-meaning couple, of course,but as old-fashioned as the clocks they used to mend,’ washis first thought. ‘As to papa, indeed, the poor oldgentleman thinks the world has stood still since he was a youngman, thirty years ago. His stiff notions were all very wellthen, perhaps, but in these advanced times they are perfectlyquizzical. Keep out of the way, indeed! Why, anyignoramus can do that, I should think! Well, well, he meanswell, all the same, so one must not be severe. As to mammanow—poor thing—though she is behindhandherself in many ways, yet she does know a good thing whenshe sees it, and that’s a great point. She canappreciate the probable results of my very superior education andappearance. To be sure, she’s a little silly overthat nose affair;—but women will always be silly aboutsomething.’

“Nevertheless, at this point in his meditations, MasterFranz might have been seen inclining his head down on one side,just as his mother had recommended, and then giving a look at themirror, to see whether the vile turn-up did really disappear inthat attitude. I suspect, however, that he did not feelquite satisfied about it, for he got rather cross, and finishedhis dressing in a great hurry, but not before he had settled thatthere could be only one opinion as to whose advice he should beguided by—dear mamma’s.

“‘Should it fail,’ concluded he to himself,as he gave the last smile at the looking-glass, ‘there willbe poor papa’s old-world notion to fall back upon, afterall.’

“Now, you must know that Master Franz had never been atone of these public dinners before, so there is no denying thatwhen he entered the large dining-hall, where there was a longtable, set out with plates, and which was filling fast withpeople, not one of whom he knew, he felt a little confused.But he repeated his mother’s words softly to himself, andtook courage: ‘Don’t be shy and downcast when youcome among strangers. All you have to thinkabout, with your advantages, is to make yourselfa*greeable;’ and, on the strength of this, he passed bythe lower end of the table, where there were several unoccupiedplaces, and walked boldly forward to the upper end, where groupsof people were already seated, and were talking and laughingtogether.

“In the midst of one of these groups, there was oneunoccupied seat, and in the one next to it sat a beautiful,well-dressed young lady. ‘Why, this is the verything,’ thought Mr. Franz to himself. ‘Whoknows but what this is the young lady who is to make myfortune?’

“There was a card, it is true, in the plate in front ofthe vacant seat, but ‘as to that,’ thought Franz,‘first come, first served, I suppose; I shall sitdown!’

“And sit down the young gentleman accordingly did in thechair by the beautiful young lady, and even bowed and smiled toher as he did so.

“But the next instant he was tapped on the shoulder by awaiter.

“‘The place is engaged, sir!’ and the manpointed to the card in the plate.

“‘Oh, if that’s all,’ was Mr.Franz’s witty rejoinder, ‘here’s another tomatch!’ and thereupon he drew one of his own cards from hispocket, threw it into the plate, and handed the first one to theastonished waiter, with the remark:—

“‘The place is engaged, my good friend, yousee!’

“The young goose actually thought this impudence clever,and glanced across the table for applause as he spoke. Butalthough Mamma Watchmaker, if she had heard it, might havethought it a piece of astonishing wit, the strangers at thepublic table were quite of a different opinion, and there was ageneral cry of ‘Turn him out!’

“‘Turn me out!’ shouted Mr. Franz, jumpingup from his chair, as if he intended to fight them all round; andthere is no knowing what more nonsense he might not have talked,but that a very sonorous voice behind him called out,—ahand laying hold of him by the shoulders at the sametime—

“‘Young man, I’ll trouble you to get out ofmy chair, and’ (a little louder) ‘out of my way,and’ (a little louder still) ‘to keep out ofmy way!’

“Franz felt himself like a child in the grasp of the manwho spoke; and one glimpse he caught of a pair of coal-blackeyes, two frowning eye-brows, and a moustachioed mouth, nearlyfrightened him out of his wits, and he was half way down the roombefore he knew what was happening; for, after the baron let himgo, the waiter seized him and hustled him along, till he came tothe bottom of the table; where, however, there was now no roomfor him, as all the vacant places had been filled up; so he waspushed finally to a side-table in a corner, at which sat two menin foreign dresses, not one word of whose language he couldunderstand.

“These two fellows talked incessantly together too,which was all the more mortifying, because they gesticulated andlaughed as if at some capital joke. Franz was very quiet atfirst, for the other adventure had sobered him, but presently,with his mother’s advice running in his head, he resolvedto make himself agreeable, if possible.

“So, at the next burst of merriment, he affected to haveentered into the joke, threw himself back in his chair andlaughed as loudly as they did. The men stared for a second,then frowned, and then one of them shouted something to him veryloudly, which he did not understand; so he placed his hand on hisheart, put on an expressive smile, and offered to shakehands. Thought he, that will be irresistible! But hewas mistaken. The other man now called loudly to thewaiter, and a moment after, Franz found himself being conveyed bythe said waiter through the doorway into the hall, with theremark resounding in his ears:—

“‘What a foolish young gentleman you mustbe! Why can’t you keep out of people’sway?’

“‘My good friend,’ cried Mr. Franz,‘that’s not my plan at present. I’mtrying to make myself agreeable.’

“‘Oh—pooh!—bother agreeable,’cried the waiter. ‘What’s the use of makingyourself agreeable, if you’re always in the way?Here!—step back, sir! don’t you see the traycoming?’

“Franz had not noticed it, and would probably have got athump on the head from it, if his friend the waiter had notpulled him back. The man was a real good-natured, smilingGerman, and said:—

“‘Come, young gentleman, here’s acandle;—you’ve a bed-room here, of course. Now,you take my advice, and go to bed. You will be outof the way there, and perhaps you’ll get up wiserto-morrow.’

“Franz took the candlestick mechanically, but, saidhe:—

“‘I understood there was to be dancing heretonight, and I can dance, and—’

“‘Oh, pooh! bother dancing,’ interrupted thewaiter. ‘What’s the use of dancing, ifyou’re to be in everybody’s way, and I know you will;you can’t help it. Here, be advised for once, and goto bed. I’ll bring you up some coffee beforelong. Go quietly up now—mind. Goodnight.’

“Two minutes afterwards, Mr. Franz found himself walkingup-stairs, as the waiter had ordered him to do, though hemuttered something about ‘officious fellow’ as hewent along.

“And positively he went to bed, as the officious fellowrecommended; and while he lay there waiting for the coffee, hebegan wondering what could be the cause of the failure ofhis attempts to make himself agreeable. Surely his motherwas right—surely there could be no doubt that, with hisadvantages—but he did not go on with the sentence.

“Well, after puzzling for some time, a bright thoughtstruck him. It was entirely owing to that stupid noseaffair, which his mother was so silly about. Of course thatwas it! He had done everything else she recommended, but hecould not keep his head down at the same time, so people saw thesnub! Well, he would practise the attitude now, at anyrate, till the coffee came!

“No sooner said than done. Out of bed jumped Mr.Franz, and went groping about for the table to find matches tolight the candle. But, unluckily, he had forgotten how thefurniture stood, so he got to the door by a mistake, and wentstumbling up against it, just as the waiter with the coffeeopened it on the other side.

“There was a plunge, a shout, a shuffling of feet, andthen both were on the floor, as was also the hot coffee, whichscalded Franz’s bare legs terribly.

“The waiter got up first, and luckily it was the‘officious fellow’ with the smiling face. Andsaid he:—

“‘What a miserable young man you must be, to besure! Why, you’re never out of the way, noteven when you’re gone to bed!’”

This last anecdote caused an uproar of delight in the fly, andso much noise, that Aunt Judy had to call the party to order, andtalk about the horses being frightened, after which sheproceeded:—

“I am sorry to say Mr. Franz did not get up next morningas much wiser as the waiter had expected, for he laid all theblame of his misfortunes on his nose instead of his impertinence,and never thought of correcting himself, and being lessintrusive.

“On the contrary, after practising holding his head downfor ten minutes before the glass, he went out to the day’samusem*nts, as saucy and confident as ever.

“Now there is no time,” continued Aunt Judy,“for my telling you all Mr. Franz’s funny scrapes andadventures. When we get to the end of the journey, you mustinvent some for yourselves, and sit together, and tell them inturns, while we are busy unpacking. I will only just say,that wherever he went, the same sort of things happened to him,because he was always thrusting himself forward, and alwaysgetting pushed back in consequence.

“Out of the public gardens he got fairly turned at last,because he would talk politics to some strange gentlemen on abench. They got up and walked away, but, five minutesafterwards, a very odd-looking man looked over Franz’sshoulder, and said significantly, ‘I recommend you to leavethese gardens, sir, and walk elsewhere.’ And poorFranz, who had heard of such things as prisons and dungeons forpolitical offenders, felt a cold shudder run through him, andtook himself off with all possible speed, not daring to lookbehind him, for fear he should see that dreadful man at hisheels. Indeed, he never felt safe till he was in hisbed-room again, and had got the waiter to come and talk tohim.

“‘Dear me,’ said the waiter, ‘what avery silly young gentleman you must be, to go talking awaywithout being asked!’

“‘But,’ said Franz, ‘you don’tconsider what a superior education I have had. I can talkand make myself heard—’

“‘Oh, pooh! bother talking,’ interrupted thewaiter; ‘what’s the use of talking when nobody wantsto listen? Much better go to bed.’

“Franz would not give in yet, but was comforted to findthe waiter did not think he would be thrown into prisons anddungeons; so he dined, and dressed, and went to the theatre toconsole himself, where however he made himself heard soeffectually—first applauding, then hissing, and evenspeaking his opinions to the people round him—that a set ofyoung college students combined together to get rid of him, and,I am sorry to add, they made use of a little kicking as thesurest plan; and so, before half the play was over, Mr. Franzfound himself in the street!

“Now, then, I have told you enough of Mr. Franz’sfollies, except the one last adventure, which made him alter hiswhole plan of proceeding.

“He had had two letters of introduction to take withhim: one to an old partner of his father’s, who had settledin the capital some years before; another to some people of moreconsequence, very distant family connections. And, ofcourse, Mr. Franz went there first, as there seemed a nice chanceof making his fortune among such great folks.

“And really the great folks would have been civilenough, but that he soon spoilt everything by what hecalled ‘making himself agreeable.’ He was toopolite, too affectionate, too talkative, too instructive, byhalf! He assured the young ladies that he approved veryhighly of their singing; trilled out a little song of his own,unasked, at his first visit; fondled the pet lap-dog on his knee;congratulated papa on looking wonderfully well for his age; askedmamma if she had tried the last new spectacles; and, in short,gave his opinions, and advice, and information, so freely, thatas soon as he was gone the whole party exclaimed:—

“‘What an impertinent jackanapes!’ ajackanapes being nothing more nor less than a human monkey.

“This went on for some time, for he called very often,being too stupid, in spite of his supposed cleverness, to takethe hints that were thrown out, that such repeated visits werenot wanted.

“At last, however, the family got desperate and onemorning when he arrived, (having teazed them the day before for acouple of hours,) he saw nobody in the drawing-room when he wasushered in.

“Never mind, thought he, they’ll be here directlywhen they know I’m come! And having brought anew song in his pocket, which he had been practising to sing tothem, he sat down to the piano, and began performing alone,thinking how charmed they would be to hear such beautiful soundsin the distance!

“But, in the middle of his song, he heard a discordantshout, and jumping up, discovered the youngest little Missy hidbehind the curtain, and crying tremendously.

“Mr. Franz became quite theatrical. ‘Lovelylittle pet, where are your sisters? Have they left mydarling to weep alone?’

“‘They shut the door before I could getthrough,’ sobbed the lovely little pet; ‘and Iwon’t be your darling a bit!’

“Mr. Franz laughed heartily, and said how clever shewas, took her on his knee, told her her sisters would be backagain directly, and finished his remark by a kiss.

“Unfortunate Mr. Franz! The young lady immediatelygave him an unmistakable box on the ear with her small fist, andvociferated

“No, they won’t, they won’t, theywon’t! They’ll never come back tillyou’re gone! They’ve gone away to get out ofyour way, because you won’t keep out oftheirs. And you’re a forward puppy, papa says,and can’t take a hint; and you’re always ineverybody’s way, and I’ll get out of your way,too!’

“Here the little girl began to kick violently; but therewas no occasion. Mr. Franz set her down, and while she ranoff to her sisters, he rushed back to the hotel, anddouble-locked himself into his room.

“After a time, however, he sent for his friend thewaiter, for he felt that a talk would do him good.

“But the ‘officious fellow’ shook his headterribly.

“‘How many more times am I to tell you what afoolish young gentleman you are?’ cried he.‘Will you never get up wiser any morning of theyear?’

“‘I thought,’ murmured Franz, in broken,almost sobbing accents—‘I thought—the youngladies—would have been delighted—with—mysong;—you see—I’ve been—so welltaught—and I can sing—’

“‘Oh! pooh, pooh, pooh!’ interrupted thewaiter once more. ‘Bother singing and everythingelse, if you’ve not been asked! Much better go tobed!’

“Poor Franz! It was hard work to give in, and hemade a last effort.

“‘Don’t you think—after all—thatthe prejudice—is owing to—what I told youabout:—people do so dislike a snub-nose?’

“‘Oh, pooh! bother a snub-nose,’ exclaimedthe waiter; ‘what will your nose signify, if youdon’t poke it in everybody’s way?’

“And with this conclusion Mr. Franz was obliged to becontent; and he ordered his dinner up-stairs, and preparedhimself for an evening of tears and repentance.

“But, before the waiter had been gone five minutes, hereturned with a letter in his hand.

“‘Now, here’s somebody asking something atlast,’ said he, for a servant had brought it.

“Franz trembled as he took it. It was sure to beeither a scolding or a summons to prison, he thought. Butno such thing: it was an invitation to dinner. Franz threwit on the floor, and kicked it from him—he would gonowhere—see nobody any more!

“The ‘officious fellow’ picked it up, andread it. ‘Mr. Franz,’ said he, ‘youmustn’t go to bed this time: you must go to this dinnerinstead. It’s from your father’s oldpartner—he wishes you had called, but as you haven’tcalled, he asks you to dine. Now you’re wanted, Mr.Franz, and must go.’

“‘I shall get into another mess,’ criedFranz, despondingly.

“‘Oh, pooh! you’ve only to keep out ofeverybody’s way, and all will be right,’ insisted thewaiter, as he left the room.

“‘Only to keep out of everybody’s way, andall will be right,’ ejacul*ted Mr. Franz, as he looked athis crest-fallen face in the glass. ‘It’s astrange rule for getting on in life! However,’continued he, cheering up, ‘one plan has failed, andit’s only fair to give the other a chance!’

“And all the rest of dressing-time, and afterwards as hewalked along the streets, he kept repeating his father’swords softly to himself, which was at first a very difficultthing to do, because he could not help mixing them up with hismother’s. It was the funniest thing in the world tohear him: ‘All you have to attend to, with youradvantages is to—make yourself—no, no! notto make myself agreeable—is to—keep out ofthe way!—that’s it!’ (with a sigh.)

“When Franz arrived at the house, he rang the bell sogently, that he had to ring twice before he was heard; and thenthey concluded it was some beggar, who was afraid of giving agood pull.

“So, when he was ushered into the drawing-room, the oldpartner came forward to meet him, took him by both hands, and,after one look into his downcast face, said:—

“‘My dear Mr. Franz, you must put on a bolderface, and ring a louder peal, next time you come to the house ofyour father’s old friend!’

“Mr. Franz answered this warm greeting by a sicklysmile, and while he was being introduced to the family, keptbowing on, thinking of nothing but how he was to keep out ofeverybody’s way!’

“He was tempted every five minutes, of course, to breakout in his usual style, and could have found it in his heart tochuck the whole party under the chin, and take all the talk tohimself. But he could be determined enough when he chose;and having determined to give his father’s rule a fairchance, he restrained himself to the utmost.

“So, not even the hearty reception of the old partnerand his wife, nor the smiling faces of either daughters or sons,could lure him into opening out. ‘Yes’ and‘No;’ ‘Do you think so?’ ‘I daresay;’ ‘Perhaps;’ ‘No doubt you’reright;’ and other such unmeaning little phrases were all hewould utter when they talked to him.

“‘How shy he is, poor fellow!’ thought theladies, and then they talked to him all the more. One triedto amuse him with one subject, another with another. Howdid he like the public gardens? Were they not verypretty?—He scarcely knew. No doubt they were, ifthey thought so. What did he think of thetheatre?—It was very hot when he was there. Had heany friends in the town?—He couldn’t sayfriends—he knew one or two people a little. And thepoor youth could hardly restrain a groan, as he answered each ofthe questions.

“Then they chatted of books, and music, and dancing, andpressed him hard to discover what he knew, and could do, andliked best; and when it oozed out even from his short answers,that he had read certain books in more than one language, andcould sing—just a little; and dance—just a little;and do several other things—just a little, too, all sortsof nods and winks passed through the family, and theysaid:—

“‘Ah, when you know us better, and are not so shyof us as strangers, we shall find out you are as clever again asyou pretend to be, dear Mr. Franz!’

“‘I’ll tell you what,’ added the oldpartner, coming up at this moment, ‘it’s a perfecttreat to me, Mr. Franz, to have a young man like you in myhouse! You’re your father over again, and Ican’t praise you more. He was the most modest,unobtrusive man in all our town, and yet knew more of hisbusiness than all of us put together.’

“‘No, no, I can’t allow that,’ criedthe motherly wife.

“‘Nonsense!’ replied the old partner.‘However, my dear boy—for I really must call youso—it was that very thing that made your father’sfortune; I mean that he was just as unpretending as he wasclever. Everybody trusts an unpretending man. Andyou’ll make your fortune too in the same manner,trust me, before long. Now, boys!’ added he, turningto his sons, ‘you hear what I say, and mind you take thehint! As for the young puppies of the present day, whofancy themselves fit to sit in the chair of their elders as soonas ever they have learnt their alphabet, and are for thrustingthemselves forward in every company—Mr. Franz, I’llown it to you, because you will understand me—I have nopatience with such rude, impertinent Jackanapeses, and alwayslong to kick them down-stairs.’

“The old partner stood in front of Mr. Franz as hespoke, and clenched his fist in animation. Mr. Franz sat onthorns. He first went hot, and then he went cold—hefelt himself kicked down-stairs as he listened—he was readyto cry—he was ready to fight—he was ready to runaway—he was ready to drop on his knees, and confess himselfthe very most impertinent of all the impertinentJackanapes’ race.

“But he gulped, and swallowed, and shut his teeth close,and nobody found him out; only he looked very pale, which thegood mother soon noticed, and said she to her husband:—

“‘My dear love, don’t you see how fa*gged andweary it makes Mr. Franz look, to hear you raving on about aparcel of silly lads with whom he has nothing incommon? You will frighten him out of his wits.’

“‘Mr. Franz will forgive me, I know,’ criedthe old partner, gently. ‘Jacintha, my dear, fetchthe wine and cake!’

“The kind, careful souls feared he was delicate, andinsisted on his having some refreshment; and then papa orderedthe young people to give their guest some music; and Franz sat bywhile the sons and daughters went through a beautiful operachorus, which was so really charming, that Mr. Franz did forgethimself for a minute, clapped violently, and got half-way throughthe word ‘encore’ in a very loud tone. But hechecked himself instantly, coloured, apologized for his rudeness,and retreated further back from the piano.

“Of course, this new symptom of modesty was met by morekindness, and followed by a sly hint from the merry Jacintha,that Mr. Franz’s turn for singing had come now!

“Poor Mr. Franz! with the recollection of themorning’s adventure on his mind, and his father’srule ringing in his ears, he felt singing to be out of thequestion, so he declined. On which they entreated,insisted, and would listen to no refusal. And Jacintha wentto him, and looked at him with her sweetest smile, and said,‘But you know, Mr. Franz, you said you could sing a little;and if it’s ever so little, you should sing whenyou’re asked!’ and with that Miss Jacinthaoffered him her hand, and led him to the piano.

“Franz was annoyed, though he ought to been pleased.

“‘But how am I to keep out ofpeople’s way,’ thought he to himself, ‘if theywill pull me forward? It’s the oddest thing I everknew. I can’t do right either way.’

“Then a thought struck him:—

“‘I have no music, Miss Jacintha,’ said he,‘and I can’t sing without music;’ and he wasgoing back again to his chair in the corner.

“‘But we have all the new music,’ was heranswer, and she opened a portfolio at once. ‘See,here’s the last new song!’ and she held one up beforethe unfortunate youth, who at the sight of it coloured all over,even to the tips of his ears. Whereupon Miss Jacintha, whowas watching him, laughed, and said she had felt sure he knew it;and down she sat, and began to play the accompaniment, and in twominutes afterwards Mr. Franz found himself—in spite ofhimself, as it were—exhibiting in the song, thefatal song of the morning’s adventure.

“It was a song of tender sentiment, and thesinger’s almost tremulous voice added to the effect, and awarm clapping of hands greeted its conclusion.

“But by that time Mr. Franz was so completely exhaustedwith the struggles of this first effort on the new plan, that hebegan to wish them good-night, saying he would not intrude uponthem any longer.

“They would shake hands with him, though he tried to bowhimself off without; and the old partner followed him down-stairsinto the hall.

“‘Mr. Franz,’ said he, ‘we have beendelighted to make your acquaintance, but this has been only aquiet family party. Now we know your sort, you mustcome again, and meet our friends. Wife will fix the day,and send you word; and don’t you be afraid, youngman! Mind you come, and put your best foot forward among usall!’

“Franz was almost desperate. His conscience beganto reproach him. What! was he going to accept all thiskindness, like a rogue receiving money under falsepretences? He was shocked, and began to protest:—

“‘I assure you, dear sir, I don’tdeserve—You are quite under a mistake—I really amnot—the fact is, you think a great deal better of methan—”

“‘Nonsense!’ shouted the old partner,clapping him vigorously on the back. ‘Why,you’re not going to teach me at my time of life,surely? Not going to turn as conceited as that, after all,eh? Come, come, Mr. Franz, no nonsense! Andto-morrow,’ he added, ‘I’ll send you letters ofintroduction to some of my friends, who will show you the lions,and make much of you. You will be well received whereveryou take them, first for my sake, and afterwards for yourown. There, there! I won’t hear a word!No thanks—I hate them! Good night.’

“And the old partner fairly pushed Mr. Franz through thedoor.

“‘Oh dear, oh dear!’ was the waiter’sexclamation when Franz reached the hotel, and the light of thelamp shone on his white, worn-out face. ‘Oh dear, ohdear! I fear you’ve been a silly young gentleman overagain! What have you been doing thistime?’

“‘I’ve been trying to keep out ofeverybody’s way all the evening,’ growled Mr. Franz,‘and they would pull me forward, in spite ofmyself.’

“‘No—really though?’ cried the waiter,as if it were scarcely possible.

“‘Really,’ sighed poor Mr. Franz.

“‘Then do me the honour, sir,’ exclaimed thewaiter, with a sudden deference of manner; and taking the tips ofFranz’s fingers in his own, he bent over them with asalute. ‘You’re a wise young gentleman now,sir, and your fortune’s made. I’m gladyou’ve hit it at last!

“And Mr. Franz had hit it at last, indeed,”continued Aunt Judy, “as appeared more plainly still by theletters of introduction which reached him next morning.They were left open, and were to this effect:—

“‘ . . . The bearer of this is the son of an oldfriend. One of the most agreeable young men I eversaw. As modest as he is well educated, and I can’tsay more. Procure him some amusem*nt, that a little of hisshyness may be rubbed off; and forward his fortunes, my dearfriend, as far as you can . . . ’

“Franz handed one of these letters to his friend thewaiter, and the ‘officious fellow’ grinned from earto ear.

“‘There is only one more thing to fear,’observed he.

“‘And what?’ asked Franz.

“‘Why, that now you’re comfortable, my dearyoung gentleman, your head should be turned, and you should beginto make yourself agreeable again, and spoil all.’

“‘Oh, pooh! bother agreeable; I say now, asyou did,’ cried Franz, laughing. ‘No, no, mygood friend, I’m not going to make myself agreeable anymore. I know better than that at last!’

“‘Then your fortune’s safe as well asmade!’ was the waiter’s last remark, as he was aboutto withdraw: but Franz followed him to the door.

“‘I found out a rather curious thing this evening,do you know!’

“‘And that was?—’ inquired his humblefriend.

“‘Why, that I was sitting all the time in thatvery attitude my mother recommended—with my head a littledown, you know—so that I really don’t think theynoticed my snub.’

“The waiter got as far as, ‘Oh, pooh!’ butFranz was nervous, and interrupted him.

“‘Yes—yes! I don’t believethere’s anything in it myself; but it will be a comfort tomy mother to think it was her advice that made my fortune, whichshe will do when I tell her that!’

“‘Ah!—the ladies will be romantic now andthen!’ exclaimed the waiter, with a flourish of his hand,‘and you must trim the comfort to a person’staste.’

“And in due time,” pursued Aunt Judy, “thatwas exactly what Mr. Franz did. Strictly adhering to hisfather’s rule, and encouraged by its capital success thatfirst night, he got so out of the habit of being pert, andfoolish, and inconsiderate, that he ended by never having anywish to be so; so that he really became what the old partner hadimagined him to be at first. It was a great restraint forsome time, but his modest manners fitted him at last as easy asan old shoe, and he was welcome at every house, because he wasnever in the way, and always knew when to retire!

“It was a jovial day for Papa and Mamma’sWatchmaker when, two years afterwards, Mr. Franz returned home, apartner in the old partner’s prosperous business, and withthe smiling Jacintha for his bride.

“And then, in telling his mother of that first eveningof his good fortune, he did not forget to mention that he hadhung down his head all the time, as she had advised; and, just ashe expected, she jumped up in the most extravagant delight.

“‘I knew how it would be all along!’ criedshe; ‘I told you so! I knew if you could only hidethat terrible snub all would be well; and I’m sure ourpretty Jacintha wouldn’t have looked your way if youhadn’t! See, now! you have to thank your mother forit all!’

“Franz was quite happy himself, so he smiled, and lethis mother be happy her way too; but he opened his heart ofhearts to poor old-fashioned papa, and told him—well, infact, all his follies and mistakes, and their cure. And ifmamma was happy in her bit of comfort, papa was not less so inhis, for there is not a more delightful thing in the world thanfor father and son to understand each other as friends; and oldFranz would sometimes walk up and down in his room, listening tothe cheerful young voices up-stairs, and say to himself, that ifMother Franz—good soul as she was—did not alwaysquite enter into his feelings, it was his comfort to be blessedwith a son who did!”

* * *

What a long story it had been! Aunt Judy was actuallytired out when she got to the end, and could not talk about it,but the little ones did till they arrived at the station, and hadto get out.

And in the evening, when they were all sitting together beforethey went to bed, there was no small discussion about the storyof Mr. Franz, and how people were to know what was really goodmanners—when to come forward, and when to holdback—and the children were a little startled at first, whentheir mother told them that the best rules for good manners wereto be found in the Bible.

But when she reminded them of that text, “When thou artbidden, go and sit down in the lowest room,” &c. theysaw in those words a very serious reason for not pushing forwardinto the best place in company. And when they recollectedthat every man was to do to others as he wished others to do tohim, it became clear to them that it was the duty of all peopleto study their neighbours’ comfort and pleasure as well astheir own; and it was no hard matter to show how this ruleapplied to all the little ins and outs of every-day life, whetherat home, or in society. And there were plenty of othertexts, ordering deference to elders, and the modesty which arisesout of that humility of spirit which “vaunteth notit*elf,” and “is not puffed up.” Therewas, moreover, the comfortable promise, that “themeek” should “inherit the earth.”

Of course, it was difficult to the little ones, just at first,to see how such very serious words could apply to anybody’smanners, and especially to their own.

But it was a difficulty which mamma, with a littleexplanation, got over very easily; and before the little oneswent to bed, they quite understood that in restraining themselvesfrom teazing and being troublesome, they were not only not being“tiresome,” but were actually obeying several Gospelrules.

p.141“NOTHING TO DO.”

“Had I a little son, I would christen himNothing-to-do.”

CharlesLamb.

There is a complaint which is notto be found in the doctor’s books, but which is,nevertheless, such a common and troublesome one, that oneheartily wishes some physic could be discovered which would cureit.

It may be called the nothing-to-do complaint.

Even quite little children are subject to it, but they neverhave it badly. Parents and nurses have only to give themsomething to do, or tell them of something to do, and the thingis put right. A puzzle or a picture-book relieves theattack at once.

But after the children have out-grown puzzles, andpicture-books, and nurses, and when even a parent’s adviceis received with a little impatience, then thenothing-to-do complaint, if it seizes them at all, is aserious disease, and often very difficult to cure; and, if notcured, alas! then follows the melancholy spectacle of grown-upmen and women, who are a plague to their friends, and a wearinessto themselves; because, living under the notion that there isnothing for them to do, they want everybody else todo something to amuse them.

Anyone can laugh at the old story of the gentleman who gotinto such a fanciful state of mind—hypochondriacal, it iscalled—that he thought he was his own umbrella; and so, oncoming in from a walk, would go and lay it in theeasy-chair by the fire, while he himself went and leant upagainst the wall in a corner of the hall.

But this gentleman was not a bit more fanciful and absurd thanthe people, whether young or old, who look out of windows onrainy days and groan because there is nothing to do; when,in reality, there is so much for everybody to do, that mostpeople leave half their share undone.

The oddest part of the complaint is, that it generally comeson worst in those who from being comfortably off in the world,and from having had a great deal of education, have such avariety of things to do, that one would fancy they could never beat a loss for a choice.

But these are the very people who are most afflicted. Itis always the young people who have books, and leisure, andmusic, and drawing, and gardens, and pleasure-grounds, andvillagers to be kind to, who lounge to the rain-bespatteredwindows on a dull morning, and groan because there is nothingto do.

In justice to girls in general, it should be here mentioned,that they are on the whole less liable to the complaint than theyoung lords of the creation, who are supposed to be theirsuperiors in sense. Philosophers may excuse this as theyplease, but the fact remains, that there are few large familiesin England, whose sisterhoods have not at times been teazed halfout of their wits, by the growlings of its young gentlemen,during paroxysms of the nothing-to-do complaint; growlingbeing one of its most characteristic symptoms.

Perhaps among all the suffering sisterhoods it would have beendifficult to find a young lady less liable to catch such adisorder herself, than Aunt Judy; and perhaps that was the reasonwhy she used to do such tremendous battle with No. 3, whenever,after his return from school for the holidays, he happened tohave an attack.

“What are you groaning at through the window, No.3?” she inquired on one such occasion; “is itraining?”

A very gruff-sounding “No,” was theanswer—No. 3 not condescending to turn round as hespoke. He proceeded, however, to state that it had rainedwhen he got up, and he supposed it would rain again as amatter-of-course, (for his especial annoyance being implied,) andhe concluded:—

“It’s so horribly ‘slow’ here, withnothing to do.”

No. 6, who was sitting opposite Aunt Judy, doing a Frenchexercise, here looked up at her sister, and perceiving a smilesteal over her face, took upon herself to think herbrother’s remark very ridiculous, so, said she, with asaucy giggle:—

“I can find you plenty to do, No. 3, in a minute.Come and write my French exercise for me.

No. 3 turned sharply round at this, with a frown on his facewhich by no means added to its beauty, and called out:—

“Now, Miss Pert, I recommend you to hold yourtongue. I don’t want any advice from a conceitedlittle minx like you.”

Miss Pert was extinguished at once, and set to work at theFrench exercise again most industriously, and a general silenceensued.

But people in the nothing-to-do complaint are never quiet forlong. Teazing is quite as constant a symptom of it, asgrowling, so No. 3 soon came lounging from the window to thetable, and began:—

“I say, Judy, I wish you would put those tiresome books,and drawings, and rubbish away, and I think of something todo.”

“But it’s the books, and the drawings, and therubbish that give me something to do,” cried AuntJudy. “You surely don’t expect me to give themup, and go arm and arm with you round the house, bemoaning theslowness of our fate which gives us nothing to do. Or shallwe? Come, I don’t care; I will if you like. Butwhich shall we complain to first, mamma, or the maids?”

While she was saying this, Aunt Judy shut up her drawing book,jumped up from her chair, drew No. 3’s arm under her own,and repeated:—

“Come! which? mamma, or the maids?” while MissPert opposite was labouring with all her might to smother thelaugh she dared not indulge in.

But No. 3 pushed Aunt Judy testily away.

“‘Nonsense, Judy! what has that to do withit? It’s all very well for you girls—now, MissPert, mind your own affairs, and don’t stare atme!—to amuse yourself with all manner of—”

“Follies, of course,” cried Aunt Judy, laughing,“don’t be afraid of speaking out, No. 3.It’s all very well for us girls to amuse ourselves with allmanner of follies, and nonsense, and rubbish;” here AuntJudy chucked the drawing-book to the end of the table, tossed adictionary after it, and threw another book or two into the air,catching them as they came down.

“—while you, superior, sensible young man that youare, born to be the comfort of your family—”

“Be quiet!” interrupted No. 3, trying to stop her;but she ran round the table and proceeded:—

“—and the enlightener of mankind;can’t—no, no, No. 3, I won’t bestopt!—can’t amuse yourself with anything, becauseeverything is so ‘horribly slow, there’s nothing todo,’ so you want to tie yourself to your foolishsister’s apron string.”

“It’s too bad!” shouted No. 3; and a raceround the table began between them, but Aunt Judy dodged far toocleverly to be caught, so it ended in their resting at oppositeends; No. 6 and her French exercises lying between them.

“No. 6, my dear,” cried Aunt Judy, in the lull ofexertion, “I proclaim a holiday from folly andrubbish. Put your books away, and put your impertinenceaway too. Hold your tongue, and don’t be Miss Pest;and vanish as soon as you can.”

Miss Pert performed two or three putting-away evolutions withthe velocity of a sunbeam, and darted off through the door.

“Now, then, we’ll be reasonable,” observedAunt Judy; and carrying a chair to the front of the fire she satdown, and motioned to No. 3 to do the same, taking out from herpocket a little bit of embroidery work, which she kept ready forchatting hours.

No. 3 was always willing to listen to Aunt Judy.

He desired nothing better than to get her undivided attention,and pour out his groans in her ear; so he sat down with a verygood grace, and proceeded to insist that there never was anythingso “slow” as “it was.”

Aunt Judy wanted to know what it was; the place or thepeople, (including herself,) or what?

No. 3 could explain it no other way than by declaring thateverything was slow; there was nothing to do.

Aunt Judy maintained that there was plenty to do.

Whereupon No. 3 said:—

“But nothing worth doing.”

Whereupon Aunt Judy told No. 3 that he was just like Dr.Faustus. On which, of course, No. 3 wanted to know what Dr.Faustus was like, and Aunt Judy answered, that he was just likehim, only a great deal older and very learned.

“Only quite different, then,” suggested No. 3.

“No,” said Aunt Judy, “not quitedifferent, for he came one day to the same conclusion that youhave done, namely, that there was nothing to do, worth doing inthe world.”

“I don’t say the world, I only sayhere,” observed No. 3; “there’s plenty to doelsewhere, I dare say.”

“So you think, because you have not tried elsewhere,” answered Aunt Judy. “But Dr. Faustus,who had tried elsewhere, thought everywhere alike, and declaredthere was nothing worth doing anywhere, although he had studiedlaw, physic, divinity, and philosophy all through, and knewpretty nearly everything.”

“Then you see he did not get much good out oflearning,” remarked No. 3.

“I do see,” was the reply.

“And what became of him?”

“Ah, that’s the point,” replied Aunt Judy,“and a very remarkable point too. As soon as he gotinto the state of fancying there was nothing to do, worth doing,in God’s world, the evil spirit came to him, and found himsomething to do in what I may, I am sure, call the devil’sworld—I mean, wickedness.”

“Oh, that’s a story written upon Watts’s oldhymn,” exclaimed No. 3, contemptuously:—

“‘For Satan finds some mischiefstill,
For idle hands to do.’

Judy! I call that a regular‘sell.’”

“Not a bit of it,” cried Aunt Judy, warmly;“I don’t suppose the man who wrote the story ever sawWatts’s hymns, or intended to teach anything half asgood. It’s mamma’s moral. She told me shehad screwed it out of the story, though she doubted whether itwas meant to be there.”

“And what’s the rest of the story then?”inquired No. 3, whose curiosity was aroused.

“Well! when the old Doctor found the world as it was, so‘slow,’ as you very unmeaningly call it, hetook to conjuring and talking with evil spirits by way ofamusem*nt; and then they easily persuaded him to be wicked,merely because it gave him something fresh and exciting todo.”

“Watts’s hymn again! I told you so!”exclaimed No. 3. “But the story’s all nonsensefrom beginning to end. Nobody can conjure, or talk to evilspirits in reality, so the whole thing is impossible; and whereyou find the moral, I don’t know.”

No. 3 leant back and yawned as he concluded.

He was rather disappointed that nothing more entertaining hadcome out of the story of Dr. Faustus.

But Aunt Judy had by no means done.

“Impossible about conjuring and actually talkingto evil spirits, certainly,” said she; “but spiritualinfluences, both bad and good, come to us all, No. 3, withoutbodily communion; so for those who are inclined to feel like Dr.Faustus, there is both a moral and a warning in hisfate.”

“I don’t know what about,” cried No.3. “I think he was uncommonly stupid, after all hehad learnt, to get into such a mess. Why, you yourself arealways trying to make out that the more people labour and learn,the more sure they are to keep out of mischief. Now then,how do you account for the story of your friend Dr.Faustus?”

“Because, like King Solomon, he did not labour and learnin a right spirit, or to a right end,” replied AuntJudy. “Lord Bacon remarks that when, after theCreation, God ‘looked upon everything He had made, beholdit was very good;’ whereas when man ‘turnedhim about,’ and took a view of the world and his ownlabours in it, he found that ‘all’ was ‘vanityand vexation of spirit.’ Why did he come to such adifferent conclusion, do you think?”

“I suppose because the world had got bad, before KingSolomon’s time,” suggested No. 3.

“Its inhabitants had,” replied Aunt Judy.“They had become subject to sin and misery; but the worldwas still God’s creation, and proofs of the ‘verygood’ which He had pronounced over it were to be found inevery direction, and even in fallen man, if Solomon had had thesense, or rather I should say, good feeling to look forthem. Ah! No. 3, there was plenty to be learnt anddone that would not have ended in ‘vanity andvexation of spirit’ if Solomon had learnt in orderto trace out the glory of God, instead of establishing his own;and if he had worked to create, as far as was in hispower, a world of happiness for other people, instead of seekingnothing but his own amusem*nt. If he had worked in thespirit of God, in short.”

“But who can?—Nobody,” exclaimed No. 3.

“Yes, everybody, who tries, can, to a certainextent,” said Aunt Judy. “It only wants theright feeling; some of the good God-like feeling which originatedthe creation of a beautiful world, and caused the contemplationof it to produce the sublime complacency which is described,‘And God looked upon everything that He had made, andbehold it was very good.’”

“It’s a sermon, Judy,” cried No. 3, halfbored, yet half amused at the notion of her preaching;“I’ll set up a pulpit for you at once, shallI?”

“No, no, be quiet, No. 3,” exclaimed Aunt Judy,“I wish you would try and understand what I say!”

“Well, then,” said No. 3, “it appears to methat do what one might now the world has grown bad, it would beimpossible to pronounce that ‘very good,’ asthe result of one’s work. There would always besomething miserable and unsatisfactory at the end of everything;I mean even if one really was to look into things closely, andwork for other people’s good, as you say.”

“There might be something miserable andunsatisfactory, in the result, certainly,” answered AuntJudy; “but that it would all be ‘vanity andvexation of spirit’ I deny. Our blessed Saviour cameinto the world after it had grown bad, remember; and He workedsolely for the restoration of the ‘very good,’ whichsin had defaced. It was undoubtedly miserable andunsatisfactory that He should be rejected by the verycreatures He came to help; but when He uttered the words‘It is finished,’ the work which He had accomplished,He might well have looked upon and called very good: very verygood; even beyond the creation, were that possible.”

“There can be no comparison between our Saviour andus,” murmured No. 3.

“No,” replied his sister; “but only letpeople work in the same direction, and they will have more‘profit’ of their ‘labour,’ than KingSolomon ever owned to, who had, one fears, only learnt, in orderto be learned, and worked, to please himself. No man whoemploys himself in tracing out God’s footsteps inthe world, or in working in God’s spirit for theworld, will ever find such labours end in ‘vanity andvexation of spirit!’ Solomon, Dr. Faustus, and thegrumblers, have only themselves to thank for theirdisappointment.”

“It’s very curious,” observed No. 3, gettingup, and stretching himself over the fire, “I mean aboutSolomon and Dr. Faustus. But what can one do? Whatcan you or I do? It’s absurd to be fancying one cando good to one’s fellow-creatures.”

“Nevertheless, there is one I want you to do good to, atthe present moment,” said Aunt Judy—“if it isnot actually raining. Don’t you remember what despairNo. 1 was in this morning, when father sent her off on the ponyin such a hurry.”

“Ah, that pony! That was just what I wantedmyself,” interrupted No. 3.

“Exactly, of course,” replied Aunt Judy.“But you were not the messenger father wanted, so do notlet us go all over that ground again, pray. The fact was,No. 1 had just heard that her pet ‘Tawny Rachel’ wasvery ill, and she wanted to go and see her, and give her somegood advice, and I am to go instead. Now No. 3, suppose yougo instead of me, and save me a wet walk?”

No. 3, of course, began by protesting that it was not possiblethat he could do any good to an old woman. Old women werenot at all in his way. He could only say, how do you do?and come away.

Aunt Judy disputed this: she thought he could offer her somecreature comforts, and ask whether she had seen the Doctor, andwhat he said, as No. 1 particularly wished to know.

What an idea! No, no; he must decline inquiring what theDoctor said; it would be absurd; but he could offer her somethingto eat.

—And just ask if she had had the Doctor.—Well,just that, and come away. It would not occupy manyminutes. But he wished, while Aunt Judy was about it, shehad found him something rather longer to do!

Aunt Judy promised to see what could be devised on his return,and No. 3 departed. And a very happily chosen errand itwas; for it happened in this case, as it so constantly doeshappen, that what was begun for other people’s sake, endedin personal gratification. No. 3 went to see “TawnyRachel,” out of good-natured compliance with AuntJudy’s request, but found an interest and amusem*nt in thevisit itself, which he had not in the least expected.

Ten, twenty, thirty, minutes elapsed, and he had not returned;and when he did so at last, he burst into the house far more likean avalanche than a young gentleman who could find “nothingto do.”

Coming in the back way, he ran into the kitchen, and told theservants to get some hot water ready directly, for he was suresomething would be wanted. Then, passing forward, heshouted to know where his mother was, and, having found her,entreated she would order some comfortable, gruelly stuff orother, to be made for the sick old woman, particularly insistingthat it should have ale or wine, as well as spice and sugar init.

He was positive that that was just what she ought tohave! She had said how cold she was, and how glad sheshould be of something to warm her inside; and there was nobodyto do anything for her at home. What a shame it was for apoor old creature like that to be left with only two dirty boysto look after her, and they always at play in the street!Her daughter and husband were working out, and she sat moaningover the fire, from pain, without anybody to care!

* * *

Tender-hearted and impulsive, if thoughtless, the spirit ofNo. 3 had been moved within him at the spectacle of the gaunt oldwoman in this hour of her lonely suffering.

Poor “Tawny Rachel!” The children had calledher so, from the heroine of Mrs. Hannah More’s tale,because of those dark gipsy eyes of hers, which had formerlygiven such a fine expression to her handsome but melancholyface. Melancholy, because care-worn from the longlife’s struggle for daily bread, for a large indulgedfamily, who scarcely knew, at the day of her death, that she hadworn herself out for their sakes.

Poor “Tawny Rachel!” She was one day askedby a well-meaning shopkeeper, of whom she had purchased a fewgoods, where she thought she was going to?

“Tawny Rachel” turned her sad eyes upon herinterrogator, and made answer:—

“Going to? why where do you think I’m going to,but to Heaven?—‘Deed! where do you think I’mgoing to, but to Heaven?” she repeated to herself slowly,as if to recover breath; and then added, “I should like toknow who Heaven is for, if not for such as me, that have slavedall their lives through, for other folk;” and so saying,Tawny Rachel turned round again, and went away.

Poor “Tawny Rachel!” The theology wasimperfect enough; but so had been her education andadvantages. Yet as surely as her scrupulous, never-failinghonesty, and unmurmuring self-denial, must have been inspired bysomething beyond human teaching; so surely did it prove nodifficult task to her spiritual guide, to lead her onwards tothose simple verities of the Christian Faith, which, in her case,seemed to solve the riddle of a weary, unsatisfactory life, and,confiding in which, the approach of death really became to her,the advent of the Prince of Peace.

* * *

“But she had quite cheered up,” remarked No. 3,“at the notion of something comforting and good,” andso—he had “come off at once.”

“At once!”—the exclamation came from AuntJudy, who had entered the room, and was listening to theaccount. “Why, No. 3, you must have been there anhour at least. And nevertheless I dare say you haveforgotten about the Doctor.”

“The Doctor!” cried No. 3,laughing,—“It’s the Doctor who has kept me allthis time. You never heard such fun in yourlife,—only he’s an awful old rascal, I mustsay!”

Mamma and Aunt Judy gazed at No. 3 in bewilderment. Therespectable old village practitioner, who had superintended allthe deceases in the place for nearly half a century—to becalled “an awful old rascal” at last! Whatcould No. 3 be thinking of?

Certainly not of the respectable village practitioner, as hesoon explained, by describing the arrival at Tawny Rachel’scottage of a travelling quack with a long white beard.

“My dear No. 3!” exclaimed mamma.

“Mother, dear, I can’t help it!” cried No.3, and proceeded to relate that while he was sitting with the oldwoman, listening to the account of her aches and pains, some onelooked in at the door, and asked if she wanted anything; but,before she could speak, remarked how ill she seemed, and said hecould give her something to do her good.“Judy!” added No. 3, breaking suddenly off; “helooked just like Dr. Faustus, I’m sure!”

“Never mind about that,” cried Aunt Judy.“Tell us what Tawny Rachel said.”

“Oh, she called out that he must give it, if shewas to have it, for she had nothing to pay for it with. Ihad a shilling in my pocket, and was just going to offer it, whenI recollected he would most likely do her more harm thangood. But the gentleman with the white beard walked inimmediately, set his pack down on the table, and said,‘Then, my good woman, I shall give it you;’and out he brought a bottle, tasted it before he gave it to her,and promised her that it would cure her if she took itall.”

“My dear No. 3!” repeated mamma once more.

“Yes, I know she can’t be cured, mother, and Ithink she knows it too; but still she ‘took it verykind,’ as she called it, of him, and asked him if hewould like to ‘rest him’ a bit by the fire, and thegentleman accepted the invitation; and there we all three sat,for really I quite enjoyed seeing him, and he began to warm hishands, remarking that the young gentleman—that was I, youknow—looked very well. Oh, Judy, I very nearly said‘Thank you, Dr. Faustus,’ but I only laughed andnodded, and really did hold my tongue; and then the two began totalk, and it was as good as any story you ever invented, AuntJudy. Tawny Rachel was very inquisitive, and askedhim:—

“‘You’ve come a long way, sir, Isuppose?’

“‘Yes, ma’am; I’m a great traveller,and have been so a many years.’

“‘It’s a wonder you have not settled beforenow.’

“‘I might have settled, ma’am, a manytimes.’

“‘Ah, when folks once begin wandering, theycan’t settle down. You were, maybe, brought up toit.’

“‘I was brought up to something a deal better thanthat, ma’am.’

“‘You was, sir? It’s a pity, I’msure.’

“‘My father was physician to Queen Elizabeth,ma’am, a many years.’”

When No. 3 arrived at this point of the dialogue, mamma andAunt Judy both exclaimed at once, and the former repeated oncemore the expostulatory “My dear No. 3!” whichdelighted No. 3, who proceeded to assure them that he had himselfinterrupted the travelling quack here, by suggesting that it wasQueen Charlotte he meant.

“Old Queen Charlotte, you know, Judy, that No. 1 wastelling the children about the other day.”

But the “gentleman,” as No. 3 called him, hadturned very red at the doubt thus thrown on his accuracy, and puta rather threatening croak into his voice, as he said:—

“Asking your pardon, young gentleman, I know whatI’m saying, and it was Queen Elizabeth, and not Charlottenor anybody else!”

No. 3 described that he felt it best, after this, to hold histongue and say no more, so Tawny Rachel put in her word, andremarked, it was a wonder the queen hadn’t made theirfortunes; on which the gentleman turned rather red again, andsaid that the queen did make their fortune, but wouldn’tlet them keep it, for fear they should be too great and toorich—that was it! This statement required a littleexplanation, but the gentleman was ready with allparticulars. The queen used to pay his father by hundredsof pounds at a time, because that was due to him, but beingjealous of his having so much money, she always set some one totake it away from him as he left the place! So that was thereason why these was no fortune put by for him after his fatherdied, and that was the reason why he couldn’t very wellsettle at first, though everybody wished him to stay, andso he took to travelling; for his father had left him allhis secrets, and he was qualified to practise anywhere, and hadcured some thousands of sick folks up and down!

No. 3 declared that he had not made the old man’saccount of himself a bit more unconnected than it really was,and, on the whole, it sounded very imposing to poor Tawny Rachel,who watched his departure with a sort of respectful awe.

No. 3 added, that not liking to disturb her faith either inthe man or the bottle, he had himself helped her to the firstdose, and had then begun to talk about the creature comfortsbefore described, the very mention of which seemed to cheer theold lady’s heart, and to interest her at least as much asthe biography of the travelling quack.

“So now, mother,” concluded he, “order thegruel, and we’ll give three cheers for Queen Elizabeth, andDr. Faustus—eh, Judy? But I do think the poor oldthing ought not to take that man’s poisonous rubbish; sohere’s my shilling, and welcome, if you’ll give somemore, and let us send for a real doctor.”

The “nothing-to-do” morning had nearly slippedaway, between the conversation with Aunt Judy, and the visit toTawny Rachel; and when, soon after, a friend called to take No. 3off on a fossil hunt, and he had to snatch a hasty morsel beforehis departure, he declared he was like the poor governess in thesong, who was sure to

“Find out,
With attention and zeal,
That she’d scarcely have time
To partake of a meal,”

there was so much to do. “But you’re acapital fellow, Judy,” he added, kissing her, “andyou’ll tell me a story when I come back;” and off heran, shutting his ears to Aunt Judy’s declaration that sheonly told stories to the “little ones.”

Nor would she, on his return, and during the cozy evening“nothing-to-do” hour, consent to devote herself tohis especial amusem*nt only. So, after arguing the pointfor a time, he very wisely yielded, and declared at last that hewould be a “little one” too, and listen to a“little one’s” story, if Aunt Judy would tellone.

It was rather late when this was settled, and the little oneshad stayed up-stairs to play at a newly-inventedgame—bazaars—in the nursery; but when No. 3 strode inwith the announcement of the story, there was a shout of delight,followed by the old noisy rush down-stairs to thedining-room.

It is not a bad thing to be a “little one” now andthen in spirit. People would do well to try and be sooftener. Who that has looked upon a picture of himself as a“little one,” has not wished that he could berestored to the “little one’s” spirit, the“little one’s” innocence, the “littleone’s” hopeful trust? “Of such is thekingdom of Heaven!” And though none of us would liketo live our lives over again, lest our errors should be repeated,and so doubled in guilt, all of us, at the sight of what we oncewere, would fain, very fain, if we could, lie down to sleep, andawake a “little one” again. Never, perhaps, isthe sweet mercy of an early death brought so closely home to ourapprehension, as when the grown-up, care-worn man looks upon theimage of himself as a child.

Happily, however—nay, more than happily,mercifully—the grown-up man, if he do but put on thehumility, may gain something of the peace of a “littleone’s” heart!

Aunt Judy had twisted up a roll of muslin for a turban on herhead by the time they came down, “for,” said she,“this is to be an eastern tale, and I shall not beinspired—that is to say, I shall not get on abit—unless there is a costume and manners to correspond, soyou three little ones squat yourselves down Turkish-fashion onthe floor, with your legs tucked under you. There now!that’s something like, and I begin to feel myself in theEast. Nevertheless, I am rather glad there is no criticalEastern traveller at hand, listening through the key-hole to myblunders.

“However, errors excepted, here is the wonderful storyof

‘The King of the Hills and his Four Sons.’

“A great many years ago, in a country which cannot betraced upon the maps, but which lies somewhere between the greatrivers Indus and Euphrates, lived Schelim, King of the Hills.

“His riches were unlimited, his palaces magnificent, andhis dresses and jewels of the most costly description. Henever condescended to wear a diamond unless it was inconvenientlylarge for his fingers, and the fiery opals which adorned histurban (like those in the mineral-room at the British Museum)shimmered and blazed in such a surprising manner, that peoplewere obliged to lower their eyes before the light of them.

“Powerful as well as rich, King Schelim could haveanything in the world he wished for, but—such is theperversity of human nature—he cared very little foranything except smoking his pipe; of which, to say the truth, hewas so fond, that he would have been well contented to have donenothing else all day long. It seemed to him the nearestapproach to the sublimest of all ideas of humanhappiness—the having nothing to do.

“He caused his four sons to be brought up in luxuriousease, his wish for them being, that they should remain ignorantof pain and sorrow for as long a period of their lives as waspossible. So he built a palace for them, at the summit ofone of his beautiful hills, where nothing disagreeable ordistressing could ever meet their eyes, and he gave orders totheir attendants, that they should never be thwarted inanything.

“Every wish of their hearts, therefore, was gratifiedfrom their baby days; but so far from being in consequence thehappiest, they were the most discontented children in hisdominions.

“From the first year of their birth, King Schelim hadnever been able to smoke his pipe in peace. There werealways messages coming from the royal nursery to thesmoking-room, asking for something fresh for the four youngprinces, who were, owing to some mysterious cause, incapable ofenjoying any of their luxurious indulgences for more than a fewhours together.

“At first these incessant demands for one thing oranother for the children, surprised and annoyed their papaconsiderably, but by degrees he got used to it, and took thearrival of the messengers as a matter of course.

“The very nurses began it:—

“‘May it please your Majesty, the young princes,your Majesty’s incomparable sons—may their shadowsnever be less!—are tired of their jewelled rattles, andhave thrown them on the floor. Doubtless they would likeIndia-rubber rings with bells better.’

“‘Then get them India-rubber rings withbells,’ was all King Schelim said, and turned to his pipeagain.

“And so it went on perpetually, until one day it cameto,—

“‘May it please your Majesty, the young princes,your Majesty’s incomparable sons—may their shadowsnever be less!—have thrown their hobbyhorses into theriver, and want to have live ponies instead.’

“At the first moment the king gave his usual answer,‘Then get them live ponies instead,’ from a sort ofmechanical habit, but the words were scarcely uttered when herecalled them. This request awoke even his sleepy soul outof its smoke-dream, and inquiring into the ages of his sons, andfinding that they were of years to learn as well as to ride, hedismissed their nurses, placed them in the hands of tutors, andprocured for them the best masters of every description.

“‘For,’ said he, ‘what saith theproverb? “Kings govern the earth, but wise men governkings.” My sons shall be wise as well as kingly, andthen they can govern themselves.’

“And after settling this so cleverly, King Schelimresumed his pipe, in the confident hope, that now, at last, heshould smoke it in peace.

“‘For,’ said he, ‘when my sons shallbecome wise through learning, they will be more moderate in theirdesires.’

“I do not know whether his Majesty’s incomparablesons relished this change from nurses to tutors, but on thatparticular point they were allowed no choice; so if they bemoanedthemselves in their palace on the hill, their father knew nothingof it.

“And to soften the disagreeableness of the restraintwhich learning imposes, King Schelim gave more strict orders thanever, that, provided the young gentlemen only learnt theirlessons well, every whim that came into their heads should becomplied with soon as expressed.

“In spite of all his ingenious arrangements, however,the royal father did not enjoy the amount of repose heexpected. All was quiet enough during lesson-hours, it istrue; but as soon as ever that period had elapsed, the youngprinces became as restless as ever. Nay—the olderthey grew, the more they wanted, and the less pleased they becamewith what was granted.

“From very early days of the tutorship, the old storybegan:—

“‘May it please your Majesty, the young princes,your Majesty’s incomparable sons—may their shadowsnever be less!—are tired of their ponies, and want horsesinstead.’

“The king was a little disappointed at this, andactually laid down his pipe to talk.

“‘Is anything the matter with the ponies?’he asked.

“‘May it please your Majesty, no; only that yourincomparable sons call them slow.’

“‘Spirited lads!’ thought the king, quiteconsoled, and gave the answer as usual:—

“‘Then get them horses instead.’ Butwhen only a few days afterwards he was informed that hisincomparable sons had wearied of their horses, because they alsowere ‘slow,’ and wished to ride on elephants instead,his Majesty began to feel disturbed in mind, and wonder whatwould come next, and how it was that the teaching of the tutorsdid not make his sons more moderate in their desires.

“‘Nevertheless,’ said he, ‘what saiththe proverb, “Thou a man, and lackestpatience?” And again,

“Early ripe, early rotten,
Early wise, soon forgotten.”

My sons are but children yet.’

“After which reflection he returned to his pipe asbefore, and disturbed himself as little as possible, whenmessenger after messenger arrived, to announce the fresh vagariesof the young princes.

“It is impossible to enumerate all the luxuries,amusem*nts, and delights, they asked for, obtained, and weariedof during several years. But the longer it went on, themore hardened and indifferent their father became.

“‘For,’ said he, ‘what saith theproverb? “The longest lane turns atlast.” At last my sons will have everything man canwish for, and then they will cease from asking, and I shall smokemy pipe in peace.’

“One day, however, the messenger entered the royalsmoking-room in a greater hurry than ever, and was about tocommence his usual elaborate peroration respecting theincomparable sons, when his Majesty held up his hand to stop him,and called out:—

“‘What is it now?’

“‘May it please your Majesty, your Majesty’sin—’

“‘What is it they want?’ cried theking, interrupting him.

“‘May it please your Majesty, something todo.’

“‘Something to do?’ repeated the perplexedking of the hills; ‘something to do, when half the richesof my empire have been expended upon providing them with themeans of doing everything in the world that was delightful to thesoul of man?

“‘Surely, oh son of a dog, thou art laughing at mybeard, to come to me with such a message from my sons.’

“‘Nevertheless, may it please your Majesty, I havespoken but the truth. Your Majesty’sin—’

“‘Hush with that nonsense,’ interrupted theking.

“‘Your Majesty’s sons, in fact, then, havesickened and pined for three mortal days, because they have gotnothing to do.’

“‘Now, then, my sons are mad!’ exclaimedpoor King Schelim, laying down his pipe, and rising from hisrecumbent position; ‘and it is time that I bestirmyself.’

“And thereupon he summoned his attendants, and sent forthe royal Hakim, that is to say, physician; and the most learnedand experienced Dervish, that is to say, religious teacher of theneighbourhood.

“‘For,’ said he, ‘who knows whetherthis sickness is of the body or the soul?’

“And having explained to them how he had brought up hischildren, the indulgences with which he had surrounded them, thelearning which he had had instilled into them, and the way inwhich he had preserved them from every annoying sight and sound,he concluded:—

“‘What more could I have done for the happiness ofmy children than I have done, and how is it that their reason hasdeparted from them, so that they are at a loss for something todo? Speak one or other of you and explain.’

“Then the Dervish stepped forward, and opening hismouth, began to make answer.

“‘And,’ said he, ‘oh King of theHills, in the bringing up of thy sons, surely thou hast forgottenthe proverb which saith, “He that would know good manners,let him learn them from him who hath them not.” Foreven so may the wise man say of happiness, “He that wouldknow he is happy, must learn it from him who is not.”But again, doth not another proverb say, “Will thy candleburn less brightly for lighting mine?” Wherefore thehappiness which a man has, when he has discovered it, he is boundto impart to those that have it not. Have I spokenwell?’

“Then King and the Hakim declared he had spokenremarkably well; nevertheless I am by no means sure that KingSchelim knew what he meant. Whereupon the Dervish offeredto go at once to the four incomparable princes, and cure them oftheir madness in supposing they had nothing to do, and KingSchelim in great delight, and thoroughly glad to be rid of thetrouble, told him that he placed his sons entirely in his hands;then taking him aside, he addressed to him a parting word inconfidence.

“‘Thou knowest, oh wise Dervish, that I have hadno education myself, and therefore, as the proverb hath it,“To say I don’t know, is the comfort of mylife,” yet what better is a learned man than a fool, if hecomes but to this conclusion at last? See thou restorewisdom and something to do to the souls of my sons.’

“Which the Dervish promised to accomplish, accordinglyin company with the Hakim, he betook himself to the palace of thefour princes, his Majesty’s incomparable sons.

“Well, in spite of all they had heard, both the Dervishand Hakim were surprised at what they really found at the palaceof the four princes.

“It was as if everything that human ingenuity coulddevise for the gratification, amusem*nt, and occupation both ofbody and mind had been here brought together. Horses,elephants, chariots, creatures of every description, for hunting,riding, driving, and all sorts of sport were there, countless innumbers, and perfect in kind. Gardens, pleasure-grounds,woods, flowers, birds, and fountains, to delight the eye and ear;while within the palace were sources of still deeperenjoyment. The songs of the poets and the wisdom of theancients reposed there upon golden shelves. Musicians heldthemselves in readiness to pour exquisite melodies upon the air;games, exercises, in-door sports in every variety could becommanded in a moment, and attendants waited in all directions tofulfil their young masters’ will.

“The poor old Dervish and Hakim looked at each other infresh amazement at every step they took, and neither of themcould find a proverb to fit so extraordinary a case.

“At last, after a long walk through chambers andanti-chambers without end, hung round with mirrors and ornaments,they reached the apartment of the young princes, where they foundthe four incomparable creatures lounging on four ottomans,sighing their hearts out, because they had ‘nothing todo.’

“As the door opened, the eldest prince glanced languidlyround, and inquired if the messenger had returned from theirfather, and being answered that the Dervish and Hakim, who nowstood before him, were messengers from their father, he calledout to know if the old gentleman had sent them anything todo!

“‘The king, your father’s spirit isdisturbed with anxiety,’ answered the Dervish, ‘lestsome sudden calamity should have deprived his sons of the use oftheir limbs or their senses, or lest their attendants should havefailed to provide them with everything the earth affordsdelightful to the soul of man.’

“‘The king, our father’s spirit is disturbedwith smoke,’ replied the eldest prince, ‘or he neverwould have sent such an old fellow as you with such an answer asthat. What’s the use of the use of one’s limbs,or one’s senses, or all the earth affords delightful to thesoul of man, if we’re sick of it all? Just go backand tell him we’ve got everything, and are sick ofeverything, and can do everything, and don’t care to doanything, because everything is so ‘slow;’ so we willtrouble him to find us something fresh to do. There! isthat clear enough, old gentleman?’

“‘The king, your father,’ answered theDervish, ‘has provided against even that emergency; I amcome to tell you of something fresh to see and to do.’

“No sooner had the Dervish uttered these words, than thefour princes jumped up from the ottoman in the most lively andvigorous manner, and clamoured to know what it was, expressingtheir hope that it was a ‘jolly lark.’

“In answer to which the Dervish, lifting himself up in acommanding manner, stretched out his arm, and exclaimed, in asolemn voice:—

“‘Young men, you have exhausted happiness.Nothing new remains in the world for you, but misery andwant. Follow me!’

“There was something so unusual about the tone of thisaddress, and it was uttered in so imposing a manner, that theyoung princes were, as it were, taken by storm, and they followedthe Dervish and Hakim, without a word of inquiry orobjection.

“And he led them away from the palace on the beautifulhill—away from all the sights and sounds that werecollected together there to delight the soul of man with bothbodily and intellectual enjoyment—down into the city in thevalley, among the close-packed habitations of common men,congregated there to labour, and just exist, and then die.

“And presently the Dervish and the Hakim spoke together,and then the Hakim led the way through a gloomy by-street, tillhe came to a habitation into which he entered, and the restfollowed without a word. And there, stretched upon apallet, wasted and worn with pain, lay a youth scarcely olderthan the young princes themselves, the lower part of whose bodywas wrapped round with bandages, and who was unable to move.

“The Hakim proceeded at once to unloosen the fastenings,and to examine the limbs of the sufferer. They had beencrushed by a frightful accident, while working for his dailybread, in the quarries of marble near the palace on the hill.

“‘Is there no hope, my father?’ heejacul*ted in agony as the bruised thighs were exposed to thelight, revealing a spectacle from which the princes turnedhorrified away.

“But the Dervish stood between them and the door, andmotioned them back.

“‘Is there no hope?’ repeated theyouth. ‘Shall I never again tread the earth in thefreedom of health and strength? never again climb themountain-side to taste the sweet breath of heaven? never againeven step across this narrow room, to look forth into the narrowstreet?’

“Sobs of distress here broke from the speaker; and,covering his face with his hands, he awaited the Hakim’sreply. But while the latter bent down to whisper hisanswer, the Dervish addressed himself to the tremblingprinces:—

“‘Learn here, at last,’ said he, ‘thevalue of those limbs, the power of using which you look upon withsuch thankless indifference. As it is with this youthto-day, so may it be with you to-morrow, if the decree goes forthfrom on high. Bid me not again return to your father totell him you are weary of a blessing, the loss of which wouldoverwhelm you with despair.’

“The young princes,” continued Aunt Judy, were, astheir father had said, but children yet; that is to say, althoughthey were fourteen or fifteen years old, they were childish, innot having reflected or learnt to reason. But they were nothard-hearted at bottom. Their tenderness for others hadnever been called out during their life of self-indulgence, butthe sight of this young man’s condition, whom theypersonally knew as one who had at times been permitted to come upand join in their games, over-powered them with dismay.

“They entreated the Hakim to say if nothing could bedone, and when he told them that a nurse, and better food, andthe discourse of a wise companion, were all essential for therecovery of the patient, there was not, to say the truth, oneamong them who was not ready with promises of assistance, andeven offers of personal help.

“And now, bidding adieu to this youthful sufferer, whosedistress seemed to receive a sudden calm from the sympathy theyoung princes betrayed, the Hakim led the way to another part ofthe town, where he entered a house of rather better description,in a small room of which they found a pale, middle-aged man, whowas engaged in making a coarse sort of netting for trees.Hearing the noise of the entrance, he looked up, and asked who itwas, but with no change of countenance, or apparent recognitionof anyone there. But as soon as the Hakim had uttered thewords ‘It is I,’ a gleam of delight stole over thepale face, and the man, rising from his chair, stretched out hisarms to the Hakim, entreating him to approach.

“And then the young princes saw that the pale man wasblind.

“‘Is there any change, oh Cassian?’ inquiredthe Hakim, kindly.

“‘None, my father,’ answered the blind man,in a subdued tone. ‘But shall I murmur at what isappointed? Surely not in vain was the privilege granted me,of transcribing the manuscripts which repose on the goldenshelves in the palace of the royal princes. Surely not invain did I gather, from the treasures of ancient wisdom, and thedivine songs of the poets, sources of consolation for thesuffering children of men.’

“‘And has anyone been of late to read toyou?’ asked the Hakim.

“But this inquiry the blind man seemed scarcely able toanswer. Big tears gathered into the sightless eyes, andfolding his hands across his bosom, he murmured out:—

“‘None, oh my father. Not to everyone is itpermitted to trace the characters of light in which the wise haverecorded their wisdom. I alone of my family knew thesecret. I alone suffer now. But shall I not submit tothis also with a cheerful spirit? It is written, and itbehoves me to submit.’

“And, with tears streaming over his cheeks, the blindman took up the netting which he had laid aside, and forcedhimself to the work.

“‘Seest thou!’ exclaimed the Dervish,turning to the prince who stood next him, apparently absorbed incontemplating the scene. ‘Seest thou how precious arethe powers thou hast wearied of in the spring-time of life?How dear are the opportunities thou hast not cared to delightin? Bid me not again return to the king, your father, totell him his sons can find no pleasure in blessings, thedeprivation of which they themselves would feel to be theshutting out of the sun from the soul.’

“Then the young prince to whom the Dervish addressedhimself, wept bitterly, and begged to be allowed to visit theblind man from time to time, and read to him out of themanuscripts that reposed on the golden shelves in the palace onthe hill; and which, he now learnt for the first time, had beentranscribed for his use, and that of his brothers, by the skillof the sufferer before him.

“And when the blind man clasped his hands over his head,and would have prostrated himself on the ground, in gratitude tohim who spoke, asking who the charitable pitier of the afflictedcould be, the prince embraced him as if he had been his brother,forced him back gently into his seat, and bidding him await himat that hour on the morrow, followed the Hakim from thehouse.

“And now the Dervish and Hakim spoke together onceagain, and the place they visited next was of a very differentdescription.

“Enclosed within walls, and limited in extent, becausein the outskirts of a populous town, the garden into which theypresently entered, was—though but as a drop in comparisonwith the ocean—no unworthy rival of the gorgeouspleasure-grounds of the palace. There, too, the rosesunfolded themselves in their glory to the sun, tiny fountainsscattered their cooling spray around, and singing-birds,suspended on overshadowing trees, of this scene of miniaturebeauty a venerable was perceived, seated under the shadow of anarbour, in front of a table on which were scattered manuscripts,papers, parchments, and dried plants, and in one corner of whichwere laid a set of tablets and writing materials.

“Although the door by which they entered had fallen to,with a noise as they passed through, the old man did not seem tobe aware of it, nor did he notice their presence until they cameso near, that their shadows fell on some of the papers on thetable. Then, indeed, he looked suddenly up, and with asmile and gesture of delight, bade them welcome.

“It was not difficult to divine that the old man hadlost the sense of hearing, and the Dervish, taking up the tabletsfrom the table, wrote upon them the following words, which heshowed to the young princes, before presenting them to him forwhom they were intended:—

“‘Hast thou not wearied yet, oh brother, of thynarrow garden, and the ever-recurring succession of flowers, andthy study of the secrets of Nature?’

“Whereat the deaf man smiled again, and wrote upon thetablets:—

“‘Can anyone weary of tracing out the skilfulprovidence of the Divine Mind? Is it not a world within aworld, oh my brother, and inexhaustible in itself?’

“The youngest prince pressed forward to read the answer,and having read it, turned to the Dervish, and said, ‘Askhim why the singing-birds are suspended in the garden, whosevoices he cannot hear.’

“‘Write on the tablet, my son,’ said theDervish; and when he had written it, the old man answered, in thesame manner as before:—

“‘I would remember my infirmity, my son, lest mysoul should be tied to the beauties of the visible world, but nowwhen I see the twittering bills of the feathered songsters, Iremember that one sense has departed, and that the others mustfollow; and I prepare myself for death, trusting that those whohave rejoiced in the Divine Mind—howeverimperfectly—here, may rejoice yet more hereafter, when nosense or power shall be wanting!’

“After this, the venerable old man led them to asecluded corner of the garden, where his young son wasinstructing one portion of a class of children from the secretsof his father’s manuscripts, while another set ofyoungsters were engaged in cultivating flowers, by regularinstruction and rule. Many a bright, cheerful face lookedup at the old man and his visitors as they passed, but no oneseemed to wish to leave his work, or his lesson, or the kindyoung tutor who ruled among them.

“‘We have wasted our lives, oh my father!’exclaimed the young princes, as they passed from thissight. ‘Tell us, may we not come back again here, tolearn true wisdom from this man and his son?’

“Having obtained the old man’s willing consent tohis, the Hakim retiring conducted his companions back into thestreets; and the young princes, whose eyes were now opened to theinstruction they were receiving, came up to the Dervish, andsaid:—

“‘Oh, wise Dervish, we have learnt the lesson youwould teach, and we know now that it is but a folly, and amockery, and a lie, when a man says that he has nothing todo. There is enough to do for all men, if their minds aredirected right! Have I not spoken well?’

“‘Thou hast spoken well according to thyknowledge,’ answered the Dervish, ‘but thou hast yetanother lesson to learn.’

“The prince was silenced, and the Dervish and Hakimhurried forward to a still different part of the city, whereseveral trades were carried on, and where in one place they cameupon an open square, about which a number of gaunt, wild-lookingmen, were lounging or sitting; unoccupied, listless, and sad.

“‘This is wrong, my father, is it not?’inquired one of the princes; but the Dervish, instead ofanswering him, addressed a man who was standing somewhat apartfrom the others, and inquired why he was loitering there inidleness, instead of occupying himself in some honest manner?

“The man laughed a bitter mocking laugh, and turning tohis companions, shouted out, ‘Hear what the wise manasks! When trade has failed, and no one wants our labour,he asks us why we stand idling here!’ Then, facingthe Dervish, he continued, ‘Do you not know, can you notsee, oh teacher of the blind, that we have got nothing todo?—Nothing to do!’ he repeated with aloud cry—‘Nothing to do! with hearts willingto work, and hands able to work,’—(here he stretchedout his bared, muscular arm to the Dervish,)—‘andwife and children calling out for food! Give ussomething to do, thou preacher of virtue andindustry,’ he concluded, throwing himself on the ground inanguish; ‘or, at any rate, cease to mock us with the solemninquiry of a fool.’

“‘Oh, my father, my father,’ cried the youngprinces, pressing forward, ‘this is the worst, the veryworst of all! All things can be borne, but this direreality of having nothing to do. Let us find themsomething to do. Let us tear up our gardens, plough up ourlawns, and pleasure-grounds, so that we do but find work forthese men, and save their children and wives fromhunger.’

“‘And themselves from crime,’ added theDervish solemnly. Then quitting his companions, he wentinto the crowd of men, and made known to them in a few hurriedwords, that, by the order of their young princes, there would,before another day had dawned, be something found to do for themall.

“The cheer of gratitude which followed thisannouncement, thrilled through the heart of those who had beenenabled to offer the boon, and so overpowered them, that, after aliberal distribution of coin to the necessitous labourers, theygladly hurried away.

“‘Now my task is ended,’ cried the Dervish,as they retraced their steps to the palace on the hill.‘My sons, you have seen the sacred sorrow which may attachto the bitter complaint of having Nothing to do.Henceforth seal your lips over the words, for, in all other casesbut this, they are, as you yourselves have said, a folly, amockery, and a lie.’

“It is scarcely necessary to add,” continued AuntJudy, “that the young princes returned to the palace in avery different state of mind from that in which they leftit. They had now so many things to do in prospect, so muchto plan and inquire about, that when the night closed upon them,they wondered how the day had gone, and grudged the necessaryhours of sleep. But on the morrow, just as they wereeagerly recommencing their left-off consultations, the Dervishappeared among them, and suggested that their first duty stillremained unthought of.

“The incomparable sons were now really surprised, forthey had been flattering themselves they were most laudablyemployed. But the Dervish reminded them, that, althoughtheir duty to mankind in general was great, their duty to theirfather in particular was yet greater, and that it behoved them toset his mind at rest, by assuring him, that henceforth they wouldnot prevent him from smoking his pipe in peace, by restlessdiscontent, and disturbing messages and wants.

“To this the young princes readily agreed, andthoroughly ashamed, on reflection, of the years of harass withwhich they, in their thoughtless ingratitude, had worried poorKing Schelim, they repaired to his presence, and without enteringinto unnecessary explanations, (which he would not haveunderstood,) assured him that they were perfectly happy, thatthey had got plenty to do, as well as everything to enjoy, thatthey were very sorry they had tormented him for so long a periodof his life, but that they begged to be forgiven, and would neverdo so again!

“King Schelim was uncommonly pleased with what theysaid, although he had to lay down his pipe for a few minutes toreceive their salutations, and give his in return; after whichthey returned to their palace on the hill, and led thenceforwarduseful, intelligent, and therefore happy lives, reforminggrievances, consoling sorrows, and taking particular care thateverybody had the opportunity of having something todo.

“And as they never again disturbed their father KingSchelim, with foolish messages, he smoked his pipe in peace tothe end of his days.”

“Nice old Schelim!” observed No. 8, when AuntJudy’s pause showed that the story was done. Aconclusion which made the other little ones laugh; but now AuntJudy spoke again.

“You like the story, all of you?”

Could there be a doubt about it? No!“Schelim, King of the Hills, and his four sons,” wasone of Aunt Judy’s very, very, very, best inventions.But they had the happy knack of always thinking so of the lastthey heard.

“And yet there is a flaw in it,” said AuntJudy.

“Aunt Judy!” exclaimed several voices at once, ina tone of expostulation.

“Yes; I mean in the moral:” pursued she,“there is no Christianity in the teaching, and therefore itis not perfect, although it is all very good as far as itgoes.”

“But they were eastern people, and I suppose Mahometansor Brahmins,” suggested No. 4.

“Exactly; and, therefore, I could not give themChristian principles; and, therefore, although I have made myfour princes turn out very well, and do what was right, for therest of their lives (as I had a right to do); yet it is onlyproper I should explain, that I do not believe any people can bedepended upon for doing right, except when they live uponChristian principles, and are helped by the grace of God, tofulfil His will, as revealed to us by His Son Jesus Christ.

“Certainly it is always more reasonable to doright than wrong, even when the wrong may seem most pleasant atthe moment; because, as all people of sense know, doing right ismost for their own happiness, as well as for everybodyelse’s, even in this world.

“But although the knowledge of this may influence uswhen we are in a sober enough state of mind to think about itcalmly, the inducement is not a sufficiently strong one to berelied upon as a safe-guard, when storms of passion and strongtemptations come upon us. In such cases it very often goesfor nothing, and then it is a perfect chance which way a personacts.

“Even in the matter of doing good to others, we need theChristian principle as our motive, or we may be often tempted togive it up, or even to be as cruel at some moments, as we arekind at others. It is very pleasant, no doubt, to do good,and be charitable, when the feeling comes into the heart, but themere pleasure is apt to cease, if we find people thankless orstupid, and that our labours seem to have been in vain. Andwhat a temptation there is, then, to turn away in disgust, unlesswe are acting upon Christ’s commands, and can bear in mind,that even when the pleasure ends, the duty remains.

“And now,” said Aunt Judy in conclusion, “akiss for the story-teller all round, if you please. She hashad an invitation, and is going from home to-morrow.”

“Oh, Aunt Judy!” ejacul*ted the little ones, innot the most cheerful of tones.

“Well,” cried Aunt Judy, looking at them andlaughing, “you don’t mean to say that you will notfind plenty to do, and plenty to enjoy while I amaway? Come, I mean to write to you all by turns, and Ishall inquire in my letters whether you have remembered, toyour edification, the story of Schelim, King of the Hills,and his four sons.”

FOOTNOTES

[47] “Weide,” pasture,grass.

***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUNT JUDY'S TALES***

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