Aunt Judy's Tales Part 19

Tender-hearted and impulsive, if thoughtless, the spirit of No. 3 had been moved within him at the spectacle of the gaunt old woman in this hour of her lonely suffering.

Poor "Tawny Rachel!" The children had called her so, from the heroine of Mrs. Hannah More's tale, because of those dark gipsy eyes of hers, which had formerly given such a fine expression to her handsome but melancholy face. Melancholy, because care-worn from the long life's struggle for daily bread, for a large indulged family, who scarcely knew, at the day of her death, that she had worn herself out for their sakes.

Poor "Tawny Rachel!" She was one day asked by a well-meaning shopkeeper, of whom she had purchased a few goods, WHERE SHE THOUGHT SHE WAS GOING TO?"

"Tawny Rachel" turned her sad eyes upon her interrogator, and made answer:-

"Going to? why where do you think I'm going to, but to Heaven?-- 'Deed! where do you think I'm going to, but to Heaven?" she repeated to herself slowly, as if to recover breath; and then added, "I should like to know who Heaven is for, if not for such as me, that have slaved all their lives through, for other folk;" and so saying, Tawny Rachel turned round again, and went away.

Poor "Tawny Rachel!" The theology was imperfect enough; but so had been her education and advantages. Yet as surely as her scrupulous, never-failing honesty, and unmurmuring self-denial, must have been inspired by something beyond human teaching; so surely did it prove no difficult task to her spiritual guide, to lead her onwards to those 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," and so--he had "come off at once."

"At once!"--the exclamation came from Aunt Judy, who had entered the room, and was listening to the account. "Why, No. 3, you must have been there an hour at least. And nevertheless I dare say you have forgotten about the Doctor."

"The Doctor!" cried No. 3, laughing,--"It's the Doctor who has kept me all this time. You never heard such fun in your life,--only he's an awful old rascal, I must say!"

Mamma and Aunt Judy gazed at No. 3 in bewilderment. The respectable old village pract.i.tioner, who had superintended all the deceases in the place for nearly half a century--to be called "an awful old rascal" at last! What could No. 3 be thinking of?

Certainly not of the respectable village pract.i.tioner, as he soon explained, by describing the arrival at Tawny Rachel's cottage 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 old woman, listening to the account of her aches and pains, some one looked in at the door, and asked if she wanted anything; but, before she could speak, remarked how ill she seemed, and said he could give her something to do her good. "Judy!" added No. 3, breaking suddenly off; "he looked 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 she was to have it, for she had nothing to pay for it with. I had a shilling in my pocket, and was just going to offer it, when I recollected he would most likely do her more harm than good. But the gentleman with the white beard walked in immediately, 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 it all."

"My dear No. 3!" repeated mamma once more.

"Yes, I know she can't be cured, mother, and I think she knows it too; but still she 'TOOK IT VERY KIND,' as she called it, of him, and asked him if he would like to 'rest him' a bit by the fire, and the gentleman accepted the invitation; and there we all three sat, for really I quite enjoyed seeing him, and he began to warm his hands, remarking that the young gentleman--that was I, you know--looked very well. Oh, Judy, I very nearly said 'Thank you, Dr. Faustus,' but I only laughed and nodded, and really did hold my tongue; and then the two began to talk, and it was as good as any story you ever invented, Aunt Judy. Tawny Rachel was very inquisitive, and asked him:-

"'You've come a long way, sir, I suppose?'

"'Yes, ma'am; I'm a great traveller, and have been so a many years.'

"'It's a wonder you have not settled before now.'

"'I might have settled, ma'am, a many times.'

"'Ah, when folks once begin wandering, they can't settle down. You were, maybe, brought up to it.'

"'I was brought up to something a deal better than that, ma'am.'

"'You was, sir? It's a pity, I'm sure.'

"'My father was physician to Queen Elizabeth, ma'am, a many years.'"

When No. 3 arrived at this point of the dialogue, mamma and Aunt Judy both exclaimed at once, and the former repeated once more the expostulatory "My dear No. 3!" which delighted No. 3, who proceeded to a.s.sure them that he had himself interrupted the travelling quack here, by suggesting that it was Queen Charlotte he meant.

"Old Queen Charlotte, you know, Judy, that No. 1 was telling the children about the other day."

But the "gentleman," as No. 3 called him, had turned very red at the doubt thus thrown on his accuracy, and put a rather threatening croak into his voice, as he said:-

"Asking your pardon, young gentleman, I know what I'm saying, and it was Queen Elizabeth, and not Charlotte nor anybody else!"

No. 3 described that he felt it best, after this, to hold his tongue and say no more, so Tawny Rachel put in her word, and remarked, it was a wonder the queen hadn't made their fortunes; on which the gentleman turned rather red again, and said that the queen did make their fortune, but wouldn't let them keep it, for fear they should be too great and too rich--that was it! This statement required a little explanation, but the gentleman was ready with all particulars.

The queen used to pay his father by hundreds of pounds at a time, because that was due to him, but being jealous of his having so much money, she always set some one to take it away from him as he left the place! So that was the reason why these was no fortune put by for him after his father died, and that was the reason why he couldn't very well settle at first, though everybody wished him to stay, and SO he took to travelling; for his father had left him all his secrets, and he was qualified to practise anywhere, and had cured some thousands of sick folks up and down!

No. 3 declared that he had not made the old man's account 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 in the man or the bottle, he had himself helped her to the first dose, and had then begun to talk about the creature comforts before described, the very mention of which seemed to cheer the old lady's heart, and to interest her at least as much as the biography of the travelling quack.

"So now, mother," concluded he, "order the gruel, and we'll give three cheers for Queen Elizabeth, and Dr. Faustus--eh, Judy? But I do think the poor old thing ought not to take that man's poisonous rubbish; so here's my shilling, and welcome, if you'll give some more, and let us send for a real doctor."

The "nothing-to-do" morning had nearly slipped away, between the conversation with Aunt Judy, and the visit to Tawny Rachel; and when, soon after, a friend called to take No. 3 off on a fossil hunt, and he had to s.n.a.t.c.h a hasty morsel before his departure, he declared he was like the poor governess in the song, 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 a capital fellow, Judy," he added, kissing her, "and you'll tell me a story when I come back;"

and off he ran, shutting his ears to Aunt Judy's declaration that she only 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 to his especial amus.e.m.e.nt only. So, after arguing the point for a time, he very wisely yielded, and declared at last that he would be a "little one" too, and listen to a "little one's" story, if Aunt Judy would tell one.

It was rather late when this was settled, and the little ones had stayed up-stairs to play at a newly-invented game--bazaars--in the nursery; but when No. 3 strode in with the announcement of the story, there was a shout of delight, followed by the old noisy rush down- stairs to the dining-room.

It is not a bad thing to be a "little one" now and then in spirit.

People would do well to try and be so oftener. Who that has looked upon a picture of himself as a "little one," has not wished that he could be restored to the "little one's" spirit, the "little one's"

innocence, the "little one's" hopeful trust? "Of such is the kingdom of Heaven!" And though none of us would like to 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 once were, would fain, very fain, if we could, lie down to sleep, and awake a "little one" again.

Never, perhaps, is the sweet mercy of an early death brought so closely home to our apprehension, as when the grown-up, care-worn man looks upon the image of himself as a child.

Happily, however--nay, more than happily, MERCIFULLY--the grown-up man, if he do but put on the humility, may gain something of the peace of a "little one's" heart!

Aunt Judy had twisted up a roll of muslin for a turban on her head by the time they came down, "for," said she, "this is to be an eastern tale, and I shall not be inspired--that is to say, I shall not get on a bit--unless there is a costume and manners to correspond, so you three little ones squat yourselves down Turkish-fashion on the floor, with your legs tucked under you. There now! that's something like, and I begin to feel myself in the East. Nevertheless, I am rather glad there is no critical Eastern traveller at hand, listening through the key-hole to my blunders.

However, errors excepted, here is the wonderful story of

'THE KING OF THE HILLS AND HIS FOUR SONS.'

"A great many years ago, in a country which cannot be traced upon the maps, but which lies somewhere between the great rivers Indus and Euphrates, lived Schelim, King of the Hills.