The Adventures of Herr Baby Part 9

"Nice big house," said Baby, looking round; and as he caught sight of some of the waiters running about, he asked Lisa if "them was new servants instead of Thomas and Jones."

"Him likes Thomas and Jones best," he went on, the corners of his mouth going down again, so that Lisa was obliged to a.s.sure him the servants were not going to be _instead_ of Thomas and Jones, they were all only just going to stay one night at this big house, and to-morrow they would set off in the great ship to cross the sea.

The mention of the ship fortunately gave a new turn to Baby's thoughts; and he allowed Lisa to take him upstairs and warm him well before a good fire before she undressed him and put him to bed. The other children thought it great fun to sleep in strange rooms, in beds quite unlike those they had at home, and to have to hunt for their nightgowns and brushes and sponges in two or three _wrong_ carpet bags before they came to the right one; but Baby's spirits were rather depressed, and it was not easy to keep him from crying in the sad little way he had when his feelings were touched.

"He is tired, poor little chap," said auntie, as she kissed him for good-night. "It is ever so much later than he has ever been up before.

It is nearly ten."

"Him _were_ up till ten o'clock on Kissma.s.s," said Herr Baby, brightening up. "Him were up _dedful_ late, till, till, p'raps till near twenty o'clock."

Auntie would have liked to laugh, but she took care not, for when Baby was in this sort of humour there was no telling whether other people's laughing might not make him take to crying, so she just said,

"Indeed! That must have been _very_ late; well, go to sleep now, and sleep till twenty o'clock to-morrow morning, if you like. We don't need to start early," she added, turning to Lisa; and I think poor Lisa was not sorry to hear it!

If I were to go on telling you, bit by bit, all about the journey, and everything that happened big and little, it would take a good while, and I don't know that you would find it very interesting. Perhaps it is better to take a jump, as people do in real big story books, and to go on with Herr Baby's adventures a few days later, when he, and Denny, and Fritz, and Celia, and Lisa, and mother, and auntie, and grandfather, and the "bully," and the "calanies," and Tim, and Peepy-Snoozle, and Linley, mother's maid, and Peters, grandfather's man, and I forget if there was any one else, but I think not; and all the boxes and carpet-bags, and railway-rugs, were safely arrived at Santino, the pretty little town with mountains on one side and the sea on the other, where they were all going to spend the winter. I must not forget to tell you one thing, however, which, I daresay, some of you who may have crossed "over the sea," and _not_ found it very delightful, may be anxious to know about.

I mean about the voyage in the 'normous boat, which Baby had been so looking forward to, poor little fellow.

Well, wasn't it lucky, he was not at all disappointed? They had the loveliest day that ever was seen, and Baby thought 'normous boats far the nicest way of travelling, and he couldn't understand why grandfather couldn't make them go all the way to Santino in the nice boat, and when they explained to him that it couldn't be, because there was no sea for boats to go on all the way, he thought there must have been some great mistake in the way the world was made. And when they got to Santino, and the first thing he saw _was_ the sea, blue and beautiful like a fairy dream, Baby was quite startled.

"Mother, auntie!" he said, reproachfully, "you toldened him there weren't no sea."

"We didn't mean that, Baby, dear," said mother; "we meant that there was no sea to come the shortest way; we would have had to come all round the land, and it would have been much longer. Look, it is like this," and mother traced with her parasol a sort of map on the sand, to show Baby that they had come a much nearer way. For they were standing by the sea-sh.o.r.e at the time.

"Yes," said Herr Baby, after looking on without speaking for a minute or two, "him under'tands now."

"So you've had your first lesson in geography," said auntie.

Baby stared up at her.

"Are _that_ jography?" he said. "Him thought jography were awful, dedful difficult. Denny is so _werry_ c'oss when her has jography to learn."

"Oh, because, of course, you know," said Denny, getting rather red, "_my_ jography is _real_ jography, with books and maps and ever so long rows of names to learn. Baby's so stupid--he always takes up things so; he'll be thinking now that if he makes marks on the sand, he'll be learning jography."

Denny turned away with a very superior air. Baby looked much hurt.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Are _that_ jography?" he said.--P. 94.]

"Him's not stupid, _are_ him?" he said; and in a moment Celia and Fritz were hugging him and calling Denny a naughty, unkind girl to tease him.

Mother and auntie had walked on a little, so things _might_ have gone on to a quarrel if Lisa hadn't stopped it.

"Mine children," she said, "it is too pity to be not friendly together.

See what one beautifullest place this is--sky so blue and sea so blue, and all so bright and sunny. One should be nothing but happy here."

"Yes," said Celia, looking round, "it is an awfully pretty place."

Celia, you see, was just beginning to be old enough to notice really beautiful things in a way that when children are _very_ little, they cannot quite understand, though some do much more than others.

"It is a _very_ pretty place," she said again, as if she were speaking to herself, for Fritz and Denny had taken it into their heads to run races, of which Lisa was very glad, and Celia stood still by herself, looking round at the lovely sea and sky, and the little white town perched up above, with the mountains rising behind. Suddenly a little hand was slipped into hers.

"Him would like to live here everways," said Baby's voice; "it _are_ so pitty--somefin like Heaven, p'raps."

"I don't know," said Celia, "I suppose Heaven must be prettier than anything we could fancy."

"There's gold streets in Heaven, Lisa says," said Baby; "him sinks blue sky streets would be much pittier."

"So do I," said Celia.

Then they walked on a little, watching Fritz and Denny, already like two black specks in front--they had run on so far--and, somehow, in the _very_ bright sunshine, one seemed to see less clearly. Mother and auntie were in front too, and when Fritz and Denny raced back again, quite hot and out of breath, mother said it was time for them all to go in; it was still rather too hot to be out much near the middle of the day, though it was already some way on in November, and next month would be the month that Christmas comes in!

"How funny it seems," said Celia. "Why, when we left home it was quite winter. Just think how we were wrapped up when we started on the journey, and now we're quite warm enough with nothing at all over our frocks."

"It may be cold enough before long," said mother, who was more accustomed to hot climates than the children; "sometimes the cold hereabouts comes quite suddenly, and it even seems colder from having been so warm before. I daresay you will be glad of your thick clothes before Christmas. But we must get on a little quicker, or else grandfather will be in a hurry for his breakfast."

"Ganfather's werry lazy not to have had him's breakfast yet," said Baby. "_Him's_ had _him's_ breakfast ever so long ago, hundreds of years ago."

"Oh, Baby," said Denny, "how you do 'saggerate! It _couldn't_ have been hundreds of years ago, because, you know, you weren't born then."

"Stupid girl!" said Baby, "how does you know? you wasn't there."

"Well, _you_ weren't there," said Denny again.

"Children, don't contradict each other. It's not nice," said auntie.

"Him didn't begin," said Baby, "t'were Denny beginned."

"I didn't. I only said _once_ that Baby wasn't born hundreds of years ago," said Denny, "and then he----"

"Onst is as wurst as twicet," said Baby.

Mother turned round at this. There was a funny look on her face, but still she spoke rather gravely.

"Baby, I don't know what's coming over you," she said. "It isn't like you to speak like that."

Baby's face grew red, and he turned his head away.

"Him didn't mean _zeally_ that ganfather were lazy," he said, in a low voice.

"It wasn't _that_ I was vexed with you for," said mother. "I know you were joking when you said that. I meant what you said to Denny."

"Him's werry sorry," said Baby, on the point of tears.

"Never mind. Don't cry about it," said mother, who really wanted the children to be very good and happy this first day. And she was a little afraid of Baby's beginning to cry, for, _sometimes_, once he had begun, it was not very easy to stop him.

"You don't understand about grandfather and his breakfast," said auntie.

"Here n.o.body has big breakfast when they first get up except you children, who have the same that you have at home."

"No we don't," said Denny. "At home we have bread and milk every day except Sunday--on Sunday we have bacon or heggs, because that's the nothing-for-breakfast day."