The Boys And I Part 9

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER VI.

WE TRY TO BE GOOD.

"Our sister is quite in her glory, When telling us nice little tales."

[Ill.u.s.tration: He was not a very amusing person.]

As ill-luck would have it, this day also was wet and dreary. I don't know that Mrs. Partridge or Sarah regretted it, for if it had been fine one of the servants would have had to take us out for a walk. But we were very sorry. Anything would have been better than another long dreary day up in the dull nursery. Still we had some variety to-day, for our tutor came to give us our first lesson, which took up two hours. He was not a very amusing person; he was very thin and tired-looking, but he was perfectly gentle, so we liked him well enough. We liked him too for another reason. He said that we were very well on for our ages; and as mother had always taught us herself, we felt quite pleased for him to say so. He left us some lessons to do for the next day, but not much.

Long before the afternoon was half over we had finished them, and were wondering whatever we could get to do to help us through all the hours that still remained. This was not a day for Uncle Geoff seeing people in his house, so we had not even the fun of listening to the carriages stopping, and the bell ringing, and trying to peep at the ladies and gentlemen getting out. Sarah was rather kind--she came in and out to see us as often as she could, but of course she had a great deal of work to do, and she said Mrs. Partridge made her work even harder than she needed. Mrs. Partridge did not come up-stairs again herself all day, and of that we were very glad-- I suppose she found the stairs too much for her.

Before the end of that afternoon, I think we had changed our minds about wishing we might have no nurse. Even a rather cross nurse would have been better than none at all. It was very tiresome every time we wanted anything to have to fetch it ourselves, or to have to run out to the landing and stand there till Sarah happened to come in sight. There was no bell in the nursery, at least it was broken, but even if it hadn't been, we shouldn't have dared to ring it. And two b.u.t.tons came off Racey's boot--both off the same boot, just out of tiresomeness--and he couldn't keep it on properly, and he had to wear cloth boots in the house, because the winter before he had had such bad chilblains, so I had to try to sew them on, and you don't know how I p.r.i.c.ked my fingers!

I do think there is nothing so horrible as sewing on boot b.u.t.tons.

And then when Tom and I were doing our writing for Mr. Lingard--that was our tutor--for the next day, Tom would pull the ink close over to him, and I pulled it back to me, and we both got cross, and the end of it was that the ink was all spilt over the table; and oh! it made such a big black pool, and then little streams of it began running to the edge, and would have fallen on to the carpet.

"Oh," said Tom, "I'll wipe it up;" and up he jumped to fetch something to wipe it with, and before I could see what he was about, what do you think he had done? He had seized my Lady Florimel's opera cloak, which was lying on a chair--of course it _shouldn't_ have been lying about, I know--and scrubbed up the ink with it all in a minute. The cloak was black silk outside, so he thought it was just a piece of black stuff lying about--but inside it was lovely pale pink, and of course it was quite spoilt. I was so vexed that I began to cry, and then Tom was dreadfully sorry, and came and hugged and kissed me, and so we made friends again, and the ink spilling sent away our quarrelling any way.

And perhaps it was better for Lady Florimel's cloak to be spoilt, than for the carpet, for then we should have had a very great scolding from Mrs. Partridge. It didn't matter for the table, as it just had an oilcloth cover that would not stain. And when we had made friends again, we all climbed up on to the window-sill, and began to wonder what we should do.

"Tom," said Racey, pressing his face flat against the window, so as to see out better, "Tom, have you seen the air-garden?"

"The air-garden," repeated Tom, "what do you mean?"

"He means that little sticking out gla.s.s place," I explained, "with flowers and plants in--there, further down on the other side."

"A preservatory," said Tom, rather contemptuously, "why, who would think what you meant, if you say a' air-garden?"

"_I_ zink it's a much prettier name than 'servatory," said Racey indignantly.

I began to be afraid of getting into quarrelling again just from having nothing to do; the big clock on the stair which we could hear from the nursery, had struck only three a few minutes before, and there was still a whole hour to tea. The boys were really tired of all their toys, and I didn't care to play with my dolls. The misfortune to Lady Florimel's cloak had put me out of conceit of them for the present.

"Let's tell each other stories," I said.

"Don't know none," said Tom.

"Well, make them up," said I.

"I know lots," remarked Racey.

"Well, you begin then," said I.

"Oh no," objected Tom, "Racey's stories are _so_ silly. You tell us one, Audrey, and I'll think of one while you are telling it."

"Thank you--how much would you listen to mine, if you were making one yourself all the time?"

"Oh but I _would_ listen--_dear_ Audrey, your stories are always so nice," said Tom, coaxingly; but Racey was so offended at Tom saying his stories were stupid, that he wouldn't speak at all.

"Well, I'll tell one if you'll let Racey tell one too. I don't think his are stupid at all. And if you can think of one, you can tell yours too.

Let's all be quiet for five minutes to think of them."

"Mine's all ready," said Racey. "It's about a----"

"Hush, you're not to tell till it's your turn," said Tom sharply, so that Racey looked offended again; and I was in such a hurry to stop their quarrelling, that I had to begin my story before I had got it half settled. I mean before I had thought quite how to tell it rightly, for the story itself was true, as mother had told it me herself.

"Tom and Racey," I said, "I don't think you ever heard the story I am going to tell you. Mother told it to me one day when you weren't in the room. It is about mother's G.o.dmother when she was a little girl."

"Mother's G.o.dmother's little girl," said Tom, looking rather puzzled.

"No, of course not, you stupid boy," said I, at which Tom looked offended. It seemed as if we couldn't get out of the way of quarrelling that afternoon, and the minute I had said it, I was sorry. "Oh, dear Tom, don't be vexed. I didn't mean to call you stupid," I said, quickly.

"I'll tell you how I mean. Mother had a G.o.dmother, you know, just like you have Uncle Geoff for your G.o.dfather. And mother was called after her G.o.dmother, whose name was like mother's of course, as she was called after her. Well, this G.o.dmother was partly French and partly English, and of course when she was young, before she was grown up, she was a little girl, just like everybody else."

"Except boys," said Tom very seriously. He was anxious to show me that he was giving his whole attention. "When men are little they're boys, not girls."

"Of course," I said again. "Well, any way, you see now how I mean--this lady, Madame----I forget her last name, it's very hard to say, I'll call her Marie, for that was her first name, and of course when she was little she wasn't called Madame----, well when she was little, she was taken for a visit to her grandmother, who lived in France."

"Didn't she live in France herself?" said Tom; "I thought you said she was French."

"She was partly French--not all. No, I don't think she lived in France.

They took her there for a visit, so she couldn't have been living there.

She went to stay with her grandmother, I told you, and her grandmother lived in a queer old town, that was as old as--as old as--" I stopped to think of the oldest thing I knew.

"As old as old," suggested Tom.

"As old as twenty grandmothers, all top of each 'nother," said Racey.

This was thought very witty, and we spent a minute or two in laughing at it. Then I started again. "Well, never mind how old it was, any way it was very old, for mother told me she had once been there herself, and the churches and houses were all like old castles, the walls were so thick, and the stones they were made of so grey and worn-looking. And in this old town once a year, there was a great, great, big fair--you know what I mean, boys--people used to come from ever so far, bringing things to sell, and all the biggest streets were set out with little wooden shops, with all the things in. There were even Turkish and Chinese people selling things; and all the people in the town, and the country people round about, used to look forward all the year to the things they would buy at this fair. It wasn't all for buying though; there were lots of show things, animals you know, shows of lions and tigers, and snakes and monkeys, and other shows, like circuses--ladies and gentlemen all dressed up, and even little children riding round and round on beautiful horses, and sometimes dancing up in the air on ropes. And there were music places, and lots of shops too, where you could get nice things to eat--altogether it was very nice. Marie used to go out for a walk every day with her nurse, and she always pulled and pulled till she came the way to where the fair was. But her grandmother told the nurse she must never take Marie to the fair without _her_, because there were sometimes such crowds and crowds of people, that the grandmother was afraid Marie might get hurt some way. Marie cried the day her grandmother said that, because she wanted very much to go to spend some money that some one had sent her, or given her; perhaps her father had sent it her in a letter for her birthday--I think that was it. She was only five years old, quite a little girl, so it was no wonder she cried. And so her grandmother promised she would take her the next day if it was fine; and it was fine, so Marie set off to the fair with her grandmother, and her nurse walked behind. It must have been a _very_ funny place mother told me, for besides all the Turkey people, and Chinese, and Spanish, and all that, there were all the funny dresses of the country people themselves.

The women had high caps, all stuck up with wires, and bright coloured skirts, and velvet bodies. I know what they were like, because mother had a doll once that her G.o.dmother had sent her dressed that way, and mother remembered it quite. I wish we could see a picture of that fair now, don't you, Tom? how funny it would be, and even that little Marie's dress would look funny and old-fashioned now!"

"What would it be like?" said Tom.

"I don't know. I dare say it would be something like the little tiny pictures there used to be in the drawing-room, hanging up in velvet cases on the wall--mini--something mother called them, of papa's aunts when they were little. They had white frocks, and blue sashes, tied right under their arms, and their hair all curling."

"Oh yes, I remember," said Tom. "Go on, Audrey, I can fancy Marie quite well."

"Well, she went trotting along beside her grandmother, and she was very pleased, because she had her money to spend, and she was a very pretty little girl, so everybody looked at her. And she was very nicely dressed, and her hair was beautiful; I was forgetting that, for it has to do with the story--long, long curls of bright light hair down her back. And she bought with her money a very pretty little basket with roses painted outside; and after a while, when they had looked at all the shops, her grandmother thought it was time to go home. They had to pa.s.s through a very crowded place, where a lot of people were standing to see some kind of show, and Marie's grandmother said to the nurse, 'Wait a minute, the crowd will be going, for the show is just over.' So the nurse, who had Marie's hand, stepped back just a little bit to wait, and Marie, seeing her grandmother just in front pulled away from the nurse to get beside her grandmother. But just then--they were standing like at the edge of the crowd, you know--Marie caught sight of a funnily dressed up dog, that a man had on a table, and that he was making bow to the people that pa.s.sed. Meaning to come back in a moment, Marie darted away to see the dog, and just for a little while the nurse didn't miss her, thinking she was with her grandmother, for she had said when she pulled away her hand, 'I want to go to grandmother,' and of course her grandmother didn't miss her, thinking she was behind with the nurse.

Marie was so pleased with the dog that she stood for a minute or two looking at it, and laughing to herself at its tricks. And then she heard some one saying to her, in French of course--she could speak both French and English--'Oh, what pretty hair the young lady has! Oh, what a charming young lady!' And when she turned round she saw the person that was speaking to her was a gipsy-looking girl--of course Marie was too little to know that she was gipsy-looking--but she remembered that she had very dark hair and eyes, and a bright scarlet dress, and shiny gold things about her head. She must have been one of the rope-dancing players, mother told me, for afterwards her grandmother noticed that their tent was close by the dancing dog place. Little Marie looked up at the girl without speaking. Then the girl said to her, 'I have two little dogs that dance much better than that. Will the young lady come with me to see them?'

"She held out her hand, but Marie would not take her hand, because she thought it was dirty. She wanted dreadfully to see the two dogs though, so she said to the girl, 'You show me where, and I'll come, and then you must take me back to my grandmother.'

"'Oh yes,' said the girl, 'you come after me, and then, when you've seen the dogs, I'll take you back to your grandmother.'

"So the girl turned another way and went in among the tents, like at the back of them, and Marie went after her. The girl walked quick, but she kept looking back to see if Marie was coming. Marie was coming as fast as she could, when all of a sudden, close to her it seemed, she heard the most awful big noise she had ever heard in her life; a roar, so dreadfully loud, that it seemed to shake the ground like thunder. Marie knew what it was, for when she had been at the fair before, alone with her nurse, she had heard it, though never so near, and her nurse had told her it was the lion, the great big lion they had in the animal show place."

"Oh Audrey," Racey interrupted, coming close up to me and cuddling his face into my shoulder, "don't tell stories about lions. It does so f'ighten me."

"Lubbish," said Tom, "do go on, Audrey. It's lovely." (Why Tom always said "lubbish" for "rubbish" I'm sure I don't know, for he could say his _r_'s well enough.)