|
Citation |
- Permanent Link:
- https://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00084073/00001
Material Information
- Title:
- The story shop for the little folk
- Creator:
- Molesworth, 1839-1921
Nister, Ernest ( Publisher, Printer )
E.P. Dutton (Firm) ( Publisher )
- Place of Publication:
- London
New York
- Publisher:
- Ernest Nister
E.P. Dutton & Co.
- Publication Date:
- [1896?]
- Language:
- English
- Physical Description:
- 1 v (unpaged) : ill. (some col.) ; 21 cm.
Subjects
- Subjects / Keywords:
- Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh ) Storytelling -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh ) Children's stories ( lcsh ) Children's stories -- 1896 ( lcsh ) Bldn -- 1896
- Genre:
- Children's stories
novel ( marcgt )
- Spatial Coverage:
- England -- London
United States -- New York -- New York
Germany -- Bavaria
- Target Audience:
- juvenile ( marctarget )
Notes
- General Note:
- Date of publication from inscription.
- Statement of Responsibility:
- stories by Mrs. Molesworth and others.
Record Information
- Source Institution:
- University of Florida
- Holding Location:
- University of Florida
- Rights Management:
- This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
- Resource Identifier:
- 026973100 ( ALEPH )
ALH8519 ( NOTIS ) 232332290 ( OCLC )
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Full Text |
Stories by - |
pe sens
and off ers
eps Lendon:. ; ae : New York: 2 wes
--€rnest. Nister — : Ivinted in Bavaria, €.P. Dutton & C2 |
THE STORY SHOP.
'M tired of keeping the Stores,†grumbled —
Evelyn. “We've sold all the things over
and over again, and I’m sick of adding up
“ six apples and one pear. It is like a French
exercise.†oe
“But we haven't anything else to sell!â€
cried Tim, dumping down the umbrella he carried. “And
what can we do? Shall we play croquet?†|
“TI fate croquet,’ growled Evelyn, who did _ not,
manage her mallet well. ‘“Can’t you tell me a story’
instead?†Le
“T don't know any but Cinderella and——â€
“Tm sick of Cinderella,†interrupted Evelyn impa-:
tiently; ‘that’s like Nurse. She always tells you
Cinderella, or Red Riding Hood—only she won't let
the wolf eat up Granny, which is silly. I’m sure he did!â€
“Oh! I’m sure he didn't,’ cried Tim, distressed.
“Granny had gone to her marketing. But I wish—I
wish’ somebody would keep a Story Shop, where we
could buy stories for brown-paper pennies, like we do
when we play at the Stores.†. ;
ae Mother.
“A Story Shop!†exclaimed Evelyn. “I say, what
a jolly idea! Let’s go and ask Mother—or Auntie—she
knows lots.â€
That was how it began—the Story Shop I mean.
It opened.every afternoon, as soon as lessons were finished,
and lasted till tea-time. Auntie did a roaring trade,
so much so that she had to raise her price for stories
“out of her own head.’ Those were twopence, but
“Bluebeard†or the “White Cat,†or “Beauty and the
Beast†might be had for one penny.. And Mother gave
out the pennies according to the marks gained during
lessons.
_“T want a twopenny story this afternoon, please,
Auntie,’ said Tim one day, displaying two brown-
paper coins.
“Yes—a nice /ong twopenny story,’ put in Eyelyn;
“not a scrimpy one, Auntie.†;
“Very well,â€: said Auntie, “you shall have good
measure, I premise you. I will just run up to my
room and get a paper that I found ‘the other day.â€
“All right, Auntie; don’t, be long,†said Tim, as he
ran to open the door for her, and then he saw his
Mother with Baby on her back, just going to give her »
a pick-a-back up-stairs, as she sometimes did. .
“Please let Baby come and listen to Auntie’s story,â€
‘cried Evelyn; “we are going to have a nice twopenny one.â€
“Would you like to go with them, Baby?†asked
“No; me want piggy-back,†she answered.
Just then Auntie came running down-stairs with
some closely written sheets of paper in her hand, and,
once more taking her seat, explained that the story she
was going to read them was written “‘years and years
ago†when she and their father were quite little children.
Then she began.
Aluntie’s Dinner Party.
TT Nat takes a thing in his head he is pretty
determined, I can tell you. He is not seven
yet and I am eight past, but he leads me—he does indeed.
I’ve heard Nurse say so, and it’s quite true. Nat’s real
name is Stanley—not Nathaniel, like the man in the
Bible. How he came to be “Nat†was that I couldn't
say Stanley, and first I said “Tat,†and then somehow it
got to “Nat.†My own name’s Eleanor, and I’m called
Nell. Nat and Nell go very well together—or Nell and
Nat, as I’m a girl and the eldest too.
Last year we were staying at Auntie Bab’ Bah is
the short for Barbara, and we always call her. Auntie
Bab, because Barbara is so long. Auntie hasn't got any
children, but we lke staying with her quite as much as
if she had, for she understands all about us, and all we :
like and don’t like, just as well as if we belonged to her.
And Uncle Stanley is very kind too. We are going to
stay there again soon, but last year was the first time.
The worst of it is that when we come home everybody.
will say we're spoilt. Not so much Mamma, but Nurse
says it awfully. I think what made her say it the worst
was something that “happenedâ€; it was really something
we did. I do ~
so wish, and
so does. Nat,’
that Nurse had
never ~ heard
of it, for even
now, when it’s —
all past. and
forgiven, she
has a way
of shaking . it
over us- that
we really can't
bear. .
And after
all it wasn't |
anything so very naughty —=it wasn't like hurting - anybody
or telling a story. But when Nurse is vexed with us
about anything else she’s sure to begin about it, and
every time it sounds worse. That’s why I’m. going to
write it down—exactly—for when Rosv and Baby grow
older I would not like—most certainly not, and Nat
wouldn't either—-for them to be told a OY of us as if
we had been really bad villains,
“Do you think: we meant to steal the spoons and
forks then?†I said to Nurse, the last time she was going
on about it. And then she said I was impertinent!
She’s very good on the whole—Mamma would not
have her for us if she wasn’t; but she’s got a funny
temper, and she works herself up.
So I made up my mind to write it all out and then
show it to Auntie Bab, who really knows the whole
story. And she’s going to correct it, ‘specially the
spelling—and then she’s going to’ write it out for me to
copy in my own writing (it’ll take a good while, but I
don’t mind), and when it’s done she'll make a nice paper
cover for it, with the name outside like a real book..
It was all because of a dinner-party.
- Auntie often had dinner-parties, but that time last
year when we were staying with her she hadn't had any
for a good while. Uncle Stanley’s mother had died, and
they were in mourning. .
She did not mean to have any while we were there,
for her house is not a very big one, and Mamma had not
sent a maid with us. It was partly because several of
our servants at home had been ill that Auntie offered to’
have us.
She did spoil us a little, I think. Every day she let
us come into “pudding†at late dinner. It had begun with
dessert, but one day we were waiting outside too. soon,
and Uncle caught sight of us, and made us come in, and
after that we always did. .
It was lovely; it really was. I don’t think there was
anything at Auntie’s that we liked quite as much as the
coming into “pudding.†It wasn’t out of greediness, though
of course we always did get something nice to eat, but it
was the grown-up-ness. The servants were so polite, and
;
a
a oS
co ee
Hy
“I've got a secret to tell you.â€
the table looked so pretty, and everything was so regular.
There was very seldom any one there besides Uncle and
Auntie, though once or twice there was a gentleman, and
‘once a gentleman-and lady, which spoilt it a /:#/e, as of
course we didn’t speak much, except one time when an
awfully nice man was there who taught us the most
lovely tricks, with table-napkins and wine-glasses and all
sorts of things. He was really like a—you know what I
‘mean—men who make you see things that aren't there,
and pull eggs and roses out of your pockets, and all
that—I do hope he will come to Auntie’s again when —
we are there. Pa
But one day Auntie said to us: “Nat and Nell, my
dears, I cannot invite you to ‘pudding’ to-morrow for J
am going to have a dinner-party. I should have liked
-you to be with me in the drawing-room before dinner,
but on the whole I think it will be better not.â€
“And mayn’t we come in to dessert?†asked Nat.
Auntie shook her head.
“T’m afraid not, dears,†she said, “it would be too
late; and then, you see, it’s a dinner-party, a regular
dinner-party.’’ i
Nat didn’t say anything, and I don’t think I. would
have thought any more about the party but for him. He
was very quiet all day; that’s his way when he’s planning.
But he waited till the next morning before telling me his
secret, and it never came into my head that he was planning.
It was just after breakfast that he made me go into
a quiet corner with him to have a talk.
“Nell,†he began, “I’ve got a secret to tell you.
You'll not tell it?â€
That was how he began always, and sometimes I'd
get into scrapes through it. So I considered. After all
I might as well promise, for if I didn’t I'd never know.
And it was better I. should know.
“No,†I said, “I won’t tell.â€
“And you "ul join in the plan?â€
“T don’t know about that,†I said. “Not if its
anything naughty.†SP inane.
— “Tt adsn't naughty,†he said; “it can’t do anybody
any harm, and that’s all right, isn’t it?â€
“Well, yes, I suppose so,’ I said.
“Then listen,†he began, and as he went on I
did open my eyes I can tell you.
This was the grand scheme—Nat had ade up his
‘mind that he and I should be at Auntie’s dinner-party.
It wasn’t to be any dressing up or tricks like that—of
course, we couldn't have dressed up to be like grown-
up people—it was a very simple plan indeed, We were
to hide under the dining-room table—that was all!
“Nat had settled it all. It was a very good thing
we were not to be in the drawing-room before dinner,
wasn't it? Auntie’s maid, who. generally helped us to
undress, was going to be busy, so we told her that
afternoon that we could manage without her, and she
was quite pleased.
“TIL just look in to see that you are comfortable
in bed,†she said, ‘ ‘after the company’s gone to dinner.â€
‘All right,’ said Nat, his eyes sparkling in a queer way,
which meant another plan. That was to make two dummies
in our two beds, which he did as soon as we had said
good-night to Auntie, who was dressing in her room.
“Good night, my pets,’ she said. ‘You are very
good, and to-morrow night you. shall have an. extra -
nice dessert, to make up.†:
We felt rather funny. But we did not mean to eat
anything, so Nat repeated to me that there really couldn't
be any harm in it.
“We'll just go quietly up- stairs to bed,†he said,
“after they've all left the dining-room. We'll watch for
a chance when the servants are out of the room. And
of course we won't touch any of the dessert. Only,
~ you see, Nell, we shall really know what a dinner- pay
as leke.â€
~ Strange to say, all turned out as Nat had arranged—we
_watched our opportunity and made our. way down-stairs
when everything on the table was ready and the servants
had nothing to do but light the candles, Nat had already
hidden two comfortable hassocks for us, so we crept
in—under, I should say, and settled ourselves well in
the middle, where nobody could see us. For the table-
cloth was very large and hung deeply over the edges.
All the same, my heart did beat pretty fast, I can
tell you, and when the rustling of dresses and _ the
sound of voices told us that Uncle and Auntie and all
_ the other ladies and gentlemen ‘were really coming, I
almost felt as if I must scream out. |
But I didn’t—I stayed quite still—for one thing,
I knew that if I moved in the least Nat would pinch
me awfully, for he had settled himself so that he could
have a good nip at my leg. And I tried to hear what
all the people were saying, but it seemed all a buzz,
and though I would have liked to crawl round, stroking
the ladies’. soft shiny dresses and trying to see which
had the prettiest slippers, I daren’t, for fear of Nat—
and after a bit it did get rather dull. . For I was
hungry, and the beautiful scents of the nice things were
dreadfully tempting, and then it was so hot! I wanted
to do something wild—like pinching somebody, or
squeaking like a dog or a cat—and. at last I don't
know what I'd have done, if, all of. a sudden, just
when the talking happened to have got rather quieter,
the most awful thing hadn't happened. There came the
loudest snore you can fancy from Nat! He had actually
fallen fast asleep, and I suppose the want of air and
the heat made him snore like that. He really might
have been an ogre! .
-.-How I trembled! Then came a sort of waiting
silence. Then—‘‘ What can that be?†said Uncle.
“Burglars,†said somebody, “burglars hidden under
the table.†| |
And then I knew it was all over. I can’t bear
to think of it, even now. Everybody—all the men at
least and the bravest of the ladies, though some of
them screamed—-stooped down to look under the table.
They pulled Nat out, and he stood there, half asleep
still, and blinking like an owl, with nothing to say for
himself. Oh, how I could have shaken him! I wouldn't
_ wait to be pulled out—I crept out of myself, and though
I was perfectly shivering with fear, I wouldn't cry.
“Nell,†said Auntie, in a tone of reproach, ‘how -
could you—â€
“T don’t know, I don’t know,†I said wildly. he
= was only for fun. We. wanted to see what a dinner-
party was like.†.
Then Nat came to his senses, and he’s not a bit
of a coward. : .
Stoneware
4
“Tt was all me,†he said; “I made Nell do it.
It was my plan.â€
Then he looked at me, and I looked at him, and
we ran to each other and hugged each other, and
then—I had to cry. .
'They were kind. They forgave us, and Auntie sent
us up a little ice-pudding after we were in bed. But
of course we had to bear a lot of talking to the next
day, and Mamma had to be told, and worst of all—some
of Auntie’s servants told Nurse!
Of course, we shall never do such a thing again.
But I don’t think I shall ever like dinner-parties even
when I’m big. I think they are so stupid, and so hot!
Mrs. Molesworth.
“Ts that a good twopenny-worth?†asked Auntie, as
she finished her story. |
“Yes, oh, yes,†cried the children; but then they
paused and looked at each other a little doubtfully.
“Ts that all the custom for to-day?†went on their
Aunt. “Shall I shut up shop?â€
Evelyn fidgetted a little, and looked at Tim, and then
at his Aunt; then he blurted out—
‘“T’'ve only got a halfpenny! But haven't you any
halfpenny stories, Auntie?â€
- “Auntie, couldn't we have the ‘birdie story’? When .
you were quite little, you know?†said Tim.
‘And I'll pay you the other halfpenny to-morrow,â€
cried Evelyn. ;
“No, no!†replied Auntie. ‘I only do ready-money
business. But as you have heard the ‘birdie story’ about
fifty times, I think it ought to be cheap.â€
“Oh! thank you, Auntie, thank you awfully,†the
children cried together. So Auntie began.
Ghe Birdie Sfory.
j ee and I were playing together
a in the garden one day. We were
playing at keeping shop. I was
a oo the shopkeeper, and Baby had
m\ “\ to come to me.to buy. . Mother had
‘ given us some apples and biscuits to
“play with, so we found the game a very
nice one, until poor Baby tumbled over
and hurt his dear little arm. Then he said it was a
stupid game and he didn’t want to play any more, so,
after I had kjssed the place to make it well, we sat
down side by side on the grass and ate up all the
shop-keeping stores, and then began to talk over Mother's
birthday. We hadn't any money to buy her a present,
for Baby was so little that if anyone gave him a penny
he always lost it, because, you see, he hadn't a pocket
to put it in; and though Mother gave me a penny a
~
week, and I mdght have saved up, somehow I never
could. Baby and I were always wanting something so badly.
After we talked about Mother’s birthday for some
time without being able to think of anything to give
her, Baby suddenly said, “Why, Sissy, we might give
her some flowers. You know Mummy Joves flowers,
.and some of the roses on our tree are nearly out,
aren't they?†a
~ “You darling Baby,†I said, giving him a kiss;
“that’s the very thing. We couldn't give Mummy anything
nicer, not even if we bought it with money. Let's go
and look at the tree now.†:
Â¥
So off we trotted together.
There were no roses in bloom, but the buds were
all ready to burst, and so we felt almost sure that we
should have a nice bunch of roses for Mother on her
birthday. And so we did.
_ Now the day before
it arrived, her little
canary, Goldie, flew away.
He was a great pet, and
Mother was very grieved
at losing him; so when.
the next morning, Baby
and I went to gather
the roses and saw a dear
little birdie sitting on
_ our rosebush, singing a
sweet song, we thought
how nice it ‘would be
if we could catch him
for Mother.. We fetched
out Goldie’s cage, but
Dicky would not be ;
persuaded to enter it, =
aded
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so at last we gave it up,.. and. aust cut the roses and
«took: them: in to: Mother... +::. ae :
S She said they were lovely, and then we told her
~ about the little birdie we had tried to catch for her,
for another present.
“T am very. glad you were not able to, my darlings,’
- she said. “It is very cruel to shut up wild birds in cages.â€
“But, Mummy, Goldie was shut up in a cage.â€
“Yes, dearie, but Goldie was not a wild bird and
had never known any other home. Would you like me. ~
to tell you a story about a birdie who nearly died of
‘grief because he was put into a cage?â€
Of course we wanted to hear the story, so Mother
Sos began.
: “Once upon a time, a little bird built himself a
nest in a tall tree, and there he and_ his little wife
lived, as happy as the day was long. By-and-by, Mrs.
Birdie laid five pretty little eggs and oh! wasn't Mr.
Birdie proud of her? But he was still prouder when
one day the five eggs cracked and five wee. birdies
poked their little heads out and cried, ‘Cheep, cheep,’ oo
which meant, ‘How do you do, dear Papa and Mamma?’ o :
“Mr. Birdie was so delighted that he flew straight —
off to the tallest tree he could find, and sang a more-
beautiful song than he had ever sung before. Then. he—
flew back to his wife and smoothed her feathers with
his bill, which is a birdie’s way of giving a loving kiss.
: ‘Ts there anything I can do for you, my. dear?’ —
she asked. es
““Well, I think it is time our darlings had something
to eat,’ the mother-bird replied; ‘and I am feeling a
little faint myself.’
“Off flew Mr. Birdie, only too pleased to be of
use.
anything which looked sufficiently tempting;
a nice piece of bread
just inside a little wire
house, and in he went
to secure it.
“Alas! he was
caught, for the wire
house was a trap.
Presently the children
who had set the trap
came and took him
home with them, and
put him in a fine cage,
and gave him seed and .
fruit and a little piece
of watercress to eat,
but he would touch
nothing, and only
fluttered his pretty
wings against the bars
of-the cage and gazed
at them piteously with
his bright eyes.
Merve owl beralt
ft
‘ :
WH Sete Ga Ie
\ “yd
") {eZ
d
He hopped about some time before he could find
then he saw
cab pe
a yen
7 ft
right to-morrow, when he
has grown used to his cage,’
said the children. But to-
morrow came, and still the
birdie was not happy.. How ©
could he be, when he knew
that his little wife and his
poor wee babies were
-waiting anxiously for his
return, and perhaps even
starving because there was no one to find food for them?
So when the children came to look at him they found
him lying in a corner of the cage, with his wings out-
spread and his bright eyes dim.â€
“Oh, Mummy,†cried Baby, the tears running down
his. chubby little cheeks, “he wasn't dead, was he? Oh!
please say he wasn’t dead.â€
“No,†said Mother, kissing Baby's tears away, “‘he
- wasn’t dead; and one of the children had such a tender
little heart, like my Baby. here, that she begged and
begged the others to set
him free; and at last they
did, and he flew straight
home to his wife and babies,
and very thankful they all
were to the: sweet . little
maid who had saved poor
Birdie’s life, for he would |
have died had he been,
i shit: up “in the < cage omen: lose He never forgot her,
and even when the cold winter came, he would fly down
and perch on a branch where she could easily see him, 3
and sing her a ‘song of: peace and love. ae
“That's the end of my story,†said Mother; So now fin :
away and fetch mea vase 4
of water for my roses.â€
L. L. Weedon. -
|
Full Text |
Stories by - |
pe sens
and off ers
eps Lendon:. ; ae : New York: 2 wes
--€rnest. Nister — : Ivinted in Bavaria, €.P. Dutton & C2 |
THE STORY SHOP.
'M tired of keeping the Stores,†grumbled —
Evelyn. “We've sold all the things over
and over again, and I’m sick of adding up
“ six apples and one pear. It is like a French
exercise.†oe
“But we haven't anything else to sell!â€
cried Tim, dumping down the umbrella he carried. “And
what can we do? Shall we play croquet?†|
“TI fate croquet,’ growled Evelyn, who did _ not,
manage her mallet well. ‘“Can’t you tell me a story’
instead?†Le
“T don't know any but Cinderella and——â€
“Tm sick of Cinderella,†interrupted Evelyn impa-:
tiently; ‘that’s like Nurse. She always tells you
Cinderella, or Red Riding Hood—only she won't let
the wolf eat up Granny, which is silly. I’m sure he did!â€
“Oh! I’m sure he didn't,’ cried Tim, distressed.
“Granny had gone to her marketing. But I wish—I
wish’ somebody would keep a Story Shop, where we
could buy stories for brown-paper pennies, like we do
when we play at the Stores.†. ;
ae Mother.
“A Story Shop!†exclaimed Evelyn. “I say, what
a jolly idea! Let’s go and ask Mother—or Auntie—she
knows lots.â€
That was how it began—the Story Shop I mean.
It opened.every afternoon, as soon as lessons were finished,
and lasted till tea-time. Auntie did a roaring trade,
so much so that she had to raise her price for stories
“out of her own head.’ Those were twopence, but
“Bluebeard†or the “White Cat,†or “Beauty and the
Beast†might be had for one penny.. And Mother gave
out the pennies according to the marks gained during
lessons.
_“T want a twopenny story this afternoon, please,
Auntie,’ said Tim one day, displaying two brown-
paper coins.
“Yes—a nice /ong twopenny story,’ put in Eyelyn;
“not a scrimpy one, Auntie.†;
“Very well,â€: said Auntie, “you shall have good
measure, I premise you. I will just run up to my
room and get a paper that I found ‘the other day.â€
“All right, Auntie; don’t, be long,†said Tim, as he
ran to open the door for her, and then he saw his
Mother with Baby on her back, just going to give her »
a pick-a-back up-stairs, as she sometimes did. .
“Please let Baby come and listen to Auntie’s story,â€
‘cried Evelyn; “we are going to have a nice twopenny one.â€
“Would you like to go with them, Baby?†asked
“No; me want piggy-back,†she answered.
Just then Auntie came running down-stairs with
some closely written sheets of paper in her hand, and,
once more taking her seat, explained that the story she
was going to read them was written “‘years and years
ago†when she and their father were quite little children.
Then she began.
Aluntie’s Dinner Party.
TT Nat takes a thing in his head he is pretty
determined, I can tell you. He is not seven
yet and I am eight past, but he leads me—he does indeed.
I’ve heard Nurse say so, and it’s quite true. Nat’s real
name is Stanley—not Nathaniel, like the man in the
Bible. How he came to be “Nat†was that I couldn't
say Stanley, and first I said “Tat,†and then somehow it
got to “Nat.†My own name’s Eleanor, and I’m called
Nell. Nat and Nell go very well together—or Nell and
Nat, as I’m a girl and the eldest too.
Last year we were staying at Auntie Bab’ Bah is
the short for Barbara, and we always call her. Auntie
Bab, because Barbara is so long. Auntie hasn't got any
children, but we lke staying with her quite as much as
if she had, for she understands all about us, and all we :
like and don’t like, just as well as if we belonged to her.
And Uncle Stanley is very kind too. We are going to
stay there again soon, but last year was the first time.
The worst of it is that when we come home everybody.
will say we're spoilt. Not so much Mamma, but Nurse
says it awfully. I think what made her say it the worst
was something that “happenedâ€; it was really something
we did. I do ~
so wish, and
so does. Nat,’
that Nurse had
never ~ heard
of it, for even
now, when it’s —
all past. and
forgiven, she
has a way
of shaking . it
over us- that
we really can't
bear. .
And after
all it wasn't |
anything so very naughty —=it wasn't like hurting - anybody
or telling a story. But when Nurse is vexed with us
about anything else she’s sure to begin about it, and
every time it sounds worse. That’s why I’m. going to
write it down—exactly—for when Rosv and Baby grow
older I would not like—most certainly not, and Nat
wouldn't either—-for them to be told a OY of us as if
we had been really bad villains,
“Do you think: we meant to steal the spoons and
forks then?†I said to Nurse, the last time she was going
on about it. And then she said I was impertinent!
She’s very good on the whole—Mamma would not
have her for us if she wasn’t; but she’s got a funny
temper, and she works herself up.
So I made up my mind to write it all out and then
show it to Auntie Bab, who really knows the whole
story. And she’s going to correct it, ‘specially the
spelling—and then she’s going to’ write it out for me to
copy in my own writing (it’ll take a good while, but I
don’t mind), and when it’s done she'll make a nice paper
cover for it, with the name outside like a real book..
It was all because of a dinner-party.
- Auntie often had dinner-parties, but that time last
year when we were staying with her she hadn't had any
for a good while. Uncle Stanley’s mother had died, and
they were in mourning. .
She did not mean to have any while we were there,
for her house is not a very big one, and Mamma had not
sent a maid with us. It was partly because several of
our servants at home had been ill that Auntie offered to’
have us.
She did spoil us a little, I think. Every day she let
us come into “pudding†at late dinner. It had begun with
dessert, but one day we were waiting outside too. soon,
and Uncle caught sight of us, and made us come in, and
after that we always did. .
It was lovely; it really was. I don’t think there was
anything at Auntie’s that we liked quite as much as the
coming into “pudding.†It wasn’t out of greediness, though
of course we always did get something nice to eat, but it
was the grown-up-ness. The servants were so polite, and
;
a
a oS
co ee
Hy
“I've got a secret to tell you.â€
the table looked so pretty, and everything was so regular.
There was very seldom any one there besides Uncle and
Auntie, though once or twice there was a gentleman, and
‘once a gentleman-and lady, which spoilt it a /:#/e, as of
course we didn’t speak much, except one time when an
awfully nice man was there who taught us the most
lovely tricks, with table-napkins and wine-glasses and all
sorts of things. He was really like a—you know what I
‘mean—men who make you see things that aren't there,
and pull eggs and roses out of your pockets, and all
that—I do hope he will come to Auntie’s again when —
we are there. Pa
But one day Auntie said to us: “Nat and Nell, my
dears, I cannot invite you to ‘pudding’ to-morrow for J
am going to have a dinner-party. I should have liked
-you to be with me in the drawing-room before dinner,
but on the whole I think it will be better not.â€
“And mayn’t we come in to dessert?†asked Nat.
Auntie shook her head.
“T’m afraid not, dears,†she said, “it would be too
late; and then, you see, it’s a dinner-party, a regular
dinner-party.’’ i
Nat didn’t say anything, and I don’t think I. would
have thought any more about the party but for him. He
was very quiet all day; that’s his way when he’s planning.
But he waited till the next morning before telling me his
secret, and it never came into my head that he was planning.
It was just after breakfast that he made me go into
a quiet corner with him to have a talk.
“Nell,†he began, “I’ve got a secret to tell you.
You'll not tell it?â€
That was how he began always, and sometimes I'd
get into scrapes through it. So I considered. After all
I might as well promise, for if I didn’t I'd never know.
And it was better I. should know.
“No,†I said, “I won’t tell.â€
“And you "ul join in the plan?â€
“T don’t know about that,†I said. “Not if its
anything naughty.†SP inane.
— “Tt adsn't naughty,†he said; “it can’t do anybody
any harm, and that’s all right, isn’t it?â€
“Well, yes, I suppose so,’ I said.
“Then listen,†he began, and as he went on I
did open my eyes I can tell you.
This was the grand scheme—Nat had ade up his
‘mind that he and I should be at Auntie’s dinner-party.
It wasn’t to be any dressing up or tricks like that—of
course, we couldn't have dressed up to be like grown-
up people—it was a very simple plan indeed, We were
to hide under the dining-room table—that was all!
“Nat had settled it all. It was a very good thing
we were not to be in the drawing-room before dinner,
wasn't it? Auntie’s maid, who. generally helped us to
undress, was going to be busy, so we told her that
afternoon that we could manage without her, and she
was quite pleased.
“TIL just look in to see that you are comfortable
in bed,†she said, ‘ ‘after the company’s gone to dinner.â€
‘All right,’ said Nat, his eyes sparkling in a queer way,
which meant another plan. That was to make two dummies
in our two beds, which he did as soon as we had said
good-night to Auntie, who was dressing in her room.
“Good night, my pets,’ she said. ‘You are very
good, and to-morrow night you. shall have an. extra -
nice dessert, to make up.†:
We felt rather funny. But we did not mean to eat
anything, so Nat repeated to me that there really couldn't
be any harm in it.
“We'll just go quietly up- stairs to bed,†he said,
“after they've all left the dining-room. We'll watch for
a chance when the servants are out of the room. And
of course we won't touch any of the dessert. Only,
~ you see, Nell, we shall really know what a dinner- pay
as leke.â€
~ Strange to say, all turned out as Nat had arranged—we
_watched our opportunity and made our. way down-stairs
when everything on the table was ready and the servants
had nothing to do but light the candles, Nat had already
hidden two comfortable hassocks for us, so we crept
in—under, I should say, and settled ourselves well in
the middle, where nobody could see us. For the table-
cloth was very large and hung deeply over the edges.
All the same, my heart did beat pretty fast, I can
tell you, and when the rustling of dresses and _ the
sound of voices told us that Uncle and Auntie and all
_ the other ladies and gentlemen ‘were really coming, I
almost felt as if I must scream out. |
But I didn’t—I stayed quite still—for one thing,
I knew that if I moved in the least Nat would pinch
me awfully, for he had settled himself so that he could
have a good nip at my leg. And I tried to hear what
all the people were saying, but it seemed all a buzz,
and though I would have liked to crawl round, stroking
the ladies’. soft shiny dresses and trying to see which
had the prettiest slippers, I daren’t, for fear of Nat—
and after a bit it did get rather dull. . For I was
hungry, and the beautiful scents of the nice things were
dreadfully tempting, and then it was so hot! I wanted
to do something wild—like pinching somebody, or
squeaking like a dog or a cat—and. at last I don't
know what I'd have done, if, all of. a sudden, just
when the talking happened to have got rather quieter,
the most awful thing hadn't happened. There came the
loudest snore you can fancy from Nat! He had actually
fallen fast asleep, and I suppose the want of air and
the heat made him snore like that. He really might
have been an ogre! .
-.-How I trembled! Then came a sort of waiting
silence. Then—‘‘ What can that be?†said Uncle.
“Burglars,†said somebody, “burglars hidden under
the table.†| |
And then I knew it was all over. I can’t bear
to think of it, even now. Everybody—all the men at
least and the bravest of the ladies, though some of
them screamed—-stooped down to look under the table.
They pulled Nat out, and he stood there, half asleep
still, and blinking like an owl, with nothing to say for
himself. Oh, how I could have shaken him! I wouldn't
_ wait to be pulled out—I crept out of myself, and though
I was perfectly shivering with fear, I wouldn't cry.
“Nell,†said Auntie, in a tone of reproach, ‘how -
could you—â€
“T don’t know, I don’t know,†I said wildly. he
= was only for fun. We. wanted to see what a dinner-
party was like.†.
Then Nat came to his senses, and he’s not a bit
of a coward. : .
Stoneware
4
“Tt was all me,†he said; “I made Nell do it.
It was my plan.â€
Then he looked at me, and I looked at him, and
we ran to each other and hugged each other, and
then—I had to cry. .
'They were kind. They forgave us, and Auntie sent
us up a little ice-pudding after we were in bed. But
of course we had to bear a lot of talking to the next
day, and Mamma had to be told, and worst of all—some
of Auntie’s servants told Nurse!
Of course, we shall never do such a thing again.
But I don’t think I shall ever like dinner-parties even
when I’m big. I think they are so stupid, and so hot!
Mrs. Molesworth.
“Ts that a good twopenny-worth?†asked Auntie, as
she finished her story. |
“Yes, oh, yes,†cried the children; but then they
paused and looked at each other a little doubtfully.
“Ts that all the custom for to-day?†went on their
Aunt. “Shall I shut up shop?â€
Evelyn fidgetted a little, and looked at Tim, and then
at his Aunt; then he blurted out—
‘“T’'ve only got a halfpenny! But haven't you any
halfpenny stories, Auntie?â€
- “Auntie, couldn't we have the ‘birdie story’? When .
you were quite little, you know?†said Tim.
‘And I'll pay you the other halfpenny to-morrow,â€
cried Evelyn. ;
“No, no!†replied Auntie. ‘I only do ready-money
business. But as you have heard the ‘birdie story’ about
fifty times, I think it ought to be cheap.â€
“Oh! thank you, Auntie, thank you awfully,†the
children cried together. So Auntie began.
Ghe Birdie Sfory.
j ee and I were playing together
a in the garden one day. We were
playing at keeping shop. I was
a oo the shopkeeper, and Baby had
m\ “\ to come to me.to buy. . Mother had
‘ given us some apples and biscuits to
“play with, so we found the game a very
nice one, until poor Baby tumbled over
and hurt his dear little arm. Then he said it was a
stupid game and he didn’t want to play any more, so,
after I had kjssed the place to make it well, we sat
down side by side on the grass and ate up all the
shop-keeping stores, and then began to talk over Mother's
birthday. We hadn't any money to buy her a present,
for Baby was so little that if anyone gave him a penny
he always lost it, because, you see, he hadn't a pocket
to put it in; and though Mother gave me a penny a
~
week, and I mdght have saved up, somehow I never
could. Baby and I were always wanting something so badly.
After we talked about Mother’s birthday for some
time without being able to think of anything to give
her, Baby suddenly said, “Why, Sissy, we might give
her some flowers. You know Mummy Joves flowers,
.and some of the roses on our tree are nearly out,
aren't they?†a
~ “You darling Baby,†I said, giving him a kiss;
“that’s the very thing. We couldn't give Mummy anything
nicer, not even if we bought it with money. Let's go
and look at the tree now.†:
Â¥
So off we trotted together.
There were no roses in bloom, but the buds were
all ready to burst, and so we felt almost sure that we
should have a nice bunch of roses for Mother on her
birthday. And so we did.
_ Now the day before
it arrived, her little
canary, Goldie, flew away.
He was a great pet, and
Mother was very grieved
at losing him; so when.
the next morning, Baby
and I went to gather
the roses and saw a dear
little birdie sitting on
_ our rosebush, singing a
sweet song, we thought
how nice it ‘would be
if we could catch him
for Mother.. We fetched
out Goldie’s cage, but
Dicky would not be ;
persuaded to enter it, =
aded
pers
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eo .
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oY
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so at last we gave it up,.. and. aust cut the roses and
«took: them: in to: Mother... +::. ae :
S She said they were lovely, and then we told her
~ about the little birdie we had tried to catch for her,
for another present.
“T am very. glad you were not able to, my darlings,’
- she said. “It is very cruel to shut up wild birds in cages.â€
“But, Mummy, Goldie was shut up in a cage.â€
“Yes, dearie, but Goldie was not a wild bird and
had never known any other home. Would you like me. ~
to tell you a story about a birdie who nearly died of
‘grief because he was put into a cage?â€
Of course we wanted to hear the story, so Mother
Sos began.
: “Once upon a time, a little bird built himself a
nest in a tall tree, and there he and_ his little wife
lived, as happy as the day was long. By-and-by, Mrs.
Birdie laid five pretty little eggs and oh! wasn't Mr.
Birdie proud of her? But he was still prouder when
one day the five eggs cracked and five wee. birdies
poked their little heads out and cried, ‘Cheep, cheep,’ oo
which meant, ‘How do you do, dear Papa and Mamma?’ o :
“Mr. Birdie was so delighted that he flew straight —
off to the tallest tree he could find, and sang a more-
beautiful song than he had ever sung before. Then. he—
flew back to his wife and smoothed her feathers with
his bill, which is a birdie’s way of giving a loving kiss.
: ‘Ts there anything I can do for you, my. dear?’ —
she asked. es
““Well, I think it is time our darlings had something
to eat,’ the mother-bird replied; ‘and I am feeling a
little faint myself.’
“Off flew Mr. Birdie, only too pleased to be of
use.
anything which looked sufficiently tempting;
a nice piece of bread
just inside a little wire
house, and in he went
to secure it.
“Alas! he was
caught, for the wire
house was a trap.
Presently the children
who had set the trap
came and took him
home with them, and
put him in a fine cage,
and gave him seed and .
fruit and a little piece
of watercress to eat,
but he would touch
nothing, and only
fluttered his pretty
wings against the bars
of-the cage and gazed
at them piteously with
his bright eyes.
Merve owl beralt
ft
‘ :
WH Sete Ga Ie
\ “yd
") {eZ
d
He hopped about some time before he could find
then he saw
cab pe
a yen
7 ft
right to-morrow, when he
has grown used to his cage,’
said the children. But to-
morrow came, and still the
birdie was not happy.. How ©
could he be, when he knew
that his little wife and his
poor wee babies were
-waiting anxiously for his
return, and perhaps even
starving because there was no one to find food for them?
So when the children came to look at him they found
him lying in a corner of the cage, with his wings out-
spread and his bright eyes dim.â€
“Oh, Mummy,†cried Baby, the tears running down
his. chubby little cheeks, “he wasn't dead, was he? Oh!
please say he wasn’t dead.â€
“No,†said Mother, kissing Baby's tears away, “‘he
- wasn’t dead; and one of the children had such a tender
little heart, like my Baby. here, that she begged and
begged the others to set
him free; and at last they
did, and he flew straight
home to his wife and babies,
and very thankful they all
were to the: sweet . little
maid who had saved poor
Birdie’s life, for he would |
have died had he been,
i shit: up “in the < cage omen: lose He never forgot her,
and even when the cold winter came, he would fly down
and perch on a branch where she could easily see him, 3
and sing her a ‘song of: peace and love. ae
“That's the end of my story,†said Mother; So now fin :
away and fetch mea vase 4
of water for my roses.â€
L. L. Weedon. -
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