"Was that when – " began thoughtless Denny, but Fritz gave her a tug.
"You know it makes mother unhappy to talk about that time," he whispered; but mother heard him.
"No, Fritz," she said; "I don't mind Denny thinking about it. I am so glad to have all of you, dears, happy and good, that my sorrow is not so bad as it was. And I am so glad you and Celia can remember your father. Poor Baby —he can't remember him," she said, softly stroking Baby's face.
"'Cos he went to Heaven when him was so little," said Baby. Then he put his arms round mother's neck. "Him and Fritz will soon grow big, and be werry good to mother," he said. "And ganfather and auntie are werry good to mother, isn't they?" he added.
"Yes indeed," said mother; "and to all of you too. What would we do without grandfather and auntie?"
"Some poor little boys and girls has no mothers and ganfathers, and no stockings and shoes, and no nothings," said Baby solemnly.
"There's some things I shouldn't mind not having," said Fritz; "I shouldn't mind having no lessons."
"O Fritz," said his sisters; "what a lazy boy you are!"
"No, I'm just not lazy. I'm awfully fond of doing everything– I don't even mind if it's a hard thing, so long as it isn't anything in books," said Fritz, sturdily. "Some people's made one way, and some's made another, and I'm made the way of not liking books."
"I wonder what Baby will say to books," said mother, smiling.
"Is jography in books," said Baby. "Him wants to learn jography."
"I think it's awfully stupid," said Denny. "I'm sure you won't like it once you begin. Did you like lessons when you were little, mother?"
"Yes, I'm sure mother did," said Fritz. "People's fathers and mothers were always far gooder than their children are. I've noticed that. If ever big people tell you about when they were little, it's always about how good they were. And they say always, 'Dear me, how happy children should be nowadays; we were never allowed to do so and so when we were little.' That's the way old Mrs. Nesbitt always talks, isn't it mother? I wonder if it's true. If people keep getting naughtier than their fathers and mothers were, the world will get very naughty some day. Is it true?"
"I think it's true that children get to be more spoilt," said Denny in a low voice. "Just look how Baby's clambering all over mother! O Baby, you nearly knocked over mother's cup! I never was allowed to do like that when I was a little girl."
Everybody burst out laughing – even mother – but Denny had the good quality of not minding being laughed at.
"Was the tea nice, and the bread and butter and honey?" she said eagerly, as mother rose to put the empty cup in a place of safety.
"Very nice, thank you," said mother. "But I must go, dears. I have a good many things to talk about with grandfather and auntie."
"Packing?" said Baby.
"How you do go on about packing!" said Denny. "Of course mother's not going to pack to-night."
Baby's face fell.
"Him does so want to begin packing," he said dolefully. "'Appose we forgottened somesing, and we was over the sea!"
"Well, I must talk about it all, and write down all we have to take," said mother. "So I must go to auntie now."
"Oh, not yet, not yet. Just five minutes more!" cried the children. "And, mother," said Celia, "you've not answered my question. Is it true that children used to be so much better long ago? Were you never naughty?"
"Sometimes," said mother, smiling.
"Oh, I'm so glad!" said Celia. "Often, mother? I do hope you were often naughty. Do tell us a story about something naughty you did when you were little. You know it would be a good lesson for us. It would show us how awfully good one may learn to be, for, you know, you're awfully good now."
"Yes, of course you are," said Fritz and Denny.
"Mother's dedfully good," said Baby, poking up his face from her knee where he had again perched himself, to kiss her. "Do tell him one story of when you was a little girl, mother."
Mother's face seemed for a minute rather puzzled. Then it suddenly cleared up.
"I will tell you a very little story," she said; "it really is a very little story, but it is as long as I have time for just now, and it may amuse you. Baby's packing put it in my head."
"Is it about when you were a little girl, mother?" interrupted Denny.
"Yes. Well, when I was a little girl, I had no mother."
The elder children nodded their heads. But Baby, to whom it was a new idea, shook his sadly.
"Zat was a gate pity," he said. "Poor mother to have no mother. Had you no shoes and stockings, and nothing nice to eat?"
"You sill – " began Denny, but mother stopped her.
"Oh yes," she said, "I had shoes and stockings, and everything I wanted, for I had a very kind father. You know how kind grandfather is? And I had a kind sister whom you know too. But when I was a little girl, my sister was not herself very big, and she had a great deal to do for a not very big girl, you know. There were our brothers, for we had several, and though they were generally away at school there seemed always something to do for them – letters to write to them, if there was nothing else – and then, in the holidays, there were all their new shirts, and stockings, and things to get to take back to school. Helen seemed always busy. She had been at school too, before your grandfather came back from India, for five years, bringing me with him, quite a wee little girl of four. And Helen was so happy to be with us again, that she begged not to go back to school, and, as she was really very well on for her age, grandfather let her stay at home."
"There, you see," whispered Celia, nudging Fritz. "It's beginning – it always does – you hear how awfully good auntie was."
Mother went on quietly. If she heard what Celia said she took no notice. "Grandfather let her stay at home and have lessons there. She had a great many lessons to learn for her age besides those that one learns out of books. She had to learn to be very active, and very thoughtful, and, above all, very patient. For the little sister she had to take care of was, I am afraid, a very spoilt little girl when she first came home. Grandfather had spoiled her without meaning it; he was so sorry for her because she had no mother, and Helen was so sorry for her too, that it was rather difficult for her not to spoil her as well."
Here Baby himself "inrumpted."
"Him doesn't understand," he said. "Who were that little girl? Him wants a story about mother when her was a little girl;" and the corners of his mouth went down, and his eyes grew dewy-looking, in a very sad way.
"Poor Baby," said mother. "I'll try and tell it more plainly. I was that little girl, and auntie was my sister Helen. I must get on with my little story. I was forgetting that Baby would not quite understand. Well, one day to my great delight, Helen told me that grandfather was going to take her and me and the two brothers, who were then at home, to spend Christmas with one of our aunts in London. This aunt had children too, and though I had never seen them Helen told me they were very nice, for she knew them well, as she used to go there for her holidays before we came home. She told me most about a little girl called Lilly, who was just about my age. I had never had a little friend of my own age, and I was always talking and thinking about how nice it would be, and I was quite vexed with Helen because she would not begin to pack up at once. I was always teasing her to know what trunks we should take, and if all my dolls might go, and I am sure poor Helen often wished she had not told me anything about it till the