"Save our blessings, Master, save,
From the blight of thankless eye."
Lyra Innocentium.
There is not a more charming sight in the domestic world, than that
of an elder girl in a large family, amusing what are called the
LITTLE ONES.
How could mamma have ventured upon that cosy nap in the arm-chair by
the fire, if she had been harassed by wondering what the children
were about? Whereas, as it was, she had overheard No. 8 begging the
one they all called "Aunt Judy," to come and tell them a story, and
she had beheld Aunt Judy's nod of consent; whereupon she had shut her
eyes, and composed herself to sleep quite complacently, under the
pleasant conviction that all things were sure to be in a state of
peace and security, so long as the children were listening to one of
those curious stories of Aunt Judy's, in which, with so much drollery
and amusement, there was sure to be mixed up some odd scraps of
information, or bits of good advice.
So, mamma being asleep on one side of the fire, and papa reading the
newspaper on the other, Aunt Judy and No. 8 noiselessly left the
room, and repaired to the large red-curtained dining-room, where the
former sat down to concoct her story, while the latter ran off to
collect the little ones together.
In less than five minutes' time there was a stream of noise along the
passage--a bursting open of the door, and a crowding round the fire,
by which Aunt Judy sat.
The "little ones" had arrived in full force and high expectation. We
will not venture to state their number. An order from Aunt Judy,
that they should take their seats quietly, was but imperfectly
obeyed; and a certain amount of hustling and grumbling ensued, which
betrayed a rather quarrelsome tendency.
At last, however, the large circle was formed, and the bright
firelight danced over sunny curls and eager faces. Aunt Judy glanced
her eye round the group; but whatever her opinion as an artist might
have been of its general beauty, she was by no means satisfied with
the result of her inspection.
"No. 6 and No. 7," cried she, "you are not fit to listen to a story
at present. You have come with dirty hands."
No. 6 frowned, and No. 7 broke out at once into a howl; he had washed
his hands ever so short a time ago, and had done nothing since but
play at knuckle-bones on the floor! Surely people needn't wash their
hands every ten minutes! It was very hard!
Aunt Judy had rather a logical turn of mind, so she set about
expounding to the "little ones" in general, and to Nos. 6 and 7 in
particular, that the proper time for washing people's hands was when
their hands were dirty; no matter how lately the operation had been
performed before. Such, at least, she said, was the custom in
England, and everyone ought to be proud of belonging to so clean and
respectable a country. She, therefore, insisted that Nos. 6 and 7
should retire up-stairs and perform the necessary ablution, or
otherwise they would be turned out, and not allowed to listen to the
story.
Nos. 6 and 7 were rather restive. The truth was, it had been one of
those unlucky days which now and then will occur in families, in
which everything seemed to be perverse and go askew. It was a dark,
cold, rainy day in November, and going out had been impossible. The
elder boys had worried, and the younger ones had cried. It was
Saturday too, and the maids were scouring in all directions, waking
every echo in the back-premises by the grating of sand-stone on the
flags; and they had been a good deal discomposed by the family effort
to play at "Wolf" in the passages. Mamma had been at accounts all
the morning, trying to find out some magical corner in which expenses
could be reduced between then and the arrival of Christmas bills;
and, moreover, it was a half-holiday, and the children had, as they
call it, nothing to do.
So Nos. 6 and 7, who had been vexed about several other little
matters before, during the course of the day, broke out now on the
subject of the washing of their hands.
Aunt Judy was inexorable however--inexorable though cool; and the
rest got impatient at the delay which the debate occasioned: so,
partly by coaxing, and partly by the threat of being shut out from
hearing the story, Nos. 6 and 7 were at last prevailed upon to go up-
stairs and wash their grim little paws into that delicate shell-like
pink, which is the characteristic of juvenile fingers when clean.
As they went out, however, they murmured, in whimpered tones, that
they were sure it was VERY HARD!
After their departure, Aunt Judy requested the rest not to talk, and
a complete silence ensued, during which one or two of the youngest
evidently concluded that she was composing her story, for they stared
at her with all their might, as if to discover how she did it.
Meantime the rain beat violently against the panes, and the red
curtains swayed to and fro from the effect of the wind, which, in
spite of tolerable woodwork, found its way through the divisions of
the windows. There was something very dreary in the sound, and very
odd in the varying shades of red which appeared upon the curtains as
they swerved backwards and forwards in the firelight.
Several of the children observed it, but no one spoke until the
footsteps of Nos. 6 and 7 were heard approaching the door, on which a
little girl ventured to whisper, "I'm very glad I'm not out in the
wind and rain;" and a boy made answer, "Why, who would be so silly as
to think of going out in the wind and rain? Nobody, of course!"
At that moment Nos. 6 and 7 entered, and took their places on two
little Derby chairs, having previously showed their pink hands in
sombre silence to Aunt Judy, whereupon Aunt Judy turned herself so as
to face the whole group, and then began her story as follows:-
"There were once upon a time eight little Victims, who were shut up
in a large stone-building, where they were watched night and day by a
set of huge grown-up keepers, who made them do whatever they chose."
"Don't make it TOO sad, Aunt Judy," murmured No. 8, half in a tremble
already.
"You needn't be frightened, No. 8," was the answer; "my stories
always end well."
"I'm so glad," chuckled No. 8 with a grin, as he clapped one little
fat hand down upon the other on his lap in complete satisfaction.
"Go on, please."
"Was the large stone-building a prison, Aunt Judy?" inquired No. 7.
"That depends upon your ideas of a prison," answered Aunt Judy.
"What do you suppose a prison is?"
"Oh, a great big place with walls all round, where people are locked
up, and can't go in and out as they choose."
"Very well. Then I think you may be allowed to call the place in
which the little Victims were kept a prison, for it certainly was a
great big place with walls all round, and they were locked up at
night, and not allowed to go in and out as they chose."
"Poor things," murmured No. 8; but he consoled himself by
recollecting that the story was to end well.
"Aunt Judy, before you go on, do tell us what VICTIMS are? Are they
fairies, or what? I don't know."
This was the request of No. 5, who was rather more thoughtful than
the rest, and was apt now and then to delay a story by his inquiring
turn of mind.
No. 6 was in a hurry to hear some more, and nudged No. 5 to make him
be quiet; but Aunt Judy interposed; said she did not like to tell
stories to people who didn't care to know what they meant, and
declared that No. 5 was quite right in asking what a victim was.
"A victim," said she, "was the creature which the old heathens used
to offer up as a sacrifice, after they had gained a victory in
battle. You all remember I dare say," continued she, "what a
sacrifice is, and have heard about Abel's sacrifice of the firstlings
of his flock."