BREAD AND MILK.
"Words which tenderness can speak
From the truths of homely reason."
WORDSWORTH.
Grandmamma would probably have spoken to Nurse the next day about being
careful as to what she said before the children, had not the next day
brought rather a commotion. Nurse was ill, which, old as she, too, was,
rarely happened. It was a bad attack of rheumatism, and very likely its
coming on had made her less patient than usual the day before. However
that may have been, Grandmamma was far too sorry to see her suffering to
say anything which might have troubled her, for she was already
distressed enough at not being able to get up and go about as usual.
"Never mind, Nurse," said the children to console her, when a message
had been brought from Grandmamma in the morning to say that Nurse was on
no account to try to get up till the doctor had seen her, "us is going
to be very good. Us can do all your work, and you can stay in bed till
your legs is not cracked any more," for they had heard her complaining
of her knees and ankles being "wracked" with pain.
On the whole I am afraid Duke and Pamela did not think Nurse's
rheumatism altogether an "ill-wind," as they sat on their high chairs at
breakfast at the nursery table.
"Shall you eat all yours up, bruvver?" asked Pamela, pointing to the
bowl of bread and milk which Duke was discussing.
"Shall you?" asked Duke warily, before committing himself.
Pamela looked contemplatively at her bowl.
"I think I'll leave just a very little," she said. "Cook won't see. I
wish the bowls wasn't _quite_ so big."
"_Cook_ wouldn't see if us left a great deal," said Duke insinuatingly,
but Pamela looked shocked.
"That would be very naughty," she said. "_If_ you leave a great deal,
Duke, I'll have to put it in the cupboard myself."
Upon which mysterious hint Duke set to work valiantly. But he had a
small appetite, and so had Pamela. It was almost the only remains of
their having been such delicate little children, and perhaps if they had
been _too_ much given in to about eating, they would have ended by
eating almost nothing at all, and being much less strong and well than
they were. Nurse, who had come to them from a family of great strong
boys and girls at a country rectory, had no patience with "fads and
fancies;" and as, on the whole, the children had prospered wonderfully
under her care and she was really good to them, Grandmamma did not often
interfere, nor did it ever occur to them to complain, even though
nowadays children would, I think, find some of old Nurse's rules very
much to be complained of indeed. Of these one was, that if the children
did not finish the bowl of bread and milk at breakfast it was put away
in the nursery cupboard and had to be eaten, cold and uninviting-looking
as it had then become, before anything else at dinner-time. This was a
sore trouble to the little brother and sister, more especially as if
they did not finish the bread and milk they could not expect to have the
treat waiting for them downstairs in the dining-room at Grandpapa's and
Grandmamma's breakfast--of a cup of weak but sweet tea and a tiny slice
of bread and butter or toast, with sometimes the tops of the old
people's eggs, and at others a taste of honey, or marmalade, or
strawberry jam, all daintily set out by Grandmamma's own little white
hands!
So for every reason Duke and Pamela wished to eat up the bread and milk
to the last spoonful. It was not that they did not like it--it was as
good and nice as bread and milk could be, and they were not dainty. Only
they could not eat so much! This morning they had not half finished when
their appetites began to flag. Perhaps it was with the excitement of
Nurse being absent--perhaps they chattered and "played" over their
breakfast, not having her to keep them up to the mark--I can't say. But
the bowls were still deplorably full, though the milk was no longer
steaming, and the little squares of bread had lost their neat shape, and
were all "squashy" together, when Duke threw down his spoon in despair.
"I can't eat any more, sister. I cannot try any more."
Pamela opened her lips to make some reproach; she was a very "proper"
little girl, as you have probably discovered, but the words died away
before they were uttered, as her eyes fell on her own bowl, and with a
deep sigh she said:
"I'm afraid I can't finish mine either. And after us saying to Nurse
about going to be so good."
Her blue eyes began to look very dewy. Duke, who could not bear to see
his dear "sister" sad, spoke out (in Nurse's absence be it observed)
valiantly--more so, it must be confessed, than was his wont.
"I don't see that it's naughty of us not to eat more when us isn't
hungry for more. _I_ think it would be like little pigs to eat more than
they want. Little pigs would go on eating all day just 'cos they're too
silly, and they've got nothing else to do."
"But," objected Pamela, "us haven't eaten as much as us _can_, Duke, for
you know downstairs us _could_ eat Grandmamma's treat. _I_ could--I
could snap it up in a minute, and the tea too, and yet I _can't_ eat any
more bread and milk!" and she gazed at the bowl with a puzzled as well
as doleful expression. "I'm afraid--yes, I'm afraid, Duke, that us is
dainty like Master Frederick and Miss Lucy in 'Amusing Tales.' And Nurse
says it is so very naughty to be dainty when so many poor children would
fink our bread and milk such a great treat."
"I'm sure I wish, then, they'd come and eat it," said Duke. "I'd be very
glad to give it them."
His boldness quite took away his sister's breath, and she looked up at
him in astonishment.
"_Bruvver!_" she said reproachfully.
"Well, there's nothing naughty in that. It would be much better than
letting it all be wasted. And----" but just at that moment came a queer
little sound at the door, which made Duke tumble off his high chair as
fast as he could, and hurry to open it.
"It's Toby," he cried.
Toby, sure enough, it was--Toby with his little black nose and bright
eyes gleaming from behind the overhanging shaggy hair, that no one _but_
a Toby could have seen through without squinting--Toby, rather subdued
and meekly inquiring at first, as if not quite sure of his welcome,
till--a glance round the room satisfying him that there was no one to
dread, no one but his two dearly-beloved friends--his courage returned,
and he rushed towards them with short yelps of delight, twisting about
his furry little body, and wagging his queer short feathery tail, till
one could not tell what was what of him, and almost expected to see him
shake himself into bits!
"Toby, dear Toby!" cried the children, all their perplexities forgotten
for the moment. "_How_ clever of him--isn't it?--to come to see us this
morning, just as if he knew us was alone. Dear Toby--but hush! don't
make a noise, Toby, or Nurse may be vexed--are you so pleased to see us,
Toby?"
Suddenly Duke separated himself from the group of three all rolling in a
heap on the floor together and made for the table, and before Pamela
could see what he was doing he was back again--his bowl, into which he
had poured the contents of his sister's as well, in his hand, and in
another moment Toby's nose was in the bowl too, to Toby's supreme
content! It was done now--there was no stopping him till _he_ had done.
Aghast, and yet filled with admiration, Pamela could only express her
feelings by the one word--"Bruvver!"
"Isn't it a good thought?" said Duke. "Why, he'll have finished it all
in a minute, and nobody will ever know that it wasn't us. And nothing
will have been wasted. There now," as Toby, having really made
wonderfully quick work, lifted from the now empty bowl his hairy muzzle
bespattered with remains of bread and milk, which he proceeded to lick
away with his sharp bright-red tongue, with an air of the greatest
satisfaction.
For a moment or two Pamela's face expressed nothing but approval. But
gradually a little cloud stole over it.
"What shall us say if Grandpapa and Grandmamma ask if us have eaten all
our bread and milk?" she said.
Duke considered.
"Us can say the bowls are quite empty. _That_ won't be a story," and
Pamela's face cleared again. Just then she had no time for second
thoughts, for the sound of a bell ringing downstairs made both children
start.
"Prayers," they exclaimed, and as they said the word a young housemaid
put her face in at the door.
"Master Duke and Miss Pamela," she said, "Nurse says I'm to take you
down to prayers. But you must come first to wash your hands and smooth
your hair."
A very correct little couple presented themselves a few minutes later at
the dining-room door, and after the salute and the curtsey, and wishing
Grandpapa and Grandmamma "a very good morning," seated themselves one on
each side of the old lady, while Grandpapa read from the prayer-book a
few verses of the Bible, the Collect of last Sunday, and two or three
prayers for the benefit of the whole family, including a row of neat,
mostly elderly, servants near the door. Duke and Pamela listened
attentively, their hands crossed on their knees, their eyes fixed on
Grandpapa--no fidgetting or staring about or making signs to each other.
Such things would probably have been severely punished.
And then came what was almost the happiest part of the day for
"us,"--breakfast number two; that is, breakfast with Grandpapa and
Grandmamma. With the greatest interest they watched to see what was to
be given them. This morning there were no eggs, but there were some
tempting little slices of toast, fresh butter, and a glass dish of
honey, clear as amber, with which materials Grandmamma proceeded to
fabricate two delicious sandwiches, having already filled the little
cups with weak, but, this morning, sugarless tea.
"No need to put sugar when you are eating honey. You would not taste
it," she explained. "Now, then, is not that a nice little treat for my
two good children?" and Duke and Pamela were eagerly drawing in their
chairs when another question from Grandmamma suddenly reminded them of
what they had for the time forgotten. "You ate your breakfast nicely
upstairs, I hope? Did you finish all the bread and milk?"
Brother looked at sister and sister looked at brother. Both grew rosier
than usual, but Grandmamma, though fairly quick of hearing, was somewhat
near-sighted. Pamela touched Duke without the old lady seeing, and
_looked_ what he understood--"Let us tell, Duke." But Duke would not
allow himself to think he did understand. The tea and the honey
sandwiches were so tempting!
"The bowls were quite empty, Grandmamma," he said. And Grandmamma, who
had wondered a little at their hesitation in answering, seemed relieved.
For, kind as she was, "rules were rules," to Grandmamma's thinking; and,
though it would have pained her more than the children, she would
certainly have thought it right to send them upstairs treatless had the
answer been different.
"That is well," she said cheerfully, and then the two climbed on to
their chairs and drew their cups and plates close to them; while
Grandmamma went round to her own end of the table, where--for she was a
very tiny little old lady--she was almost hidden from view by the large
silver tea-urn. She went on talking to Grandpapa, and the children set
to work at what was before them. They were quite silent; not that they
ever thought of really speaking, except when "spoken to," at their
grandparents' table, but no little whispers or smiles passed between
themselves as usual; they ate on solemnly, and _somehow_--how was
it?--the honey sandwiches did not taste quite as delicious as they had
expected. But though each had the same sort of disappointed feeling,
neither said anything about it to the other.
After breakfast Grandpapa went off to his study, and Grandmamma rang the
bell for Dymock, who carried away the big tea-urn, the silver hot-water
dish in which was served Grandpapa's rasher of bacon, the knives and
forks,--everything, in short, on the table except the cups and saucers
and the rest of the china belonging to the breakfast-service. This china
was very curious, and, to those who understood such things, very
beautiful. Grandpapa had got it in his travels at some out-of-the-way
place, and the story went that it had been made for some great Chinese
lady--some "mandarin-ess," Grandmamma used to say in laughing, who had
never allowed it to be copied. How it had been got from _her_ I cannot
say. It was very fine in quality, and it was painted all over with green
dragons, with gilt tongues and eyes, and the edges of the cups and
saucers were also gilt. There were large as well as small cups; the
large ones, of course, were for breakfast, and the small ones for tea,
but Grandmamma always kept out two of the latter for Duke and Pamela. In
those days one never saw large cups of oriental china, and this was what
made the service particularly uncommon, and Grandpapa had never been
able to find out if the large ones were really Chinese or only
imitation, copied from the smaller ones. If really Chinese, then the
lady-mandarin was most likely an Englishwoman after all, who had had
them specially made for her.
You will be surprised to hear that during the thirty or forty years
during which Grandpapa and Grandmamma had daily used this precious china
not a single piece had been broken, scarcely even chipped, though, by
force of simple usage, the green dragons had grown less brilliant, and
here and there the golden tongues and eyes had altogether disappeared,
while the whole had grown soft and mellowed, so that a moment's glance
was enough to show it was really _old_ porcelain. And perhaps you will
be still more surprised to learn how it was that these happy cups and
saucers had escaped the usual fate of their kind. It was because
Grandmamma always washed them up herself! I think there was no part of
the day more pleasant to "us" than when--Dymock having cleared away all
that was his charge, and brought all that Grandmamma required from the
pantry--the old lady established herself at one end of the table, with
two bowls of beautifully white wood, and a jug of hot water before her,
and a towel of fine damask in her hand, and set to work daintily to
rinse out each cup and saucer in the first bowl, passing them then into
the fresh water of the second, and wiping them--after they had stood to
drip for a moment or two on a small slab of wood made for the
purpose--most carefully with the little cloth. It was nice to watch
her--her hands looked so white, and moved so nimbly, and--I had
forgotten to mention that--looked so business-like with the brown
holland cuffs braided in white which she kept for this occasion, and
always put on, with the big holland apron to match, before she began
operations. Yes, it had been a treat to "us" merely to watch her, and so
you can fancy how very proud Duke and Pamela felt when she at length
allowed them, each with a little towel, to wipe their own cups and
saucers. They had been promoted to this for some months now, and no
accident had happened; and on those days--few and far between, it must
be allowed--on which they had not been found deserving of their
breakfast number two, I think the punishment of not "helping Grandmamma
to wash up" had been quite as great as that of missing the treat itself.
For very often, while deftly getting through her task, Grandmamma would
talk so nicely to the children, telling them stories of the time when
she was a little girl herself, and of all the changes between those
far-away days and "now"; of the strange, wonderful places she had
visited with Grandpapa; of cities with mosques and minarets gleaming
against the intense blue sky of the East in the too splendid, scorching
sunshine that no one who has not seen it can picture to himself; of
rides--weary endless rides--night after night through the desert; or
voyages of months and months together across the pathless ocean. They
would sit, the little brother and sister, staring up at her with their
great solemn blue eyes, as if they would never tire of listening--how
wonderfully wise Grandpapa and Grandmamma must be!--"Surely," said
little Pamela one day with a great sigh, "surely Grandmamma must know
_everyfing_;" while Duke's breast swelled with the thought that he too,
like his father and grandfather before him, would journey some day to
those distant lands, there, if need were, like them "to fight for the
king." For there were times at which "bruvver" was quite determined to
be a soldier, though at others--the afternoon, for instance, when the
young bull poked his head through the hedge and shook it at him and
Pamela, and Duke's toy-sword had unfortunately been left at home in the
nursery--he did not feel quite so sure about it!
But on this particular morning the little pair were less interested and
talkative than usual. They sat so quiet while Grandmamma made her
arrangements that her attention was aroused.
"You are very silent little mice, this morning," she said. "Is it
because poor Nurse is ill that you seem in such low spirits?"
Duke and Pamela looked at each other. It would have been so easy to say
"yes," and Grandmamma would have thought them so kind-hearted and
sympathising! Once one has swerved a little bit from the straight exact
road and begun to go down-hill even in the least, it is so tempting to
go on a little farther--so much less difficult than to stop short, or,
still more, to try to go back again. But these children were so unused
to say anything not quite true that they hesitated, and this hesitation
saved them from making another step in the wrong direction.
"I wasn't finking of Nurse, Grandmamma," said Pamela at last in rather a
low voice.
"Nor I wasn't neither," said Duke, taking courage by her example.
"That's all right, then," said Grandmamma cheerfully, not having noticed
anything unusual in their tone. "Poor Nurse, we are sorry for her to be
ill, but I don't think it will be anything very bad. And I am sure you
will try to be _very_ good."
"Yes, Grandmamma," said the two voices together, but less confidently
and more timidly than usual. This time their tone caught the old lady's
attention.
"There's something on their minds," she said to herself. But she was a
wise old lady, and thought it better to wait a while before trying to
find out what it was.
"When I was a little girl," she began--and the children pricked up their
ears--"when I was a little girl I remember once that our nurse was ill,
or she had to go away to see some friend who was ill, and, as I was the
eldest of several little brothers and sisters, I had to help to take
care of them. I had always thought it would be very pleasant to be
without a nurse, though we liked ours very well, and to be able to do
just as we wished. But I shall never forget how pleased I was to see her
come back again," and Grandmamma laughed a little at the recollection.
"Why were you so pleased, Grandmamma?" asked Pamela. "Had you done
anyfing naughty?"
"_That_ wouldn't have made Grandmamma pleased for her nurse to come
back," said Duke; and a sudden thought of how "us" would have felt had
Nurse come into the room just as Toby was licking up the last of the
bread and milk made his face grow rosy.
"We had not meant to be naughty," said Grandmamma, "but we were not fit
to manage for ourselves. Each of us wanted to do a different way, and we
were like a flock of poor little sheep without a shepherd. You do not
know, children, what a comfort it is to have rules one must obey."
"But big people don't have to obey," said Duke.
"Ah yes, they have; and when they try to think they have not, then it is
that everything goes wrong with them;" and seeing by the look in the two
little faces that they were still puzzled--"People have to _obey_ all
their lives if they want to be happy," she went on. "Long after they
have no more nurses or fathers and mothers--or grandpapas and
grandmammas," with a little smile, which somehow made the corners of
Duke's and Pamela's mouths go down. "The use of all those when we are
young is only to teach us what obeying means--to teach us to listen to
the voice we should _always_ obey----" and Grandmamma stopped a minute
and looked at "us."
"God," said the two very solemnly.
"Yes; but God speaks to us in different ways, and we have to learn to
know His voice. And the way of all in which we _most_ need to know it is
when it speaks to us in our own hearts--in ourselves. It would be a very
poor sort of being good or obeying if it was only so long as somebody
else was beside us telling us what to do and looking to see that we did
it."
"Yes," said the two little voices together, lower and still more solemn.
"As, for instance, this morning if, just because Nurse was not with you,
you had done anything you would not have done had she been there," said
Grandmamma, looking keenly at the two flushed faces.
Another--"Yes, Grandmamma."
"Or," went on the old lady, speaking more slowly, "a worse kind of
disobeying--the telling what is not really true; lots of people, big as
well as little, do that, and sometimes they try to make _themselves_
think, by all sorts of twistings and turnings, that they have not done
so when their own hearts know they _have_. For the voice inside us is
_very_ hard to silence or deceive--I think sometimes indeed it _never_
is silenced, but that our ears grow deaf to it--that we make them so.
But this is very grave talk for you, my dear children--too grave and
difficult perhaps. I am getting so old that I suppose I sometimes forget
how very young you are! And here come your own little cups and saucers,
nicely rinsed out, and waiting to be wiped dry."
"Thank you, Grandmamma," said Duke.
"Fank you, Grandmamma," said Pamela.
And the two small pairs of hands set to work carefully at their daily
task. But they did not speak or ask Grandmamma any questions, and
somehow the old lady felt a little uneasy, for, even though they were on
the whole quiet children, this morning there was a sort of constraint
about them which she did not understand. And they, on their side, felt
glad when the "washing-up" was over and Grandmamma sent them upstairs to
their nursery, where they had lessons every morning for two hours with a
young girl whose mother had a sort of dame school in the village.