UP THE CHIMNEY
Granny had little idea of what an eventful morning it had been when the
children came to her in the afternoon, looking so nice and well-behaved, as
if they had done nothing but bite their little thumbs in the nursery from
the moment of their getting up till tea-time. Nurse Nancy had persisted in
carrying out her determination to leave her dear mistress in peaceful
ignorance of whatever terrifying episodes might develop during the sojourn
of the children in the house. She had suffered enough from their pranks in
the summer, and she must now be allowed to believe that they were grown as
serious and as quietly-behaved as any old people.
Fortunately the house was big and the walls were thick, and sounds must
needs be very loud indeed to penetrate to Madam's sanctuary, if care were
taken to keep them from reaching her ears.
When Terry appeared as usual in her white frock, with her little blue silk
work-bag, and with what Nurse Nancy called her "Mary" face, Granny said to
herself that the child was a sweet little lady; but remarked that Terry
looked pale. Was her clothing warm enough? Had she eaten a good dinner? No,
said Nancy, she hadn't eaten a good dinner, not to-day; but it was only
once, and for a wonder.
"Wait till you see what a tea she'll make, madam. Myself thinks children
sometimes hides their appetites in their pockets and brings them out again
when they get something they like."
In this way good old Nancy told the truth and didn't tell the truth, all to
save pain to Madam. But Terry hung her head. She was, as usual, longing to
confess everything that had happened, but kept silence through obedience to
Nurse Nancy. However, when she was invited to partake of the good things of
the tea-table, she did not fail to verify Nurse Nancy's prediction as to
the return of her appetite.
Indeed, all the troubles of the morning had been by this time removed so
far away that it seemed as if they must have happened a year ago. Lally had
sent her word that Jocko's knees were nearly all right, and that he
suffered no pain from them. Turly's head was in its usual place, and the
pot, being brass, was not even broken. Her practising had been done, and
Granny would have another fresh egg to-morrow morning for breakfast. So
there was no reason in the world why Terry should not make a good tea, now
was there?
After tea came a rush of joy which quite swept away the recollection of
everything uncomfortable, for Granny informed the children that she had had
a letter from Africa saying that it was probable their father and mother
might come home within a very short time. Dear old Granny had tears in her
eyes while telling this news; and she said that she was rejoiced to think
of what very good children she should be able to present to their parents
when they did arrive at home.
The evening was passed delightfully, trotting about the floor with the
kittens, reciting poetry, reading aloud, and embroidering. Granny told some
pretty stories of when she was a little girl, stories to which the children
always listened with real delight, because Gran'ma evidently had been a
little girl, from the sort of things she told, and the way she told them,
not like some grown-up people who would make their youngers believe that
they never cared for anything but lesson-books and goody-goodiness from the
moment they were christened. Granny even sang them one or two little songs
which she used to sing when she was ever so small, and Terry thought she
never heard anything so sweet as Granny's soft singing, although it did
only whisper sometimes, and now and then her voice would crack off on the
high notes. There was one little ditty which the children liked greatly,
and which Granny said used to be sung to her by her nurse to put her to
sleep. The song began:
"It's pretty to live in Ballinderry,
Far prettier to live in Magherlin;
Far prettier to live in Ram's Island
And see the little boats sailing in!"
It was altogether an evening which made the children feel completely
absolved for any blunders they had committed, and they got up the next
morning particularly good, not afraid of anything, and quite ready for a
new adventure. There was a snow world outside the windows, and this in
itself was an excitement.
Blackbirds, thrushes, finches, tomtits, came round the doors and windows
begging alms, not to mention crows and magpies, who fought with the little
birds for the crumbs provided for all, and proved themselves intolerable
bullies, much to Terry's disgust.
"The best plan will be," said Turly, "to throw big pieces, and then these
monsters will fly away with them, and leave the little fellows to eat in
peace."
This was done, and the rooks in their sombre cloaks and hoods, and the
magpies in their courtly black satin and white velvet, pounced on the
morsels, and retired with them to the branches of the nearest trees.
"Oh, now," said Terry, "we can give the dear little song-birds their
breakfast! Just see how they are running like little chickens to be fed!"
However, only now was the fighting to begin. The thrushes pecked the
blackbirds, and the blackbirds flew at the thrushes, and both beat back the
little redbreasts and tomtits.
"Rascals!" said Turly; "they are every bit as bad as the crows!"
"Oh!" cried Terry, "to think they can sing so sweetly and behave so
cruelly!"
"I suppose it's only their way," said Turly. "I think birds have to be
cruel, or they couldn't live. See them picking up the worms, and smashing
the snail-shells against the stones!"
"And men are cruel too," said Terry. "They kill the lambs--"
Here their talk was interrupted by an unusual and startling sight. The air
became suddenly darkened by a moving cloud of winging sea-gulls high
overhead, circling above the tops of the trees, ever increasing in number
till their wide wings seemed to be almost laced together.
Each time the great circle they had marked for themselves was travelled
they descended a little lower towards the earth.
"How lovely!" cried Terry. "They are really coming down to us!"
"They are wanting their dinner," said Walsh, the steward, coming to where
the children were standing with their faces turned up to the skies.
"Oh, do you think so?" cried Terry. "And where can we get crumbs enough for
such a number?"
[Illustration]
"But sea-gulls live on fish," said Turly, "and the sea is never frozen. Why
should the frost make the sea-gulls hungry?"
"I think they're river-gulls," said Walsh; "but anyhow it's looking for
something to eat they are, or they'd never be here. I think there's a lot
of damaged grain up somewhere in the lofts, and we'll boil up a pot of it
for them, not to disappoint the creatures!"
"That will be very good," said Terry, "if damaged grain will agree with
them, Mr. Walsh. But do you think they will like to have it damaged?"
Walsh turned away laughing. "Wait till you see them eating it, Miss Terry,"
he called over his shoulder. "Maybe it's green peas and jam tarts you'd
like to be settin' down to them!"
"I don't think they would like jam tarts," said Terry, "but we might give
them some meat;" and away she flew, followed by Turly, to interview the
cook on the subject of a feast for the gulls.
"Oh, yes, Miss Terry, I'll find plenty for them! There's leavings enough.
It's only taking a little from the pigs, fat things that do be always
eating a lot too much!"
The end of it was that a splendid mess was made for the gulls, and spread
in little heaps under the trees, and all about the lawn, and even under the
windows, for Terry and Turly wanted to be able to watch them at their
dinner, and they could not stay out of doors, as gulls are so easily
frightened.
From behind the curtain the children watched them circling, circling
downward. Even when they smelt the hot food, the gulls did not alter their
rhythmical pace and movement, but performed their journey in regular order,
descending with each circle nearer and yet a little nearer to the ground.
At last the first gull ventured a foot upon the territory of man, and
immediately they all dropped on one another, wings falling on wings, and
cries filling the air as the beautiful hungry creatures forgot all their
poetry in their ravening and scrambling for the food.
That was a good evening also, for by the time the gulls had eaten up all
the dinner and flown away it was nearly the hour for going to Gran'ma, and
she had to be informed of the delightful experience of the morning with the
birds. And Granny told them how, when she used to be going about among the
trees and in the garden, the birds would eat out of her hand, and the
little squirrels, who always came to look after the walnuts, were never in
the least bit afraid of her. After all this the children went to bed
feeling even more gentle and harmless than the night before. And when they
awoke next morning, expecting another day of charity to the birds, they
were quite like little ministering angels, and tricks and adventures were
far from them.
But, alas! the snow was gone, the birds were regaling themselves on a
breakfast of worms, and the rain was pouring thickly and quietly, with an
easy intention of going on for ever, as only Irish rain can pour.
Now what was to be done? No good works were possible. Nurse Nancy could
think of nothing more diverting than story-books, and so Terry and Turly
sat each on a stool beside the fire with a book, while Nancy went as usual
to attend to her mistress.
Nurse had said nothing about practising, and, good as she wanted to be,
Terry had not courage to return of her own accord to the melancholy piano
in the deserted drawing-room. If Turly were to come there with her again he
would either go to war, or hunt wild beasts, or do some other disturbing
thing to disagree with the order of the furniture, and she herself, Terry,
would be sure to be in the middle of the worst of it. So she resolutely
held to her book, that Nancy might not be so likely to remember the
practising.
When the children were left alone, however, they soon began to talk.
"I say, Terry," said Turly, "isn't the house awfully quiet? You wouldn't
think there was any kitchen or places downstairs, because they make no
noise. At school you are always hearing things, doors banging and voices
speaking, and you can smell the dinner. It's a very quiet place, Gran'ma's
is. There's no smell, and there's no sound."
"It's very far downstairs here, you know," said Terry sagaciously. "It's a
big house. And we do smell our own dinner when it comes up. Now, don't we,
Turly?"
"Oh, yes!" said Turly, yawning; "but I like to know all that is happening
to everybody. I say, Terry, do you know there's another story of house
above the part we're living in?"
"Two stories," said Terry.
"Have you never been up in them?" said Turly.
"No," said Terry. "I peeped up the stairs once or twice, but it looked
rather lonely, so I didn't care to."
"I think it would be great fun to go up and see what they're like," said
Turly.
"Some of them are servants' bedrooms," said Terry. "But there are other
parts besides, I know."
"Do come up and see, Terry."
"There might be a ghost."
"If there is, I'll soon knock him on the head," said Turly. "I'll take the
poker with me."
"Oh, you silly! The poker would pass through him. They have no bodies."
"Then they couldn't hurt us," said Turly, "so who cares? But there might
be rats, so I'll just take the poker with me."
"I don't like rats," said Terry; "and mind, Turly, it's you this time, if
anything goes wrong."
"Now, I hope you're not going to turn into a common girl, Terry," said
Turly. "You used to be such a brick."
All this made Terry feel that she couldn't possibly be going wrong to-day.
Turly was always said to be good, and he was reproaching her with too much
goodness. They might just go up the stair and take a look around. There
couldn't be any harm in it.
Still, they went very softly for fear of being overheard. It would be so
disappointing if Nursey were just to come out of Gran'ma's room and say
"Come back, children!"
Up the stair they went. On the first floor they came to were bedrooms,
chiefly rooms where servants slept, and one or two lumber rooms with
nothing very interesting about them. So the children decided to go up
higher still. A winding stair led to the topmost story of the big house,
which consisted of a range of attics.
They looked into all, but none of them was attractive. The expedition was
threatening to prove a failure when they arrived at the last door and
pushed it open.
[Illustration]
This place certainly seemed more promising. Large black presses were
standing against the wall, looking as if they were full of everything. It
wasn't exactly a lumber room, but a kind of place where very particular old
things had been put away. A rocking-cradle in a corner caught their eyes.
"I wonder if Granny was rocked in it!" said Terry.
"She would have to be very little," said Turly dubiously.
"Of course she was little. I can quite fancy Gran'ma little. Some people
must have been born grown-up. Miss Goodchild was born grown-up, I know. Of
course she's nice, but she couldn't ever have been little, Turly."
"Nobody could be born grown-up," said Turly. "They've all got to begin
babies. Nursey told me so."
"Now, Turly! As if God couldn't make us big at once if He liked. And He
did. There's Adam. Do you mean to say he wasn't made grown up? And so was
Eve."
But Turly had got away from the cradle and had opened one of the presses.
"Strange-looking things in here," he said. "Hanging up, like people."
"Oh, they're old dresses of course," said Terry. "Very old dresses I'm sure
they must be. Oh, Turly!"
Turly had climbed up and unhooked some things which had caught his fancy.
He carried them to the light and examined them.
"It's a soldier's uniform," he said, "and it must be very old. It's all
stuffy and moth-eaten, and the gold is nearly black. There are green
things on it. I know what it is, Terry. It belonged to Gran'ma's uncle in
the Irish Brigades. He was killed at Fontenoy. They sent home his things.
Nursey told me all about it."
"Oh, do put it away, Turly! Don't try to get into it. You're too small, and
beside he was killed."
"It's too big for me," said Turly. "I wonder if he had it on when he was
killed!"
"Of course he had. Oh, Turly, do hang it up again!"
"I thought it looked like a kill when I saw it hanging there," said Turly.
And he hung it up again and closed the door of that press.
"Now I'm sure this is Gran'ma's wedding-dress," said Terry. "It's white,
you know, though it looks gray, because it's so long ago!"
Many other curious discoveries were made, and at last Turly declared he was
so hungry that he was sure it must be dinner-time.
All the things they had handled were put back in their places, and they ran
to the door. Terry turned the handle and shook it, but it would not open.
"I locked it when we came in," said Turly. "I was trying the lock."
"I can't unlock it," said Terry.
Turly tried, and Terry tried again, but the key was fixed in the lock and
would not move. Turly got tired struggling with it, and began to kick the
door and to call. They listened, and could not hear anybody coming.
Everything was exactly as before.
"It's very high up," said Tarry, "and the door is so thick."
"Perhaps we could get out of the window," said Turly. But the window was
perched up on the roof, and there was no balcony. It was so high that they
could just see the tops of the trees in the distance.
"I shouldn't mind if I weren't so hungry," said Turly. "I suppose they will
find us some time or other."
"They'll never think of looking for us here, I'm afraid," said Terry.
Turly ran over to the grate. "I say," he cried, "this is an awfully short
chimney, and ever so wide. I'm going to get to the top of it and wave a
flag."
"Do you think you could, Turly? Are you sure you would not hurt yourself?"
"Oh, bother hurt!" said Turly. "We want our dinner."
They looked about for something to make a flag of. At last Terry took off
her white petticoat and tore it up to make a long streamer. It was mounted
on a walking-stick which was found in a corner, and then Turly began to
climb the chimney.
Notches in the stone enabled him to plant his feet, and after he had
squeezed himself up some way, he thrust the stick with its white streamer
through the opening above him.
"It's all right!" he shouted down. "It's flying!"
Fortunately there were no chimney-pots on that particular chimney It had a
wide opening, and Turly got his head out at the top.
"Oh!" said Terry, with her head in the grate, "I hope it won't get all wet,
and flop!"
"Rain's over!" shouted Turly. "I've got such a splendid view! Walsh and
Lally and a whole pack of them are running down the avenue; going to look
for us, I suppose. Hullo! If they would only look up! What duffers they
are, with their eyes on the ground! I say, Lally! Hi--h--!"
Terry only heard a word or two of all this, and the people down below none
at all. It was only by accident that Lally turned round and took a look
back at the house.
"Powers above us!" he shouted, "what's up there on the chimbley?"
"Chimbley's on fire!" somebody else shouted, having just caught the word
chimney, and everybody began to run back to the house.
"No, you idiots!" roared Lally; "but, by my sowl, if it isn't Turly's head
that's perked up on the chimbley as if it was Cromwell's head on Newgate!"
Screams followed. Nurse Nancy, who was of the party, dropped on the road,
and Walsh had to stop and hold her.
"Up the chimney!" she groaned. "Heavens! how are we to get him down? There
isn't a ladder long enough!"
"Aisy, ould woman!" said Lally. "We'll get him down the way he got up. It's
an inside job."
And away he trudged to the house with a goodly following, including Nancy
herself, who soon found her feet when she heard that there was a cure for
the catastrophe.
How the rescuing party blundered about the upper story, and at last found
the right room, need not be related.
The door was shaken, battered, assaulted in every possible manner, but the
rusty key had got stuck half-way across the lock and would not stir. In the
end the door had to be taken off the hinges, and when it was removed the
children made a very sooty appearance as the result of their struggle for
liberty.
Turly was like a real sweep from squeezing himself up and down the chimney,
and Terry had got her gold curls sprinkled with soot, the result of
putting them into the grate when she looked up the chimney after Turly.
The men laughed heartily when they heard the children's story of their
adventure, and Nurse, as usual, groaned and scolded at first, but
afterwards relented and gave them a good dinner, having prepared them for
it by a bath and clean clothing.
In spite of Nancy's good intentions, Granny heard the noise and asked what
it meant.
"Oh!" said Nurse, "it was only the children that shut themselves up in the
attic and couldn't get out again, so that Lally had to open the door for
them."
"Poor darlings!" said Granny; "a wet day is very trying for them. And they
have been so wonderfully well-behaved; now haven't they, Nancy?"
"Pretty well, madam, considering," said Nancy.