The next day most of the sons departed, various duties calling them
back. The Rev. Cyril Heath, and Belle, his wife, stayed several weeks,
as he could take his vacation more conveniently in the winter than in
the summer. Among them all they persuaded two of the sisters to remain
likewise, and to Margaret's delight, most of her special pets belonged
to these three families.
"I don't like to say it even to you, mamma," said Belle Heath, "but it
is a relief to have Frank's children gone. They are so wide-awake, so
independent, and so spoiled."
"Their mother tries to do well by them," said Mrs. Grey. "And they are
very fond of her. And Frank seems contented enough."
"He may seem so, but I am sure he isn't. Is there nothing can be done
to tone Lily up? Couldn't you talk to her, and make her see that she
will ruin those children?"
"My dear Belle, no, indeed. Young wives abhor having their
mothers-in-law interfere with them."
"But just listen to this. Yesterday Frank, Jr., came rushing in like a
mad creature, and rushed up to my poor little Mabel, seized her by the
leg, and floored her. Mabel hit her head against a chair, and began to
cry.
"'Why, Frank,' said his mother, 'what spirits you have. But it is rude
to treat your little cousin in that way. Go and tell her you are sorry.'
"'I won't,' said Frank.
"'Very well, then you shall not dine with me to-day.' Thereupon he set
up one of his dreadful shrieks, when Lily said, 'Don't cry; on the
whole it won't do to forbid you dining with me, because it would annoy
grandma. Ask Aunt Belle if that isn't the case.'
"She looked at me, and I said, 'Lily, dear, don't break your word; for
the child's sake, I beg you not.'
'Oh,' she said, 'I spoke impulsively; it will just spoil my lunch if
Franky is in disgrace. Belle, I wish you didn't make so much of every
trifle.' I said I could not think it a trifle to break one's word."
"I hope Franky did not hear this discussion," interposed Mrs. Grey.
"Not he; the moment Lily let him off as to the matter of dinner he was
at his ease, and rushed off into some other piece of mischief. I said a
good deal to Lily, and at last, she called Frank and said to him, 'Your
aunt thinks you ought to be punished for your naughty ways; now, if I
let you off about the dinner, I shall have to think of some other way
of dealing with you. Perhaps I shall use papa's little rod.'
"'Ho, papa's little rod! _You_ can't hurt me with it.'
"'Yes, I can, and I shall, too; and now, go away, and play.'
"This morning I reminded her of her threat to the child, and asked her
if she had carried it out.
"'Why, no,' she said, 'I couldn't punish a child today for what it did
yesterday. He is good and pleasant now, and I couldn't go and pick a
quarrel with him.'
"'Oh, _never_ pick a quarrel with him,' I said, 'but keep your word,
Lily.'
"She yawned, and called Franky, who came running up.
"'Here, you young rogue,' she began, 'come and feel the rod I promised
you yesterday;' so then they got into a regular frolic together, and he
finally wrenched it out of her hand and threw it into the fire."
"Yes," said Mrs. Grey, "that's Lily to the life. But she might be a
hundred, yes, a thousand times worse. I had rather see her inefficient
and amiable than ever so energetic, but ill-tempered."
"Of course. But the children won't respect her."
"But they'll love her."
Belle sighed. "Frank was always my favorite brother," she said, "and
when he became engaged to Lily, I thought him such a lucky fellow;
she was so pretty and so sweet, and seemed so fond of him. But those
children. She can do nothing with them."
"Well, Frank makes them obey him."
"But he is able to be with them so little. And you must own, mamma,
that it is the mother who moulds the child."
"No, not where both parents live to be joint educators of their
children. You do not remember much about your father; but Lily reminds
me more of him than any of you do. Nothing would have tempted him to
punish you; he would contrive to forget his threats, or laugh them off,
and I always thought that as you grew up, you would love him better
than you did me, he was so gentle with you."
"Yet, it is the law-giver who is invariably loved the best. Frank's
children love him far better than they do their mother."
"Yes; but that is chiefly owing to his loving them so intensely."
"Poor Lily. She is never intense in anything. But she is a dear little
thing, and they may all get on together, somehow."
"I think, my dear, it will not be 'somehow'. I think there will
be cause and effect. Frank can do more by his pure and thoroughly
religious life, than Lily can undo. As the children grow older they
will feel his influence everywhere. It certainly is a fact that in
many a home where the mother is amiable, well-disposed, but weak, the
father comes to the rescue, becomes the ruling spirit of the house, and
his boys and girls turn out good and true men and women."
Belle smiled. "You will never say die," she declared. "I wish I was as
sure of my mother-in-law as Lily is of hers. And now I want to talk to
you about my own little men and women."
"No wonder. They are charming."
But at this moment several others entered the room, some with babies,
some with needlework; they all sat around the library table, by the
open fire, making as pleasant a picture as one need desire to see.
There was a little desultory conversation; one wanted to learn a
particular stitch in knitting, and another taught her. Belle came and
looked on, and learned it in half the time.
"Now, Belle," said Laura, "I wish you would teach me the secret of your
children's excellent manners. They are as full of spirit as mine, but
they are not rude, and mine are. They slam doors, and slide down the
banisters, and interrupt me when I am talking."
Here there was a general outcry.
"I never _would_ allow my children to interrupt," said one.
"They all do it, except Belle's children."
"Then all children are disagreeable--and very disagreeable."
"Come, Belle, speak up. How have you contrived it all?"
"There has not been much contrivance about it. There were certain
things I made up my mind to have, and I've had them. There were certain
other things I wanted to have, but have not, thus far, gained. In other
words, I do not consider our household life perfect. We every one of
us, father, mother, and children, have our faults and foibles."
"I should hope so," said Laura. "You would be fearfully uninteresting
if you never said or did anything but what was prim and proper."
"Oh, as to that, we are not prim, as you very well know."
"What, not when you go on straw-rides? Dear me, I have been
black-and-blue ever since you and his Reverence inveigled me into going
blackberrying in that style. But come, now; what have you done to your
children?"
"I don't know," said Belle, trying to think. "Perhaps they were born
with good manners. I never fuss over them; they seem to take to things
naturally."
"May I say what _I_ think about it?" asked Margaret, coming eagerly
forward.
"Yes, do, child," said Mrs. Grey, who had been listening in amused
silence to the mixture of fun and earnestness visible in her young
folks.
"Mrs. Heath always _does_ what she wants the children to do; she never
tells them to say 'I thank you,' but always thanks them, down to the
youngest, whenever she has a chance; she never orders them about,
either, but always gives directions kindly; and she never speaks
unkindly to them at any time."
"And never slides down the banisters or slams doors," Belle added,
right merrily.
By this time Margaret had shrunk back, rather frightened at having
spoken out before so many listeners.
"You are right, Margaret," said Mrs. Grey, not a little pleased at the
girl's close observation; "emphatically right. In my observation of
life, I have seen plenty of illustrations to prove that you are.
"Listen, while I rehearse:
"'John!'
"'Sir!'
"'Go up-stairs and get my slippers.'
"John makes no answer, gets the slippers unwillingly, resumes his book,
or whatever work he may be at, and then:
"'John! John Burt!'
"'_Sir!_'
"'What under the sun did you bring these old slipshods for? I wonder if
you ever did an errand right in your life? I never saw such a boy. Take
them up-stairs, and get the other pair. And be quick about it, too. I
can't sit here in my stocking-feet all night.'
"Or put it thus:
"'John, my boy?'
"'Yes, papa!'
"'I wish you'd trot up-stairs for my slippers?'
"'Yes, papa!'
"'And don't bring the old ones; they're done for; bring the pair Susy
worked for me.'
"'Yes, papa, all right.'
"'Ah, _thank_ you, old fellow! When I am thirteen and you are fifty,
I'll do as much for you. How nice it is to have a pair of young legs at
one's service!'
"Now, all this may seem small business, but this boy is being
_educated_ into refinement, and courtesy, and kindliness, or the
reverse."
"Curiously enough," said Belle, "without having any conscious theory on
the subject, I have always acted on this principle with my children."
"Are children, then, mere monkeys, imitating all they see done?" asked
Laura.
"They are not," was Mrs. Grey's reply. "Some children are so original
that they cannot imitate. They think and act for themselves. They
are hard to deal with in most cases, each needing a mother all to
itself. But they are the exception, not the rule. Most of us owe almost
everything to unconscious influence."
But all serious talk was for the time put an end to, by a curious
little incident. One of the nurses entered the room, leading by the
hand Laura's baby-girl, who had just learned to walk. Another baby,
who had not yet attained this art, was creeping about, picking up and
putting into its mouth everything it could find; and no sooner did the
older child perceive this, than down it went on all-fours, and began to
creep too, to the great amusement of all present.
"How perfectly ridiculous!" said Laura, snatching up and kissing her
child.
"'She stooped to conquer,'" said Margaret.
And then followed any amount of youthful talk, and nursery tales from
the family urchins. Mrs. Grey's extraordinary memory, where everything
they ever said and did was stored up, together with some that, amid no
little protest and fun, was warmly challenged.