MATTIE'S MICROCOSM.
Although Mrs. Boxall, senior, was still far from well, yet when the
morning of Mrs. Morgenstern's gathering dawned, lovely even in the
midst of London, and the first sun-rays, with green tinges and rosy
odors hanging about their golden edges, stole into her room, reminding
her of the old paddock and the feeding cows at Bucks Horton, in
Buckingham, she resolved that Lucy should go to Mrs. Morgenstern's. So
the good old lady set herself to feel better, in order that she might
be better, and by the time Lucy, who had slept in the same room with
her grandmother since her illness, awoke, she was prepared to persuade
her that she was quite well enough to let her have a holiday.
"But how am I to leave you, grannie, all alone?" objected Lucy.
"Oh! I dare say that queer little Mattie of yours will come in and keep
me company. Make haste and get your clothes on, and go and see."
Now Lucy had had hopes of inducing Mattie to go with her; as I
indicated in a previous chapter; but she could not press the child
after the reason she gave for not going. And now she might as well
ask her to stay with her grandmother. So she went round the corner to
Mr. Kitely's shop, glancing up at Mr. Spelt's nest in the wall as she
passed, to see whether she was not there.
When she entered the wilderness of books she saw no one; but peeping
round one of the many screens, she spied Mattie sitting with her back
toward her and her head bent downward. Looking over her shoulder,
she saw that she had a large folding plate of the funeral of Lord
Nelson open before her, the black shapes of which, with their infernal
horror of plumes--the hateful flowers that the buried seeds of ancient
paganism still shoot up into the pleasant Christian fields--she was
studying with an unaccountable absorption of interest.
"What _have_ you got there Mattie?" asked Lucy.
"Well, I don't ezackly know, miss," answered the child, looking up,
very white-faced and serious.
"Put the book away and come and see grannie. She wants you to take care
of her to-day, while I go out."
"Well, miss, I would with pleasure; but you see father is gone out, and
has left me to take care of the shop till he comes back."
"But he won't be gone a great while, will he?"
"No, miss. He knows I don't like to be left too long with the books.
He'll be back before St. Jacob's strikes nine--that I know."
"Well, then, I'll go and get grannie made comfortable; and if you don't
come to me by half-past nine, I'll come after you again."
"Do, miss, if you please; for if father ain't come by that time--my
poor head--"
"You must put that ugly book away," said Lucy, "and take a better one."
"Well, miss, I know I oughtn't to have taken this book, for there's no
summer in it; and it talks like the wind at night."
"Why did you take it, then?"
"Because Syne told me to take it. But that's just why I oughtn't to ha'
taken it."
And she rose and put the book in one of the shelves over her head,
moving her stool when she had done so, and turning her face toward the
spot where the book now stood. Lucy watched her uneasily.
"What do you mean by saying that Syne told you?" she asked. "Who is
Syne?"
"Don't you know Syne, miss? Syne is--you know 'Lord Syne was a miserly
churl'--don't you?"
Then, before Lucy could reply, she looked up in her face, with a smile
hovering about the one side of her mouth, and said:
"But it's all nonsense, miss, when you're standing there. There isn't
no such person as Syne, when you're there. I don't believe there is any
such person. But," she added with a sigh, "when you're gone away--I
don't know. But I think he's up stairs in the nursery now," she said,
putting her hand to her big forehead. "No, no; there's no such person."
And Mattie tried to laugh outright, but failed in the attempt, and the
tears rose in her eyes.
"You've got a headache, dear," said Lucy.
"Well, no," answered Mattie. "I cannot say that I have just a headache,
you know. But it does buzz a little. I hope Mr. Kitely won't be long
now."
"I don't like leaving you, Mattie; but I must go to my grandmother,"
said Lucy, with reluctance.
"Never mind me, miss. I'm used to it. I used to be afraid of Lord Syne,
for he watched me, ready to pounce out upon me with all his men at his
back, and he laughed so loud to see me run. But I know better now. I
never run from him now. I always frown at him, and take my own time and
do as I like. I don't want him to see that I'm afraid, you know. And I
do think I have taught him a lesson. Besides, if he's very troublesome,
you know, miss, I can run to Mr. Spelt. But I never talk to him about
Syne, because when I do he always looks so mournful. Perhaps he thinks
it is wicked. He is so good himself, he has no idea how wicked a body
can be."
Lucy thought it best to hurry away, that she might return the sooner;
for she could not bear the child to be left alone in such a mood. And
she was sure that the best thing for her would be to spend the day with
her cheery old grandmother. But as she was leaving the shop, Mr. Kitely
came in, his large, bold, sharp face fresh as a north wind without a
touch of east in it. Lucy preferred her request about Mattie, and he
granted it cordially.
"I'm afraid, Mr. Kitely," said Lucy, "the darling is not well. She has
such strange fancies."
"Oh, I don't know," returned the bookseller, with mingled concern
at the suggestion and refusal to entertain it. "She's always been a
curious child. Her mother was like that, you see, and she takes after
her. Perhaps she does want a little more change. I don't think she's
been out of this street, now, all her life. But she'll shake it off as
she gets older, I have no doubt."
So saying, he turned into his shop, and Lucy went home. In half an
hour she went back for Mattie, and leaving the two together, of whom
the child, in all her words and ways, seemed the older, set out for
the West End, where Mrs. Morgenstern was anxiously hoping for her
appearance, seeing she depended much upon her assistance, in the
treat she was giving to certain poor people of her acquaintance. By
any person but Mattie, Mrs. Morgenstern would have been supposed to
be literally fulfilling the will of our Lord in asking only those who
could not return her invitation.