A PIECE OF MISCHIEF.
THE next day I found that the lesson of work was to be omitted. Little
Miss Lizzie Baker came to spend the day with my young mistress, who was,
therefore, excused from performing her tasks; which, I could not help
imagining, would be felt quite as great a relief by the teacher as by
the pupil.
I was not, however, to be left in complete idleness. Mrs. Ellerslie
entered the sitting-room in which the work-box of her daughter was kept.
She was dressed in her bonnet and shawl; and seeing me close at hand,
sticking in Lily’s piece of work, she threaded me with a piece of dark
silk, and mended a small hole in her glove. There was a great sound over
head, as of little feet running about, and now and then a fretful cry
from the baby. The lady rose and opened the door, and then I could
plainly distinguish a voice speaking from an upper room in the house.
“Indeed, Miss Lily, I shall never get the child to sleep if you make
such a constant noise. You’ve woke her up these three times already!”
“Lily! Lily!” called her mother at the foot of the stairs. Whether her
call was heard by the little lady I know not, it certainly was not
answered, and Mrs. Ellerslie had walked half-way up to the nursery
before I heard the servant exclaiming in a sharp tone, “Now do you be
quiet, Miss Lily; don’t you hear that mistress is calling you?”
“You had better come to the drawing-room, my darlings,” called the
gentle mother, “and then nurse can put poor baby to sleep. I am obliged
to go out to make purchases, and to execute commissions for my sister;
but I am sure that you will be good and happy while I am away; and do
not be too noisy, my pets.”
So Lily and Lizzie Baker, a plump, dark-eyed little girl, came into the
room, and seated themselves on an ottoman, near the table on which my
work-box was placed. Eddy followed, jumping step by step down the
stairs, and trotting up to his sister, said, “Lily, won’t you let me
play with you?”
“Oh, we don’t want you here,” was the reply; “we are going to have a
quiet chat together. Just you amuse yourself, and don’t trouble us.”
The little fellow turned dolefully away, went up to the window, and
flattened his nose against the pane, looking after his mother as she
crossed the street; soiled his finger by drawing lines across the glass
which he had dimmed with his breath; then, tired of that diversion,
tried to pull off the little twists of wool which formed the fringe of
the curtain; and then suddenly making up to the table, laid his
exploring hand on the work-box.
“There now, Eddy, you tormenting boy, just take your hands off,” cried
Lily, turning round just in time to prevent its contents being scattered
on the floor. She roughly snatched the box from the child, and giving
him something very much like a shake, sent him half crying to another
end of the room.
“He is the most mischievous little monkey,” she said to her companion;
“would you believe it, he pulled off the wig of my new doll!”
“I think that brothers are great torments,” observed Lizzie.
“Oh, not such brothers as George,” replied Lily; “he is always like
sunshine in the house. I am so glad that he is coming from school. I
have been counting the days to the holidays.”
“Well, that’s odd,” said Lizzie; “I always dread them. In the morning of
the day when our boys return, I always think as soon as I awake, ‘Dear,
dear, we’ll have no more peace in the house!’ They are so noisy, so
rude, so troublesome, so fond of worrying and teasing us girls, I’m sure
that it’s a happy day for us when the coach comes to take them back to
school.”
“They must be very different from George. I always am happier when he is
with me; and it seems as if he made me better too.”
“But he cannot amuse himself with you. Does he not like hocky, and
cricket, and football, and despise the diversions of girls?”
“He does like cricket, and that sort of thing, and is a capital hand at
it too, but he does not despise playing with us. I do not think that he
despises anything but what is mean or wrong. You don’t know how fond
little baby is of him; and as for Eddy, he is never so merry as when he
is at romps with Georgie, or listening to one of his stories. I don’t
know how it is, but every one seems more happy, and everything looks
brighter, when Georgie is at home.”
A funny fancy came into my head at this moment. I could not help
recollecting what the Thimble had told me about gold—how that metal,
which is so weighty and precious, yet can be spread into leaves so thin
as to brighten the paper on the wall and adorn the leaves of the book. I
wondered if there were anything like this to be found in human life; if
the precious thing called virtue, which my companion had likened to
gold, could also be found to extend to trifles, and in the smaller
occurrences of life show its power to brighten and adorn. It was an odd
idea, but it arose from what I heard Lily say that morning of her
brother; and when I had an opportunity of watching George myself, it
recurred to me again and again.
So the young ladies sat there chatting and diverting themselves for an
hour or more, playing at cat’s-cradle, comparing their dolls, telling
stories of the past, and building castles in the air for the future.
Eddy more than once broke in on their _tête-à-tête_, but was told to go
away, and not disturb them. Driven to his own resources, the child rode
round the room on a footstool; but this amusement was stopped, as being
too noisy. He then kicked his heels for some time on the sofa, till,
finding the occupation tiresome, he made the discovery of a little hole
in a cushion, from which he managed to abstract several tiny feathers,
which amused him for a quarter of an hour. Then I watched him—for no eye
seemed to watch him but mine—when he wearily sauntered to the other side
of the room, and fixed his round eyes upon an instrument which, as I
have since learned, is called a thermometer. He stared up at this, till
his curiosity grew strong. He dragged, with some labour, a chair to the
spot, and scrambling up upon the seat, brought his face to a level with
the glass. He put out his hand and touched the round ball at the bottom
of the instrument, examining it like any little philosopher; he then
pressed it a little harder, I suppose, for I saw the child give a slight
start, as if some mischief had been done, and then scramble from the
chair faster than he had got up, and throw himself down on the floor.
Glancing up at the thermometer, I could see that the little silver ball
had disappeared; but I was at a loss to account for Eddy’s movements
now, as, half-stretched on the carpet, leaning on one elbow, he seemed
to be attempting to pick up something which eluded his grasp, pouncing
down his hand now here, now there, and laughing to himself merrily all
the while.
“I think it’s alive,” he said softly; “how funnily it runs about when I
try to get hold of it!” and opening his mouth, he stooped closer to the
ground, as though to draw up with his lips the something which always
slipped from his fingers. He was startled by a frightened exclamation
from his mother, who at this moment entered the room.
“Eddy, my child! oh, don’t touch that! it’s quicksilver—poison—it might
kill you! Oh, what a mercy that I came just in time!” and weary,
agitated, and alarmed, the poor lady drew him close to her bosom and
wept.
“Mamma!” exclaimed the child, frightened at her tears, “I didn’t mean—I
didn’t know—it looked so funny; I never will do so any more!”
“Oh, Lily, Lily!” cried Mrs. Ellerslie, with something of bitterness in
her tone, as both the little girls hurried to her side, “could you not
have looked a little after your brother? If I had returned but one
minute later your carelessness might have cost the life of my child!”
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