HOME HINTS.
“YOU won’t do any lessons, George, during the holidays, I suppose?” said
Lily, as she slowly and reluctantly brought her lesson-books to her
mother the next day.
“That’s as mamma likes,” answered George.
“I think,” said Mrs. Ellerslie, replying to his glance, “that as you
have been working so hard, my boy, you might indulge in a few days’
complete rest.”
“I must not be quite idle,” said George cheerfully; “will you not let me
teach Eddy while I am at home?”
“I think that you would be soon tired of the business,” replied Mrs.
Ellerslie, with a smile.
“I’ll try my skill as a tutor, at least;” and there was a bright look
about the boy, which seemed to say, “I am determined _not_ to be tired.”
So George set about the task of tuition with wondrous good-humour and
patience; and Eddy was delighted with his teacher, who really succeeded
in persuading him at last that twice two does _not_ make three. I must
own that Eddy persisted to the end in calling _no_—_on_, and _of_—_for_;
but then he was but a little boy, and George said that he would do
better in time. It was certainly a relief to Mrs. Ellerslie not to have
her attention diverted from Lily; but I could not but fancy, from the
anxious, abstracted expression of the poor lady’s face, that her own
thoughts were often wandering from the lessons to the difficulties of
her husband and the expected letter from Bristol.
As soon as the studies were over she quitted the room, doubtless glad
that the drudgery was ended for the day; and merry as a bird from a
cage, Lily flew to the side of her brother.
[Illustration:
Eddy was delighted with his teacher.
_Page 80._
]
“It’s raining, so we need not go out. Oh, what a delightful chat we
shall have! Just sit down beside me, Georgie, and tell me how you feel
now that you are at home.”
“I should feel very happy indeed, but that I think mother is looking
very ill.”
“Do you?” exclaimed Lily, with a look of alarm. “Well, I hoped that she
was better, for she never complains. The doctor saw her about a month
ago; he gave her something to strengthen her, and said that she must be
taken care of, and then there would be nothing to fear.”
“And is she taken care of?” said George.
“Well, I don’t know—I don’t see what we can do,” replied Lily, looking
perplexed; “I would gladly sit up all night, if it could do her any
good.”
“She does not want any one to sit up with her all night,” said George;
“but I cannot help thinking that we could do more for her, Lily, than
the cleverest doctor could. The lessons are a great fatigue to her, I
fear.”
“Well, I’m sure that I should be delighted to leave them off, every one
of them!” exclaimed his sister.
“That would not do,” answered George; “they must be learned; and I am
afraid that I could not teach you as well as Eddy. But it does seem to
me, Lily,” he continued, speaking more slowly and looking on the ground,
“that you might save mother just half the trouble that you give her at
your lessons.”
“I! what do you mean?” said Lily quickly.
“Well, dear, I don’t wish to vex you; but you know that I could not help
hearing what went on all the time that you were at your tasks. Mother
had to tell you this thing and that—just what, I suppose, she had told
you a hundred times before: and you were watching the butterfly
fluttering about while she was explaining the rule of three; so of
course you did not understand it one bit, and she had to begin from the
beginning again. Mother is so kind and gentle—it seems as though her
goodness made you careless. I am sure that you would learn your lessons
much better if she had taught you with a rod in her hand.”
“George, I never expected this from you!” cried Lily, her eyes filling
with tears.
“Forgive me, dear, for speaking so plainly; but when I look at mother,
and see her so thin and so pale, I can’t help telling you a little what
I think. Now, it’s just like this,” continued George, searching in his
mind for a simile. “Suppose that you were lame, and that it was my duty
to lift you into the baby’s little carriage, and give you a turn round
the square.”
“You could manage it, I dare say,” said Lily.
“Ah! but suppose that, as I was drawing you along, you caught at every
bush, and clung to the palings, and held the wheels, so that they could
not be turned round.”
Lily could not refrain from laughing. “You would have hard work,
Georgie, dragging me along! But I should never make you so unkind a
return, if you were so good as to draw me round the square!”
“And yet, when dear mother gives her time and her strength to getting
you on with your learning, you act just as if you wished to make her
pull in vain; and I am sure that she is just as much tired as I should
be after giving such a drive. Now, Lily, I am certain that you love dear
mamma—”
“I love her—I dote on her—I would do anything for her!” exclaimed the
little girl, fairly bursting into tears, for she was much wounded by the
words of her brother.
George kissed her again and again, as if angry with himself for having
vexed her; but as soon as Lily was more calm, he resumed the subject
once more.
“Now, dear, suppose that you and I resolve in future to do our very best
to make mother strong and well. There are three things which I think
will do her more good than all the steel wine in the world. First, let
her never say anything _twice_—what a saving of her strength that would
be! Then let us always determine to think of her pleasure before our
own. And lastly, in every little thing, let us save her all the trouble
that we can. Oh, Lily, let us only consider what a blessing God has
given us in such a parent; we cannot love her too much, nor care for her
too much, nor too earnestly try to obey that commandment, ‘_Honour thy
father and thy mother_.’ And now, will you forgive me for what I have
said?” George added, gently laying his hand upon his sister’s.
Lily threw her arms around his neck. “George, you are a darling!” she
exclaimed.
“And so we will be merry again! Come, dry up those eyes, dear Lily; I
cannot bear to see you cry.”
Lily smiled through her tears, dried her eyes, and then, taking her
work-box from the table, she drew out her beautiful pen-wiper. “Can you
guess for whom this is?” said she; “do you think that it will be pretty
when it is done?”
“Very pretty indeed,” answered George; “how beautiful the gold looks on
the dark blue!”
“It is for a certain brother of mine,” said Lily, with an arch, pleasant
smile.
“For a brother who will value it very much—I think that I can answer for
that,” replied George.
“I’m going to work it now,” said the little girl, as she passed a thread
through my eye.
“Have you nothing else that you wish to do first, dear Lily?”
“No, nothing;—oh, you are looking at that hole in my dress; but I never
mend my own clothes.”
“I thought that I heard mother say something about that very hole
to-day,” observed George, with a little hesitation.
“Well, I suppose that I ought to run it up; but I do so detest mending.”
“I wish that I could help you, Lily; but I fear that my fingers are too
clumsy. Here is an opportunity for you to begin to follow up your good
resolutions. Here is something which you dislike to do; but then your
doing it will give pleasure to mother. What is trouble to you will save
trouble to her, and you will be so glad when the effort is made.”
“Must I put this by?” said Lily, looking sadly at her pen-wiper.
“For a while, dear—only for a while. I shall always look with more
pleasure at my beautiful present when I remember that my Lily would not
let her own will come before her duty and her love to her mother.”
The pen-wiper was replaced in the box, and I felt myself hastily run
into the dress.
“I will sit beside you while you work,” said George, “and tell you a
story to amuse you.”
“A story! a story!” exclaimed Eddy, running up to his brother in high
glee at the word.
“Oh, Eddy! what have you been about?—pulling the horse-hair out of the
chair!”
“He is always at some mischief,” said Lily.
“I think,” observed George, “that it must be because he is idle, and
cannot keep those little fingers still. Now, Eddy, would you not rather
be a comfort to mamma, and help her?”
“I do help mamma!” exclaimed the little boy, with a look of injured
innocence; “I helped her a great deal to pack her box; I wish mamma had
a box to pack every day.”
“Perhaps mamma would not join in that wish. But if there is not a box to
pack, here is a great skein of wool to wind. Will you hold it on your
hands, little man, while I try to find out the knot?”
“He’ll let it slip off to a certainty!” cried Lily; “you had much better
put it over a chair.”
“Will you let it slip off, Eddy,” said his brother, “and spoil all the
skein for mamma?”
“I’ll hold it as tight—as tight as a drum!” cried the child, indignant
at his carefulness being doubted. “I will be useful—I will help mamma!”
his face quite flushed as he spoke.
“You’ll be her comfort, Eddy; I’m sure of it,” said George. “Now,
softly; you need not stretch it so hard; just hold your hands a little
nearer to the light; I can wind all the time that I am telling the
story.”
“Oh, how nice it will be! how happy we are! What shall the story be
about?” cried Eddy.
“Let me see,” said George, shaking out a knot. “Why, Lily, how famously
you are getting on with your hole! We shall be puzzled to find out the
place where it was. I think that, in compliment to your work, I will
tell you a story of a needle and a compass.”
“Of a needle!—oh, what fun!” cried little Eddy. A jovial little fellow
he was, and very merry sounded his laugh; but it was not merrier than
mine, if the children could have heard it; for never had it entered my
thoughts for a moment that any one would ever make a story about me; and
I felt amazingly complimented by the idea.
“What sort of needle?” asked Eddy; “a big needle—a darning needle—a
bodkin?”
“Oh no!” replied George, with a smile; “we need nothing so grand as
that. We’ll have a story of a nice little needle, just like that with
which Lily is sewing.”
With eager curiosity I listened, and the Scissors and the Thimble were
all full of attention, as George commenced his story.
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