before her face, they made up for it by what they said behind her back.
In allusion to the poor lady's ineffectual remonstrances, one gentleman
said that the more mischief Amelia did, the dearer she seemed to grow
to her mother. And somebody else replied that however dear she might be
as a daughter, she was certainly a very _dear_ friend, and proposed
that they should send in a bill for all the damages she had done in the
course of the year, as a round robin to her parents at Christmas. From
which it may be seen that Amelia was not popular with her parents'
friends, as (to do grown-up people justice) good children almost
invariably are.
If she was not a favourite in the drawing-room, she was still less so
in the nursery, where, besides all the hardships naturally belonging to
attendance on a spoilt child, the poor Nurse was kept, as she said, "on
the continual go" by Amelia's reckless destruction of her clothes. It
was not fair wear and tear, it was not an occasional fall in the mire,
or an accidental rent or two during a game at "Hunt the Hare," but it
was constant wilful destruction, which Nurse had to repair as best she
might. No entreaties would induce Amelia to "take care" of anything.
She walked obstinately on the muddy side of the road when Nurse pointed
out the clean parts, kicking up the dirt with her feet; if she climbed
a wall she never tried to free her dress if it had caught; on she
rushed, and half a skirt might be left behind for any care she had in
the matter. "They must be mended," or "They must be washed," was all
she thought about it.
"You seem to think things clean and mend themselves, Miss Amelia," said
poor Nurse one day.
"No, I don't," said Amelia, rudely. "I think you do them; what are you
here for?"
But though she spoke in this insolent and unlady-like fashion, Amelia
really did not realize what the tasks were which her carelessness
imposed on other people. When every hour of Nurse's day had been spent
in struggling to keep her wilful young lady regularly fed, decently
dressed, and moderately well behaved (except, indeed, those hours when
her mother was fighting the same battle down-stairs); and when at last,
after the hardest struggle of all, she had been got to bed not more
than two hours later than her appointed time, even then there was no
rest for Nurse. Amelia's mamma could at last lean back in her chair and
have a quiet chat with her husband, which was not broken in upon every
two minutes, and Amelia herself was asleep; but Nurse must sit up for
hours wearing out her eyes by the light of a tallow candle, in
fine-darning great, jagged, and most unnecessary holes in Amelia's
muslin dresses. Or perhaps she had to wash and iron clothes for
Amelia's wear next day. For sometimes she was so very destructive, that
towards the end of the week she had used up all her clothes and had no
clean ones to fall back upon.
Amelia's meals were another source of trouble. She would not wear a
pinafore; if it had been put on, she would burst the strings, and
perhaps in throwing it away knock her plate of mutton broth over the
tablecloth and her own dress. Then she fancied first one thing and then
another; she did not like this or that; she wanted a bit cut here or
there. Her mamma used to begin by saying, "My dear-r-Ramelia, you must
not be so wasteful," and she used to end by saying, "The dear child has
positively no appetite;" which seemed to be a good reason for not
wasting any more food upon her; but with Amelia's mamma it only meant
that she might try a little cutlet and tomato sauce when she had half
finished her roast beef, and that most of the cutlet and all the mashed
potato might be exchanged for plum tart and custard; and that when she
had spooned up the custard and played with the paste, and put the plum
stones on the tablecloth, she might be tempted with a little Stilton
cheese and celery, and exchange that for anything that caught her fancy
in the dessert dishes.
The Nurse used to say, "Many a poor child would thank GOD for what you
waste every meal-time, Miss Amelia," and to quote a certain good old
saying, "Waste not, want not." But Amelia's mamma allowed her to send
away on her plates what would have fed another child, day after day.
UNDER THE HAYCOCKS.
It was summer, and haytime. Amelia had been constantly in the hayfield,
and the haymakers had constantly wished that she had been anywhere
else. She mislaid the rakes, nearly killed herself and several other
persons with a fork, and overturned one haycock after another as fast
as they were made. At tea-time it was hoped that she would depart, but
she teased her mamma to have the tea brought into the field, and her
mamma said, "The poor child must have a treat sometimes," and so it was
brought out.
After this she fell off the haycart, and was a good deal shaken, but
not hurt. So she was taken indoors, and the haymakers worked hard and
cleared the field, all but a few cocks which were left till the
morning.
The sun set, the dew fell, the moon rose. It was a lovely night. Amelia
peeped from behind the blinds of the drawing-room windows, and saw four
haycocks, each with a deep shadow reposing at its side. The rest of the
field was swept clean, and looked pale in the moonshine. It was a
lovely night.
"I want to go out," said Amelia. "They will take away those cocks
before I can get at them in the morning, and there will be no more
jumping and tumbling, I shall go out and have some fun now."
"My dear Amelia, you must not," said her mamma; and her papa added, "I
won't hear of it." So Amelia went up-stairs to grumble to Nurse; but
Nurse only said, "Now, my dear Miss Amelia, do go quietly to bed, like
a dear love. The field is all wet with dew. Besides, it's a moonlight
night, and who knows what's abroad? You might see the fairies--bless us
and sain us!--and what not. There's been a magpie hopping up and
down near the house all day, and that's a sign of ill-luck."
"I don't care for magpies," said Amelia; "I threw a stone at that one
to-day."
And she left the nursery, and swung down-stairs on the rail of the
banisters. But she did not go into the drawing-room; she opened the
front door and went out into the moonshine.
It was a lovely night. But there was something strange about it.
Everything looked asleep, and yet seemed not only awake but watching.
There was not a sound, and yet the air seemed full of half-sounds. The
child was quite alone, and yet at every step she fancied some one
behind her, on one side of her, somewhere, and found it only a rustling
leaf or a passing shadow. She was soon in the hayfield, where it was
just the same; so that when she fancied that something green was moving
near the first haycock she thought very little of it, till, coming
closer, she plainly perceived by the moonlight a tiny man dressed in
green, with a tall, pointed hat, and very, very long tips to his shoes,
tying his shoestring with his foot on a stubble stalk. He had the most
wizened of faces, and when he got angry with his shoe, he pulled so wry
a grimace that it was quite laughable. At last he stood up, stepping
carefully over the stubble, went up to the first haycock, and drawing
out a hollow grass stalk blew upon it till his cheeks were puffed like
footballs. And yet there was no sound, only a half-sound, as of a horn
blown in the far distance, or in a dream. Presently the point of a tall
hat, and finally just such another little wizened face, poked out
through the side of the haycock.
"Can we hold revel here to-night?" asked the little green man.
"That indeed you cannot," answered the other; "we have hardly room to
turn round as it is, with all Amelia's dirty frocks."
"Ah, bah!" said the dwarf; and he walked on to the next haycock, Amelia
cautiously following.
Here he blew again, and a head was put out as before; on which he said,
"Can we hold revel here to-night?"
"How is it possible," was the reply, "when there is not a place where
one can so much as set down an acorn cup, for Amelia's broken
victuals?"
"Fie! fie!" said the dwarf, and went on to the third, where all
happened as before; and he asked the old question,
"Can we hold revel here to-night?"
"Can you dance on glass and crockery sherds?" inquired the other.
"Amelia's broken gimcracks are everywhere."
"Pshaw!" snorted the dwarf, frowning terribly; and when he came to the
fourth haycock he blew such an angry blast that the grass stalk split
into seven pieces. But he met with no better success than before. Only
the point of a hat came through the hay, and a feeble voice piped in
tones of depression--"The broken threads would entangle our feet. It's
all Amelia's fault. If we could only get hold of her!"
"If she's wise, she'll keep as far from these haycocks as she can,"
snarled the dwarf, angrily; and he shook his fist as much as to say,
"If she did come, I should not receive her very pleasantly."
Now with Amelia, to hear that she had better not do something, was to
make her wish at once to do it; and as she was not at all wanting in
courage, she pulled the dwarf's little cloak, just as she would have
twitched her mother's shawl, and said (with that sort of snarly whine
in which spoilt children generally speak)--"Why shouldn't I come to the
haycocks if I want to? They belong to my papa, and I shall come if I
like. But you have no business here."
"Nightshade and hemlock!" ejaculated the little man, "you are not
lacking in impudence. Perhaps your Sauciness is not quite aware how
things are distributed in this world?" saying which he lifted his
pointed shoes and began to dance and sing,
"All under the sun belongs to men,
And all under the moon to the fairies.
So, so, so! Ho, ho, ho!
All under the moon to the fairies."
As he sang "Ho, ho, ho!" the little man turned head over heels; and
though by this time Amelia would gladly have got away, she could not,
for the dwarf seemed to dance and tumble round her, and always to cut
off the chance of escape; whilst numberless voices from all around
seemed to join in the chorus, with
"So, so, so! Ho, ho, ho!
All under the moon to the fairies."
"And now," said the little man, "to work! And you have plenty of work
before you, so trip on, to the first haycock."
"I shan't!" said Amelia.
"On with you!" repeated the dwarf.
"I won't!" said Amelia.
But the little man, who was behind her, pinched her funny-bone with his
lean fingers, and, as everybody knows, that is agony; so Amelia ran on,
and tried to get away. But when she went too fast, the dwarf trod on
her heels with his long-pointed shoe, and if she did not go fast
enough, he pinched her funny-bone. So for once in her life she was
obliged to do as she was told. As they ran, tall hats and wizened faces
were popped out on all sides of the haycocks, like blanched almonds on
a tipsy cake; and whenever the dwarf pinched Amelia, or trod on her
heels, the goblins cried "Ho, ho, ho!" with such horrible contortions
as they laughed, that it was hideous to behold them.
"Here is Amelia!" shouted the dwarf when they reached the first
haycock.
"Ho, ho, ho!" laughed all the others, as they poked out here and there
from the hay.
"Bring a stock," said the dwarf; on which the hay was lifted, and out
ran six or seven dwarfs, carrying what seemed to Amelia to be a little
girl like herself. And when she looked closer, to her horror and
surprise the figure was exactly like her--it was her own face, clothes,
and everything.
"Shall we kick it into the house?" asked the goblins.
"No," said the dwarf; "lay it down by the haycock. The father and
mother are coming to seek her now."
When Amelia heard this she began to shriek for help; but she was pushed
into the haycock, where her loudest cries sounded like the chirruping
of a grasshopper.
It was really a fine sight to see the inside of the cock.
Farmers do not like to see flowers in a hayfield, but the fairies do.
They had arranged all the buttercups, &c., in patterns on the haywalls;
bunches of meadow-sweet swung from the roof like censers, and perfumed
the air; and the ox-eye daisies which formed the ceiling gave a light
like stars. But Amelia cared for none of this. She only struggled to
peep through the hay, and she did see her father and mother and nurse
come down the lawn, followed by the other servants, looking for her.
When they saw the stock they ran to raise it with exclamations of pity
and surprise. The stock moaned faintly, and Amelia's mamma wept, and
Amelia herself shouted with all her might.
"What's that?" said her mamma. (It is not easy to deceive a mother.)
"Only the grasshoppers, my dear," said Papa. "Let us get the poor child
home."
The stock moaned again, and the mother said, "Oh dear! oh
dear-r-Ramelia!" and followed in tears.
"Rub her eyes," said the dwarf; on which Amelia's eyes were rubbed with
some ointment, and when she took a last peep, she could see that the
stock was nothing but a hairy imp, with a face like the oldest and most
grotesque of apes.
"--and send her below," added the dwarf. On which the field opened, and
Amelia was pushed underground.
She found herself on a sort of open heath, where no houses were to be
seen. Of course there was no moonshine, and yet it was neither daylight
nor dark. There was as the light of early dawn, and every sound was at
once clear and dreamy, like the first sounds of the day coming through
the fresh air before sunrise. Beautiful flowers crept over the heath,
whose tints were constantly changing in the subdued light; and as the
hues changed and blended, the flowers gave forth different perfumes.
All would have been charming but that at every few paces the paths were
blocked by large clothes-baskets full of dirty frocks, And the frocks
were Amelia's. Torn, draggled, wet, covered with sand, mud, and dirt of
all kinds, Amelia recognized them.
"You've got to wash them all," said the dwarf, who was behind her as
usual; "that's what you've come down for--not because your society is
particularly pleasant. So the sooner you begin the better."
"I can't," said Amelia (she had already learnt that "I won't" is not an
answer for every one); "send them up to Nurse, and she'll do them. It
is her business."
"What Nurse can do she has done, and now it's time for you to begin,"
said the dwarf. "Sooner or later the mischief done by spoilt children's
wilful disobedience comes back on their own hands. Up to a certain
point we help them, for we love children, and we are wilful ourselves.
But there are limits to everything. If you can't wash your dirty
frocks, it is time you learnt to do so, if only that you may know what
the trouble is you impose on other people. _She_ will teach you."
The dwarf kicked out his foot in front of him, and pointed with his
long toe to a woman who sat by a fire made upon the heath, where a pot
was suspended from crossed poles. It was like a bit of a gipsy
encampment, and the woman seemed to be a real woman, not a fairy--which
was the case, as Amelia afterwards found. She had lived underground for
many years, and was the dwarfs' servant.
And this was how it came about that Amelia had to wash her dirty
frocks. Let any little girl try to wash one of her dresses; not to half
wash it, not to leave it stained with dirty water, but to wash it quite
clean. Let her then try to starch and iron it--in short, to make it
look as if it had come from the laundress--and she will have some idea
of what poor Amelia had to learn to do. There was no help for it. When
she was working she very seldom saw the dwarfs; but if she were idle or
stubborn, or had any hopes of getting away, one was sure to start up at
her elbow and pinch her funny-bone, or poke her in the ribs, till she
did her best. Her back ached with stooping over the wash-tub; her hands
and arms grew wrinkled with soaking in hot soapsuds, and sore with
rubbing. Whatever she did not know how to do, the woman of the heath
taught her. At first, whilst Amelia was sulky, the woman of the heath
was sharp and cross; but when Amelia became willing and obedient, she
was good-natured, and even helped her.
The first time that Amelia felt hungry she asked for some food.
"By all means," said one of the dwarfs; "there is plenty down here
which belongs to you;" and he led her away till they came to a place
like the first, except that it was covered with plates of broken meats;
all the bits of good meat, pie, pudding, bread-and-butter, &c., that
Amelia had wasted beforetime.
"I can't eat cold scraps like these," said Amelia, turning away.
"Then what did you ask for food for before you were hungry?" screamed
the dwarf, and he pinched her and sent her about her business.
After a while she became so famished that she was glad to beg humbly to
be allowed to go for food; and she ate a cold chop and the remains of a
rice pudding with thankfulness. How delicious they tasted! She was
surprised herself at the good things she had rejected. After a time she
fancied she would like to warm up some of the cold meat in a pan, which
the woman of the heath used to cook her own dinner in, and she asked
for leave to do so.
"You may do anything you like to make yourself comfortable, if you do
it yourself," said she; and Amelia, who had been watching her for many
times, became quite expert in cooking up the scraps.
As there was no real daylight underground, so also there was no night.
When the old woman was tired she lay down and had a nap, and when she
thought that Amelia had earned a rest, she allowed her to do the same.
It was never cold, and it never rained, so they slept on the heath
among the flowers.
They say that "It's a long lane that has no turning," and the hardest
tasks come to an end some time, and Amelia's dresses were clean at
last; but then a more wearisome work was before her. They had to be
mended. Amelia looked at the jagged rents made by the hedges; the great
gaping holes in front where she had put her foot through; the torn
tucks and gathers. First she wept, then she bitterly regretted that she
had so often refused to do her sewing at home that she was very awkward
with her needle. Whether she ever would have got through this task
alone is doubtful, but she had by this time become so well-behaved and
willing that the old woman was kind to her, and, pitying her blundering
attempts, she helped her a great deal; whilst Amelia would cook the old
woman's victuals, or repeat stories and pieces of poetry to amuse her.
"How glad I am that I ever learnt anything!" thought the poor child:
"everything one learns seems to come in useful some time."
At last the dresses were finished.
"Do you think I shall be allowed to go home now?" Amelia asked of the
woman of the heath.
"Not yet," said she; "you have got to mend the broken gimcracks next."
"But when I have done all my tasks," Amelia said; "will they let me go
then?"
"That depends," said the woman, and she sat silent over the fire; but
Amelia wept so bitterly, that she pitied her and said--"Only dry your
eyes, for the fairies hate tears, and I will tell you all I know and do
the best for you I can. You see, when you first came you were--excuse
me!--such an unlicked cub; such a peevish, selfish, wilful, useless,
and ill-mannered little miss, that neither the fairies nor anybody else
were likely to keep you any longer than necessary. But now you are such
a willing, handy, and civil little thing, and so pretty and graceful
withal, that I think it is very likely that they will want to keep you
altogether. I think you had better make up your mind to it. They are
kindly little folk, and will make a pet of you in the end."
"Oh, no! no!" moaned poor Amelia; "I want to be with my mother, my poor
dear mother! I want to make up for being a bad child so long. Besides,
surely that 'stock,' as they called her, will want to come back to her
own people."
"As to that," said the woman, "after a time the stock will affect
mortal illness, and will then take possession of the first black cat
she sees, and in that shape leave the house, and come home. But the
figure that is like you will remain lifeless in the bed, and will be
duly buried. Then your people, believing you to be dead, will never
look for you, and you will always remain here. However, as this
distresses you so, I will give you some advice. Can you dance?"
"Yes," said Amelia; "I did attend pretty well to my dancing lessons. I
was considered rather clever about it."
"At any spare moments you find," continued the woman, "dance, dance all
your dances, and as well as you can. The dwarfs love dancing."
"And then?" said Amelia.
"Then, perhaps some night they will take you up to dance with them in
the meadows above-ground."
"But I could not get away. They would tread on my heels--oh! I could
never escape them."
"I know that," said the woman; "your only chance is this. If ever, when
dancing in the meadows, you can find a four-leaved clover, hold it in
your hand, and wish to be at home. Then no one can stop you. Meanwhile
I advise you to seem happy, that they may think you are content, and
have forgotten the world. And dance, above all, dance!"
And Amelia, not to be behindhand, began then and there to dance some
pretty figures on the heath. As she was dancing the dwarf came by.
"Ho, ho!" said he, "you can dance, can you?"
"When I am happy I can," said Amelia, performing several graceful
movements as she spoke.
"What are you pleased about now?" snapped the dwarf, suspiciously.
"Have I not reason?" said Amelia. "The dresses are washed and mended."
"Then up with them!" returned the dwarf. On which half-a-dozen elves
popped the whole lot into a big basket and kicked them up into the
world, where they found their way to the right wardrobes somehow.
As the woman of the heath had said, Amelia was soon set to a new task.
When she bade the old woman farewell, she asked if she could do nothing
for her if ever she got at liberty herself.
"Can I do nothing to get you back to your old home?" Amelia cried, for
she thought of others now as well as herself.
"No, thank you," returned the old woman; "I am used to this, and do not
care to return. I have been here a long time--how long I do not know;
for as there is neither daylight nor dark we have no measure of
time--long, I am sure, very long. The light and noise up yonder would
now be too much for me. But I wish you well, and, above all, remember
to dance!"
The new scene of Amelia's labours was a more rocky part of the heath,
where grey granite boulders served for seats and tables, and sometimes
for workshops and anvils, as in one place, where a grotesque and grimy
old dwarf sat forging rivets to mend china and glass. A fire in a
hollow of the boulder served for a forge, and on the flatter part was
his anvil. The rocks were covered in all directions with the
knick-knacks, ornaments, &c., that Amelia had at various times
destroyed.
"If you please, sir," she said to the dwarf, "I am Amelia."
The dwarf left off blowing at his forge and looked at her.
"Then I wonder you're not ashamed of yourself," said he.
"I am ashamed of myself," said poor Amelia, "very much ashamed. I
should like to mend these things if I can."
"Well, you can't say more than that," said the dwarf, in a mollified
tone, for he was a kindly little creature; "bring that china bowl here,
and I'll show you how to set to work."
Poor Amelia did not get on very fast, but she tried her best. As to the
dwarf, it was truly wonderful to see how he worked. Things seemed to
mend themselves at his touch, and he was so proud of his skill, and so
particular, that he generally did over again the things which Amelia
had done after her fashion. The first time he gave her a few minutes in
which to rest and amuse herself, she held out her little skirt, and
began one of her prettiest dances.
"Rivets and trivets!" shrieked the little man, "how you dance! It is
charming! I say it is charming! On with you! Fa, la fa! La, fa la! It
gives me the fidgets in my shoe-points to see you!" and forthwith down
he jumped, and began capering about.
"I am a good dancer myself," said the little man. "Do you know the
'Hop, Skip, and a Jump' dance?"
"I do not think I do," said Amelia.
"It is much admired," said the dwarf, "when I dance it;" and he
thereupon tucked up the little leathern apron in which he worked, and
performed some curious antics on one leg.
"That is the Hop," he observed, pausing for a moment. "The Skip is
thus. You throw out your left leg as high and as far as you can, and as
you drop on the toe of your left foot you fling out the right leg in
the same manner, and so on. This is the Jump," with which he turned a
somersault and disappeared from view. When Amelia next saw him he was
sitting cross-legged on his boulder.
"Good, wasn't it?" he said.
"Wonderful!" Amelia replied.
"Now it's your turn again," said the dwarf.
But Amelia cunningly replied--"I'm afraid I must go on with my work."