really happened. There was a roar like a lion, and the door was pulled
back, and there stood a perfectly strange gentleman. He was in his
shirt and trousers; he was rather fat, and his face was scarlet; he
could hardly speak, he was in such a rage.
I was so astonished I couldn’t say anything either. At last he did.
He shouted out, “_Unverschämtes Fraunzimmer_.” He said a lot more too
that I didn’t quite understand, though it was only in German. Then he
suddenly slammed the door in my face.
Well, of course after that I didn’t feel very comfortable. I went back
to my room and dressed myself, but my legs were all going wiggle-waggle
most horridly, and I had a pain inside. I did want Mother. I wanted her
so that I felt I must burst or something. I tried the plan of thinking
that when I was an old, old woman I should have stopped being unhappy
about this horrid time, but there wasn’t any comfort in that like there
generally is.
We children had breakfast in the schoolroom, because we always do when
there are visitors, but I felt so sick that I could hardly eat any.
And in the middle it happened. Father dashed in, just as I expected.
He was dreadfully angry. I don’t think I have ever seen him so angry.
He said that the German gentleman was a most celebrated musician, and
even if I had heard any idiotic chatter of the maids about his not
attending to his personal appearance, how dared I take it on myself to
give him moral maxims worded in the most insulting language? I didn’t
exactly know what Father meant by that, but it sounded horrid. Also, he
said that I stuck myself up as being better than any one, and that my
conceit was perfectly insufferable. After a lot more besides, he ended
up by telling me that I should be sent to boarding school at once.
Then he rushed out of the room again.
I hadn’t said anything all the time Father was speaking, and I hadn’t
cried at all, because I wouldn’t let myself. As soon as he’d gone I
ran away to our bedroom. I couldn’t hide in my secret trouble place,
because I didn’t feel that I could ever bear to go into the bathroom
again. The worst of it was our door doesn’t lock, for Humphrey
lost the key once when we were wicked gaolers of the Tower, but I
barricaded it with chairs. Then, of course, I did cry. I cried awfully
until everything got quite dizzy. I was still crying when Humphrey
climbed in at the window, but I seemed too miserable to mind. He was
most nice though. He didn’t talk, but he stroked my hand and shoved
his big peppermint into it, just as if there hadn’t been any horrid
missionarying. Then, when I didn’t move, he said, “Father won’t go on
being cwoss;” and I said, “I wish I were dead.” So I did. It’s a horrid
feeling to have.
All of a sudden Humph said, “Why don’t you ’splain it was _my_ dirty
toe-nails?” I just sobbed out, “I don’t know.” It was very sensible,
really, what Humph said, but I was too unhappy to see that; besides, I
was thinking more about the other things Father had scolded me about. I
said, “I don’t think I’m better than other people, I don’t, I don’t! I
think I’m a beast, and horrible.” Humph said, “No, you’re not.” Then he
wagged his head, and went away.
The part that comes next I didn’t know at the time, of course, but
Humph told me about it afterwards. He _was_ nice; he can be most
’straordinarily sensible sometimes, though you’d never think it. He
went straight to the study where the German gentleman was sitting, and
said, “It was _my_ toe-nails.”
The German gentleman jumped up very quickly, but Humph went on telling
him. He said, “You see, I don’t scrub mine very much because it
tickles. My sister didn’t even know about yours.” He talked in German,
because that’s one of the funny things about Humph, he likes it. It was
lucky though, because we found out afterwards it always pleased the
German gentleman to hear his own language. Then Humph pulled off his
shoes and stockings to show his feet. It sounds a naughty thing to do
in the drawing-room, but I don’t think it really was.
The German gentleman looked very astonished, but he didn’t look cross,
Humphrey told me. At last he said, “_So_; but why was it written out
and pushed under the door like that?”
“Because I stop up my ears and won’t listen when she speaks to me,”
Humph explained. He went on and told the German gentleman all about
the missionarying, and the gentleman seemed very interested. Then at
the end Humph said, “But my sister is starving; she didn’t eat hardly
nothing for bweakfast, and no biscuits at eleven, and she won’t even
suck my peppermint. I think she’ll soon be dead and it’ll be you that’s
done it.”
When the German gentleman heard that he was very nice, Humph said. Of
course he must have known that people can live longer than that without
food on desert islands and places, though Humph was really frightened
about it. He took hold of Humph’s hand and said, “_Ach!_ then we must
go quickly and ask that the little sister may be forgiven.” I believe
he liked boys better than girls anyway, which does seem funny.
The first thing I knew of all this, though, was Father coming up to my
room. He said in quite a different way, “Cheer up, Molly, I hear it was
only a mistake. You must be more discreet in your sisterly admonitions
though.” It made me feel much better. I went down and told the German
gentleman that I was sorry I’d seemed rude. He was all right, but
things weren’t really comfortable until he and Father went away again
the next day.
I didn’t do any more missionarying after that though; it seemed to be
too dangerous. It was a comfort to stop. Besides, the next week I
got a letter from Mother, explaining that the clergyman couldn’t have
meant it like that at all, because the chief thing if you want to have
a good influence over people is that they should be fond of you, so a
plan that prevents that must be a mistake. She said, too, that people
didn’t generally have a good influence unless it was unconscious, so my
best way was just to leave the others alone and try and be good myself.
But she said I needn’t worry too much even over that (she seemed to
guess all about my finings and hittings though I’d never told her).
She said if I just loved people and tried to make them happy, I’d find
in the end that I had been good. At the bottom of the letter, just
before the kisses, there was a bit that surprised me very much. It was
lovely; I don’t much like to say it. Mother said that I’d always been
a good influence and a help to her, even though I hadn’t tried to be a
missionary. She said that once when she was speaking to Teddy about
telling stories (he does sometimes, you see, because he’s so little),
she said to him that heroes never told untruths, and he answered at
once and very proudly, “Nor does Molly, either.”
It did make me feel funny inside.
VI
A FIRST NIGHT
(Reprinted from _Little Folks_ by kind permission)
I’ll never do any more plays, never. It would be all very well if one
could act all the parts oneself, but making the others learn theirs was
awful. Besides, you wouldn’t believe that the Corpse could give so much
trouble.
We got it up while Mother was still away in Algiers, and that was the
first mistake. But we’d often had acting games before, and I never
thought that this would be so much harder. The idea of doing it came
into my head one day at lesson time, and it seemed perfectly splendid,
so I pinched Humphrey directly, and whispered, “We are going to act a
real play with refreshments and a curtain. I shall write it.”
I was rather disappointed that Humphrey didn’t answer, but after a long
time he suddenly said quite loud, “Like Shakespeare.” Fortunately,
Fräulein didn’t understand. It was rather silly of him too, because of
course I didn’t mean to make it long like that. Why, Humph has taken
six months to learn “The Charge of the Light Brigade,” and he still
says, “Half a leg, half a leg, half a leg onwards”; besides, I knew
that Violet and Ted would like to come in too.
That afternoon I began to write the play. I tried at first to make
it all up out of my own head, only when I sat down nothing seemed
to come. So I thought I’d adapt it out of a book, like Father says
all the best plays are done nowadays. I took Aytoun’s “_Lays of the
Scottish Cavaliers_.” I’m very fond of them, you see, and I know them
nearly all by heart, but I don’t believe it was me that loosened the
frontispiece as Fräulein says, just because I took the book to bed one
evening. Not that we read in bed, because Mother’s very particular
about that, but I like to feel that Dundee and the Young Pretender are
near me all the night. It was the “_Burial March of Dundee_” that I
thought would be the best for the play, but it didn’t seem to need much
adapting, because we could just have a bier with Ted as Dundee (he’s
the lightest, and his hair is curly). We three would march on bearing
it, and I’d recite the lay; then we’d march off again of course.
So, as this was easy, I thought we’d have another play as well, and I
settled on “_Young Lochinvar_.” Humphrey would be Lochinvar; I should
have liked to be the bride, who is the heroine, of course, but then
I settled it would be better if Violet was, partly because I thought
Mother would have been pleased at my not being selfish, and partly
because it looks so silly to see the lady taller than the gentleman,
like when Cousin Sophy was married. Then I and Ted would be the
wicked mother and father. Of course, he’s heaps smaller than me, but
that didn’t matter because we’d both be old, and he might have shrunk
quicker. Our old nurse told us once that she’d got to the time of life
when she was growing downwards like a cow’s tail; and certainly, when
she came to see us the other day, she did seem a lot shorter than she
used to be when we were little and she lived with us.
The others were all very pleased with their parts, and it was settled
that the acting should be on April the 10th, which is Ted’s birthday,
and Fräulein asked some children to come to tea. It didn’t leave us
very much time, but I thought it would do, because I never guessed how
slow Humphrey would be. At each rehearsal he seemed to get worse, and
the dress one was awful.
To begin with, we left it to the very afternoon of the birthday because
the others said that when the children came, we could go straight on
and needn’t dress up twice. Only it made me feel nervous, and then,
just as we were starting, cook sent up word that she was bothered
enough with extra to tea and couldn’t let us have anything for the
banquet in “_Young Lochinvar_.” It was really because there’d been a
fuss about the butcher’s bill; as if we could help that!
The others were very good, I must say, and Humphrey said that he’d give
us a Brazil nut that he’d got, and lend us his peppermint. It’s a most
enormous one, that goes different colours as you suck, and he keeps it
for when he’s put in the corner. And Violet said she’d put some of her
doll’s sham dishes on the table; still, that wasn’t very much for a
wedding feast. So I said perhaps we’d better pretend that they had had
the feast before the curtain drew up, and there could be just a goblet
of water for Young Lochinvar to quaff.
“He couldn’t have been very thirsty when he had just ‘swum the Esk
river,’ and he would enjoy the peppermint because----” Humphrey began,
but I told him quickly that we wouldn’t have any eating or drinking
at all, for when he once begins explaining anything he never stops.
Besides, it was only because he remembered that he was to be Young
Lochinvar himself.
So we began to dress up, and when they were all ready, they looked so
nice and real that I began to feel happier. Humphrey had on my white
flannel pyjamas with a red sash, like we always have for the hero;
they’re rather big for him, but he wears nightshirts himself, for
though he isn’t very strong, he never catches cold, and of course you
couldn’t be a hero in a nightshirt. The worst of it was that it looked
rather bare at the back, because the hero always has Mother’s fur-lined
cape, inside out, across his shoulders and we hadn’t got that, nor
Mother either, so we began to feel rather miserable. Even Father was
not there. He had gone out to Mother for the Easter Holidays.
Violet had on the lace window-curtains and Mother’s old blue silk dress
that she has given us for dressing-up, and Teddy wore his pyjamas with
a green sash, of course, because he was the villain; at least, he
wasn’t exactly a villain, but he was a very disagreeable and horrid
sort of father for any one to have. He had on a tow beard, too, that
I made out of some that was over when Fräulein did the grates, and
I’m sure Mother won’t like them, though Fräulein does think them so
beautiful, but the beard wasn’t a great success because it would come
off in the middle.
As for me, we didn’t know what to do, because I’d tied on so many
pillows to be fat, that I knew I couldn’t get on any one’s dress but
cook’s. So we sent Teddy down to ask her if she would be so very kind
as to lend us one. We always make Teddy ask for things, because he’s
pretty, and we’ve found out that helps. I think cook thought he wanted
the dress for himself, for he said she laughed a lot, but anyway she
fetched him her best one--green stuff, it was, with red plush trimming.
Then we began. It was awful. Ted gabbled so that no one could hear
him, and Humphrey had never known his part properly, though I used to
run into his room every night after Fräulein had put out the lights
and make him go through it. He couldn’t escape me then, but often he
was asleep, which was just as bad, because even if you woke him up it
was no use--he’d be so stupid. Well, Humphrey seemed to have forgotten
everything he’d ever known, and the more I went on the more he forgot
until he began to say the “Charge of the Light Brigade” by mistake; at
last he turned sulky and wouldn’t speak at all.
Violet knew her part beautifully--I will say that--and she spoke it
very clearly and slowly, but without the least bit of expression. When
she came to--
“With thee I will wander the wide world far,
For I love thee, dear Mr. Young Lochinvar,”
which was a piece that I’d made up myself, you might have thought she
was saying the multiplication table.
“Can’t you speak it like you really would to any one?” I said.
“I’d never say such a silly thing,” she answered, “because trains
always make me sick and you know Mother says I’d be a dreadful sailor.”
Well, I told her at any rate she ought to take Young Lochinvar into
a corner and throw her arms round his neck and kiss him, so that the
people could tell she was pleased to see him; and she did it, because
she’s very obedient, but it was just as if she were hugging a signpost.
So I said she was a perfect idiot, which I oughtn’t to have done,
however silly she was, and she began to cry.
Well, I thought we’d better get on to “Dundee.” It begins--
“Sound the fife and cry the slogan,
Let the pibroch shake the air
With its wild, triumphal music,
Worthy of the freight we bear.”
We didn’t know exactly what pibrochs and all those things were, but we
thought some Burmese gongs and bells of Father’s would do as well, and
we’d brought them up out of the case in the drawing-room.
But when I came to look on the mantelpiece, where I’d put them all
ready, they were gone.
Then Violet, who was still crying, of course, because she’d been
started off, sobbed out that Fräulein had taken the things back and had
locked up the case and was very angry. They don’t belong to Fräulein
anyway, so I don’t see what business it was of hers. But there we were
in a nice fix.
Humphrey said at last that he would blow his penny whistle. He hasn’t
got any ear at all, and the noise he makes is more like a railway
engine than anything else; however, I had to say Yes. Then Teddy
suggested that if we covered up his face he could do “Nearer, my God,
to Thee” on the comb. Teddy’s the most musical of us all, but I didn’t
think it would do, because even if the audience didn’t notice that he
was playing his own funeral march, the comb doesn’t seem to be quite
right somehow. I said we’d better tie the dinner-bell round Violet’s
waist instead, and she could shake herself now and then. Of course
she had to hold up the bier with both her hands, so she couldn’t do
anything else.
We made the bier out of stilts with a long cushion tied between them,
and then I thought we were ready. So we lifted it up and Teddy climbed
on to the window-sill and got on to the bier from there. He lay down
and immediately the strings broke and he went on to the floor--crash!
He shrieked and roared and he wouldn’t stop, though I tried to put my
arms round him, because he had come a horrid bang, and I promised him
my old penknife with half a blade. He thought we’d done it on purpose,
so he’d only scream out, “Go away! I won’t act--I won’t! You beast,
beast, beast!”
At this moment the door opened and we saw--Mother! We all gave one
shout and rushed at her. Ted began to squeal with joy instead of
screaming, and Violet stopped whimpering, and Humphrey started off
talking quite fast. As for me--well, it was dreadfully silly and
babyish--but now they’d all stopped I began to cry. I was so happy it
seemed as if I couldn’t bear it.
Mother understood, like she always does. She didn’t say anything,
but put her arm round me tight and let me hide my face in her cape.
The others all started talking at once, and she kissed the lump on
Teddy’s head and made it well and said she’d do the bier herself, so
it would be quite safe. She sent Humphrey down for her fur cape for
Young Lochinvar, and she told us Fräulein was quite right about our
not taking the musical instruments without leave, but she was sure
Father would let us have them. And she said--but this was when I was
all right again--that it wouldn’t matter if Violet couldn’t quite get
the expression, because brides were always shy and that when she was
married to Father her voice sounded like some one else talking and
without any expression at all. And then she admired all our dresses
very much and went downstairs to ask cook to let us have things for the
feast and a bottle of red currant wine, which was more grandeur than
we’d ever thought of.
After that everything was different, like it always is when Mother’s at
home. Oh, I forgot to explain that why we didn’t expect Mother was that
Fräulein had never got the last letter. Besides, Mother rather wanted
to surprise us.
By this time the other children were arriving downstairs, and so we
started the acting as soon as we were ready. Well, you wouldn’t have
thought it after all this fuss, but the plays went beautifully; every
one said so. Certainly once Teddy opened his eyes as dead Dundee, and
when he saw that Mother was really sitting there he began to laugh, but
he’s got such a nice laugh one couldn’t mind much. Mother shook her
head, though she couldn’t help smiling, so Ted shut up his eyes tight
and screwed up his face all the rest of the time as though he were
going to sneeze. Humphrey, too, in the wedding feast stuffed his mouth
so full that he couldn’t speak, but Mother began to clap, so the people
didn’t notice that.
At the end everybody clapped lots and we all came forward and bowed--at
least Teddy curtseyed by mistake--and then Mother called out, “Author.
Author and Stage-manager!” and the others pushed me on alone. I did
feel proud.
All the same, I don’t think I’ll ever do any more plays--at any rate
not unless Mother is at home all the time, and of that I’m quite
certain.
VII
MOTHER
It really did seem silly of Humphrey not to have measles with the rest
of us and then to go and catch them all to himself directly Mother came
home from Algiers. It’s just the sort of inconvenient thing that Humph
would do--not that he can help it, of course. I’m sure it wasn’t any
fun for him having it alone.
I must say our measly month last year was most lovely; Violet and
Ted liked it just as much as me. Besides having Mother all the time,
there was beef-tea nearly whenever you wanted it and the most exciting
counting every morning to see who had got the most spots. The spottiest
one was king or queen for the day, of course, and the others had to
say “your Majesty” and bow whenever they spoke. It did seem grand.
This must have been the most aggravating thing for Humphrey to think
of afterwards, because when he did go and catch it, he was so very bad
that if he’d only had it at the same time as us he’d have easily been
king every day. He was so ill that Mother sent the little ones away
into lodgings with Jane, for they make too much noise; and as Mrs.
Charlton happened to ask me to stay with her just then, Mother thought
I might as well go away too. I expect I ought to say honestly that
Mother had spoken to _me_ about making a noise as well as to the little
ones. It seemed as if I couldn’t remember about not stumping upstairs.
Once I did think of it, and I took off my stockings as well as my
shoes, so as to be very quiet, and went most ’straordinarily slowly,
but then the horrid shoes went and spoilt it all; they dropped down
right from the very top.
Mrs. Charlton is a sort of aunt of Father’s and she lives up in
Lincolnshire. I didn’t know her at all, though Mother said I had
seen her once when I was a baby, which is never a very nice sort of
friendship. People like that always tell you how they held you in their
arms, which makes you feel silly; or else, if you were too big to
nurse, they say how naughty you used to be. It’s most uncomfortable.
Anyway Mother said that Mrs. Charlton was a very kind old lady, though
not cuddly; she said, too, that as I was going on a visit all alone
like a grown-up young lady I must try and be very good. So I promised,
and even though it mayn’t sound like it afterwards, I really did try.
There was some talk of Father’s taking me all the way, but he was too
busy, and it ended in my going to London with him and then travelling
the rest of the way quite alone! At least Father did put me in the care
of the guard; I do wish he hadn’t, though the guard was a very nice
man. He poked in his head at nearly every station and said, “Getting
on all right, missy?” and I said, “Yes, thank you; I hope you are too.”
Then he waved his flag and we went on again.
It had been directly after lunch when we left London, but it was
getting quite dark before we got to Corby. I was most dreadfully
starved too, because I’d eaten all my sandwiches very early. I thought
I’d waited quite a long time before I began them, but it wasn’t really.
That’s a funny thing about sandwiches, something seems to make you eat
them almost directly you start, even if you’ve only just had dinner,
and aren’t very hungry at all.
It was the guard who came and helped me out with my things at Corby
station, but almost directly a manservant came up and touched his hat
and said, “Miss Lawrence?” I did feel beautifully grown up. There was
a carriage waiting outside with a very fat coachman and two very fat
horses; the man took me to this and held the door open for me to get
in. If only the others had been with me to see me driving all alone in
a grand carriage like that!
Though it was very nice for the first minute or two, I was so
dreadfully hungry that I couldn’t really enjoy it; I could only think
of roast chickens and things like that. I did try not to; I looked
out of the window to see the country and I tied my sash very tight
like the Red Indians, but it wasn’t any use. It isn’t true either,
what they say in books, that starving people suffer most from thirst,
because I hardly wanted to drink at all. At last, though, we did get
to the house, and the servant showed me into the drawing-room, where
Mrs. Charlton was sitting in a very stiff chair. She got up and kissed
me, and asked me how my Mother and Father were, but she didn’t seem to
make me feel at all nice. I sat down in another stiff chair and seemed
to get miserabler and miserabler, I don’t know why, because they had
brought me my supper, though I’d have liked more. I was quite glad when
Mrs. Charlton asked me at what hour I went to bed, which was very
funny, because I’d never wanted people to talk about bedtime before.
Upstairs, though, it was more miserable than ever. I never thought
paying visits would feel like that. If even our cook at home could
have come to tuck me up in her crossest temper, I’d have been glad.
It seemed so dreadful, I really didn’t know what I should do, till
I thought of Mother’s little penwiper, that she’d lent me because
I haven’t got one in my writing-case; so I took that into bed, and
cuddled it, and then I felt better.