I dare say it was silly of Mary to be so frightened; but then, you know,
she was only a very little girl, and she was not used to rude or rough
ways.
"Mamma, mamma!" she cried as she ran along. And she did not even think
or know which way she was going. But the town was not a big one, not
like London, where her papa had been left alone in the toy-shop--and the
street was quiet. Several people noticed the prettily-dressed little
girl running so fast, the tears rolling down her face.
"She's lost her way, poor dear," said one woman, standing at the door of
a greengrocer's shop.
"She's been bitten by a dog," said another.
But nobody did anything till, luckily, Mary flew past the draper's where
she had been with her mamma; one of the young men in the shop was
reaching something out of the window and saw her. He called to the
draper--Mr Mitcham--and Mr Mitcham, who was a kind man and had little
girls of his own, hurried after Mary and soon caught her up, for she was
getting very tired now. Her legs were shaking sadly, and her breath
seemed to choke her, and her heart,--oh, how her poor heart was
thumping--it seemed to come right up into her ears.
"Are you looking for your mamma, my dear?" said Mr Mitcham. He was
rather out of breath himself though he had only run a short way, for he
was a fat little man, and he seldom took more exercise than walking
about his shop.
"Zes, zes!" cried Mary, who went back to her baby talk when she was
unhappy or frightened. "Her is goned away, and the naughty boy pulled
me off my chair, and--oh, oh, where is my mamma goned?"
Mr Mitcham, could not make out what was the matter, but, luckily, just
at that moment her mamma came round the corner of the street. She had
found her bag at the saddler's, but she had had to wait a few minutes
for it, as he had locked it up in a drawer while he went to the inn,
where the carriage was, to ask if Mrs Bertram was still in the town.
Mamma looked quite startled when she saw poor Mary all in tears, but
Mary soon got happy again when she felt her own dear mamma's hand
clasping hers firmly. And then, when mamma had thanked the draper, she
turned back to the confectioner's again, to get the cakes to take home
and to pay for them. Mary did not much want to go; she was afraid of
seeing the rude boy and his mother again. But mamma told her she must
try not to be so easily frightened.
"For, you see, dear, when you ran away in that wild way, I might not
have been able to find you for some time, and think how unhappy it would
have made me."
Mary squeezed mamma's hand very tight. She was beginning to see she had
been rather silly.
"I won't do like that again," she said. "When I'm a big girl I won't be
frightened. But, please, mamma, let me _always_ stay 'aside you when we
go to shops."
When they got to the confectioner's, they found the young woman there
very sorry about Mary having run away, as she felt she should have taken
better care of her. The stout lady and her children were still there,
and the lady was looking very ashamed, for the confectioner had been
telling her that Mary was little Miss Bertram of the Priory--the Priory
was the name of Mary's home--and that Mrs Bertram would be very vexed.
So the rude boy's mother came up with a very red face, and told Mary's
mamma if they had only known who the young lady was, they would never
have made so free as to disturb her. Mary's mamma listened gravely, and
then she said, "I think you should teach your son to be gentle and
polite to everybody, especially little girls, _whoever they are_. Of
course I know he did not mean to hurt her, but she is accustomed to her
brothers behaving very nicely to her at home."
Then she turned away rather coldly, and the children and their mother
looked very red and ashamed, and just then the victoria came up to the
door, with the two pretty bay horses, all so smart and nice. And mamma
took Mary's hand to lead her away. But Mary pulled it out of hers for a
moment and ran back to the boy.
"Please, don't be sorry any more," she said. "I were a silly little
girl, but I don't mind now," and she held out her hand. The boy took it
and mumbled something about "beg your pardon." And then Mary got up
into the carriage beside mamma.
"I am glad you did that, Mary dear," she said; "I hope it will make the
boy remember."
"And I _were_ a silly little girl," said Mary, as she nestled up to her
mamma.
They did not talk very much going home. Mary was rather tired, and I
think she must have had a little nap on the way; for she looked all
right again, and her eyes were scarcely at all red when they drove up to
the door of Mary's own dear house. There were Leigh and Artie waiting
for them; they had heard the carriage coming and they ran up to the door
to be there to help their mamma and Mary out, and to tell them how glad
they were to see them again.
"Tea's all ready waiting," said Leigh; "and, oh, mamma--we were
wondering--nurse has put out a 'nextra cup just in case. _Would_ you
come up and have tea with us? Then we could hear all about all you've
been buying and everything, for Mary mightn't remember so well."
"I don't think I'd forget," said Mary; "on'y we _have_ had lotses of
'ventures. Doesn't it seem a long, long time since we started off after
dinner? I _would_ like mamma to have tea with us!"
Mamma could not resist all these coaxings, and I think she was very
pleased to accept the nursery invitation, for it seemed to her a long
time since she had seen dear Baby Dolly. So she told Leigh to run up
and tell nurse she was coming, and then, when all the parcels were
brought into the hall, she chose out some which she sent upstairs; but
the parcel of cakes for tea she gave to Artie to carry up.
That was a very happy tea-party. There was so much to tell, and so much
to ask about. Mary chattered so fast that mamma had to remind her that
her tea would be getting quite cold and everybody would have finished
before her if she did not take care. But Mary said she was not very
hungry because of the afternoon luncheon she had had at the
confectioner's; and that reminded her of what had happened there, and
she told Leigh and Artie and nurse and Dolly--though I am not sure if
Dolly _quite_ understood--the story of the rude boy and how frightened
she had been.
"Horrid cad," said Leigh; "I'd like to knock him down."
"He were much bigger than you, Leigh," said Mary.
"What does that matter?" said Leigh. "I'd knock any fellow down who was
rude to my sister."
Mary thought it was very brave of Leigh to talk like that. She wondered
if he would be vexed if he heard she had forgiven the boy afterwards.
"I think he was sorry," said mamma. "He had no idea Mary would have
minded so much, you see."
"I cried," said Mary,--she felt rather proud of herself now for having
had such an adventure,--"I cried lotses."
"I hope he didn't see you crying," said Leigh. "He would think you a
baby and not a lady if he saw you crying."
"I leaved off crying when mamma came," said Mary; "but my eyes was
reddy."
"You shouldn't have cried," said Artie. "You should have looked at him
grand--like this."
And Artie reared up his head as high as he could get it out of his
brown-holland blouse, and stared round at Dolly, who was cooing and
laughing at him over nurse's shoulder, with such a very severe face,
that the poor baby, not knowing what she had done to vex him, drew down
the corners of her mouth and opened her blue eyes very wide and then
burst into a pitiful cry. Artie changed all at once.
"Darling baby, kiss Artie," he said. "Sweet baby Artie wasn't angry
with you."
But nurse told him he should not frighten Miss Baby. She was such a
noticing little lady already.
"And I forgaved the boy," said Mary. "I shaked hands with him."
Nobody could quite see what this had to do with Artie and baby, but Mary
seemed to know what she meant. Perhaps she thought that if she had
"looked grand" at the boy, he would have set off crying like poor Dolly.
Then when tea was over and grace had been said--it was Artie's turn to
say grace, and he was always very slow at his tea, so they had some time
to wait--mamma undid the parcels that she had sent up to the nursery.
The children all came round to see the things, and Mary was very pleased
to be able to explain about them.
"I helped mamma to choose, didn't I, mamma dear?" she kept saying.
She was most proud of all, I think, about Baby Dolly's ribbons. And
nurse thought them very pretty indeed, and so I suppose did baby, for
she caught hold of them when Mary held them out and tried to stuff them
all into her mouth. That is a baby's way of showing it thinks things
are pretty; it fancies they must be good to eat.
"And my reins, mamma?" said Leigh at last; "when are you coming to my
reins?"
He had been rather patient, considering he was a boy, for boys do not
care about ribbons and sashes and those sorts of things, though he was
very pleased with his own boots. So mamma looked out the parcel of his
reins before she undid the tapes and cottons and buttons she had got for
nurse.
"They are really very good reins," she said. "I told you we got them at
the saddler's. They are much better and stronger than those you buy at
a toy-shop."
Leigh turned them over in his hands and pulled them and tugged them in a
very knowing way.
"Yes," he said, "they're not bad--not bad at all. In fact they are
beauties. And what did they cost?"
"They cost rather dear," she said,--"dearer than you expected. But if
you pay me two shillings, I will give you a present of the rest."
"Whew!" said Leigh, "more than two shillings. But they are first-rate.
Thank you very much indeed, mamma."
"And you won't over-drive your horses or your horse, will you?" said
mamma. "I suppose Artie will be your regular one, or do you mean to
have a pair--Mary too?"
Leigh did not answer at once.
"I shall drive Artie sometimes, and Mary sometimes, if she likes," he
said. "But I've, another horse too, better than them."
Mamma did not pay much attention to what he said; she thought he meant
one of the gardener's boys or the page, with whom he was allowed to play
sometimes, as they were good boys.
"And the p'ram-bilator?" Leigh asked. "When is it coming, mamma? and
is it a very nice one? Does it go smoothly? and has it good springs?"
"I think it's a very nice one," mamma replied. She was pleased to see
Leigh so interested about his little sister's carriage. "But it won't
be here for some days--a week or so--as they have to change the
linings."
"Oh," said Leigh to himself in a low voice, "all the better! I'll have
time to break him in a little."
The next day, and every day after that for some time, Leigh was very
busy indeed. He begged nurse to let him off going regular walks once or
twice, because he had something he was making in the shed, where he and
Artie were allowed to do their carpentering and all the rather messy
work boys are so fond of, which it does not do to bring into the house.
He was not "after any mischief" he told nurse, and she quite believed
it, for he was a very truthful boy; but he said it was a secret he did
not want to tell till he had got it all ready.
So nurse let him have his way, only she would not allow Artie to miss
his walk too, for she did not think it safe to leave him alone with
Leigh, with all his "hammering and nailing and pincering" going on. And
I think nurse was right.
I wonder if you can guess what was Leigh's "secret"--what it was he was
so busy about? He did not tell either Artie or Mary; he wanted to
"surprise" them.
The truth was, he was making harness for Fuzzy and trying to teach him
to be driven. He had begun the teaching already by fastening the reins
to an arrangement of strong cord round the dog's body, and he was also
making better harness with some old straps he had coaxed out of the
coachman. He really managed it very cleverly.
It took him two or three days to get it finished, and in the meantime he
"practised" with the cord. Poor Fuzzy! He was a big strong dog by this
time, but still only a puppy. I am sure he must have wondered very much
what all the tying up and pulling and tugging and "who-ho"-ing and
"gee-up"-ing meant; but he was very good-tempered. I suppose he settled
in his own mind that it was a new kind of play; and, on the whole--once
he was allowed to start off running, with Leigh holding the reins behind
him, trying to imagine _he_ was driving Fuzzy, while it was really Fuzzy
pulling _him_--he did not behave badly, though Leigh found "breaking him
in" harder work than he had expected.
By the fourth day the "proper harness," as Leigh called it, was ready.
He had got the coachman's wife, who was very fond of the children and
very clever with her fingers, to stitch some of the straps which he
could not manage to fasten neatly with boring holes and passing twine
through, though that did for part. And as the coachman did not see that
this new fancy could do any harm, he was rather interested in it too.
So when it was all complete, and Fuzzy was fitted into his new attire,
or it was fitted on to him, perhaps I should say, Mr and Mrs Mellor,
and the grooms, and two or three of the under-gardeners all stood round
admiring, while Leigh started off in grand style, driving his queer
steed.
"If you had but a little cart now, Master Leigh," said one of the boys;
"it'd be quite a turn-out."
"Yes," said Leigh, with a smile; "I mean to get to something like that
some day. But driving with reins this way is how they often begin with
young horses, isn't it, Mellor?"
"To be sure it is!" the coachman replied, as he went off, smiling to
himself at the funny notions children take up. "The very idea of
harnessing a puppy." For Mellor had never been in Flanders, you see,
nor in Lapland.