_CHAPTER IX.—A Bumped Nose._
[Illustration: SHE CAME TO A DOOR.]
Mary Ellen paid no attention to Dom Pedro’s cries. She pressed one fat
hand down hard on the first stair and steadied herself and straightened
herself up until her little knees were level with the step, and then on
it—and there she was, _up a stair_! Her little face was very red, and she
was very puffy all over. But she seemed to have an instinct as to what
to do next. Or perhaps she had studied it all out on her rug. Learned
men are trying to pry into the minds of babies now, but as yet none has
discovered _very_ much as to what a baby thinks of, or whether it thinks
anything. She grasped hold of a baluster-round with one hand and laid
a sturdy little knee on the next stair, and in this way up she went,
panting and puffing and getting on up, she and the kittens, but never
making a loud sound, excepting a little grunt now and again.
But the moment she reached the top she broke out into a delighted gurgle
of little words: “Gum-um! gum-um!” Then she got herself on her feet—a
very dusty, mussed-up, red-faced, white-frocked baby, her sunshiny hair
wet on her heated forehead, but her blue eyes sparkling. She steadied
herself in her little red kid slippers and then, her hands against the
wall, she stepped along, step by step, until she came to a door. On that
she spatted with her two little hands and said, “Gum-um! gum-um!”
There was a sudden hurry inside, and the door opened, and Mary Ellen
and the six kittens went tumbling in together down on the floor.
Great-Grandmother Day cried out, “The Good Lord preserve us!” and sank
back in a chair.
The next minute she had caught the child up. Mary Ellen was crying
lustily, for she had bumped her nose in a very bad way, and as
Great-Grandmother Day sank back with her in the chair again, doors flew
open all about and grandmothers came flying along from all quarters.
[Illustration: MAMA NAN LOOKED WHITE.]
“What is it? Is Mary Ellen here? What is the matter?”
Great-Grandmother Day addressed herself to Madam Esther. “I know you
keep brown paper by you—bring me a piece of brown paper wet in ice water
for this child’s nose.”
At this moment, brought by Mary Ellen’s shrill screams and the parrot’s
outcry, Mama Nan appeared flying up the stairs.
“What is it? Where is Mary Ellen? Have you got Mary Ellen up here?”
She entered just as the piece of brown paper was being laid on Mary
Ellen’s nose, and her words ended in a little shrill cry like that of a
frightened mother-bird.
“This child came up the stairs alone!” said Great-Grandmother Day,
severely, speaking to all in the room. She rose and delivered the child
to its mother and then, faint for the first time in her life, was led
back to the chair by Old Lady Lois and Mrs. Lee.
By this time Mary Ellen was snuggling down in her mother’s neck in great
content, and her sobs were ceasing. But poor Mama Nan looked very white.
“I shall never know another moments peace,” she said piteously.
“Nonsense,” said her mother. “You did the very same thing yourself, Nan.
You were just about the age of Mary Ellen.”
On the way downstairs, Mary Ellen raised her head and said, “Gum-um!
gum-um!”
“Yes, you did go to see Gum-um,” answered her mama; “but you mustn’t do
it again.”
_Ella Farman Pratt._