THE LITTLE BARONET--DOLLS--CINDER PARCELS--THE OLD GENTLEMAN NEXT
DOOR--THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS
The next time I saw Sir Lionel was about two days afterwards, in the
afternoon, when the elder girls had gone for a drive in the carriage
with Aunt Maria, and the others, with myself, were playing in the
garden; Miss Blomfield being seated on a camp-stool reading a terrible
article on "Rabies" in the Medical Dictionary.
Rubens and I had strolled away from the rest, and I was exercising him
in some of his tricks when the little baronet passed us with his
accustomed air of mingled melancholy, dignity, and self-consciousness.
I was a good deal fascinated by him. Beauty has a strong attraction
for children, and the depth of his weeds invested him with a
melancholy interest, which has also great charms for the young. Then,
to crown all, he mourned the loss of a young mother--and so did I. I
involuntarily showed off Rubens as he approached, and he lingered and
watched us. By a sort of impulse I took off my little hat, as I had
been taught to do to strangers. He lifted his with a dismal grace and
moved on.
But as he walked about I could see that he kept looking to where
Rubens and I played upon the grass, and at last he came and sat down
near us.
"Is that your dog?" he asked.
"Yes he's my dog," I answered.
"He seems very clever," said Sir Lionel. "Did you teach him all those
tricks yourself?"
"Very nearly all," said I. "Rubens, shake hands with Sir Lionel."
"How do you know my name?" he asked.
"Polly told me," said I.
"Do you know Polly?" Sir Lionel inquired.
I stared, forgetting that of course he did not know who I was, and
answered--
"She's my cousin."
"What's your name?" he asked.
I told him.
"Do you like Polly?" he continued.
"Very much," I said, warmly.
It was with a ludicrous imitation of some grown-up person's manner
that he added, in perfect gravity--
"I hope you are not in love with her?"
"Oh, dear no!" I cried, hastily, for I had had enough of that joke
with Miss Eliza Burton.
"Then that is all right," said the little baronet; "let us be
friends." And friends we became. "Call me Leo, and I'll call you
Reginald," said the little gentleman; and so it was.
I think it is not doing myself more than justice if I say that to
this, my first friendship, I was faithful and devoted. Leo, for his
part, was always affectionate, and he had an admiration for Rubens
which went a long way with Rubens' master. But he was a little spoiled
and capricious, and, like many people of rather small capacities
(whether young or old), he was often unintentionally inconsiderate. In
those days my affection waited willingly upon his; but I know now that
in a quiet amiable way he was selfish. I was blessed myself with an
easy temper, and at that time it had ample opportunities of
accommodating itself to the whims of my friend Leo and my cousin
Polly. Not that Polly was like Sir Lionel in any way whatever. But she
was quick-tempered and resolute. She was much more clever for her age
than I was for mine. She was very decided and rapid in her views and
proceedings, very generous and affectionate also, and not at all
selfish. But her qualities and those of Leo came to the same thing as
far as I was concerned. I invariably yielded to them both.
Between themselves, I may say, they squabbled systematically, and were
never either friends or enemies for two days together.
Polly and I never quarrelled. I did her behests manfully, as a general
rule; and if her sway became intolerable, I complained and bewailed,
on which she relented, being as easily moved to pity as to wrath.
As the weather grew more chill, we seldom went out except in the
morning. In the afternoon Polly and I (sometimes accompanied by Leo)
played in the nursery at the top of the house.
Now and then the other girls would come up, and "play at dolls" with
Polly. On these occasions the treatment I experienced was certainly
hard. They were soon absorbed in dressing and undressing, sham meals,
sham lessons, and all the domestic romance of doll-life, in which,
according to my poor abilities, I should have been most happy to have
taken a part. But, on the unwarrantable assumption that "boys could
not play at dolls," the only part assigned me in the puppet comedy was
to take the dolls' dirty clothes to and from an imaginary wash in a
miniature wheelbarrow. I did for some time assume the character of
dolls' medical man with considerable success; but having vaccinated
the kid arm of one of my patients too deeply on a certain occasion
with a big pin, she suffered so severely from loss of bran that I was
voted a practitioner of the old school, and dismissed. I need hardly
say that this harsh decision proved the ruin of my professional
prospects, and I was sent back to my wheelbarrow. It was when we were
tired of our ordinary amusements, during a week of wet weather, that
Polly and I devised a new piece of fun to enliven the monotony of the
hours when we were shut up in that town nursery at the top of the
house.
Outside the nursery-windows were iron bars--a sensible precaution of
Aunt Maria against accidents to "the little ones." One day when the
window was slightly open, and Polly and I were hanging on the
window-ledge, in attitudes that fully justified the precautionary
measure of a grating, a bit of paper which was rolled up in Polly's
hand escaped from her grasp, and floated down into the street. In a
moment Polly and I were standing on the window-ledge, peering down--to
the best of our ability--into the square and into the area depths
below. Like a snow-flake in summer, we saw our paper-twist lying on
the pavement; but our delight rose to ecstasy when a portly passer-by
stooped and picked up the document and carefully examined it.
Out of this incident arose a systematic amusement, which, in advance
of our age, we called "the parcel post."
By shoving aside the fire-guard in the absence of our nurses, we
obtained some cinders, with which we repaired to our post at the
window, thus illustrating that natural proclivity of children to
places of danger which is the bane of parents and guardians. Here we
fastened up little fragments of cinder in pieces of writing-paper, and
having secured them tidily with string, we dropped these parcels
through the iron bars as into a post-office. It was a breathless
moment when they fell through space like shooting stars. It was a
triumph if they cleared the area. But the aim and the end of our
labours was to see one of our missives attract the notice of a
passer-by, then excite his curiosity, and finally--if he opened
it--rouse his unspeakable disgust and disappointment.
Like other tricksters, our game lasted long because of the ever-green
credulity of our "public." In the ever-fresh stream of human life
which daily flowed beneath our windows, there were sure to be one or
more pedestrians who, with varying expressions of conscientious
responsibility, unprincipled appropriation, or mere curiosity, would
open our parcels, either to ascertain what trinket should be restored
to its owner, or to keep what was to be got, or to see what there was
to be seen.
One day when we dropped one of our parcels at the feet of a lady who
was going by, she nonplussed us very effectually by ringing the bell
and handing in to the footman "something which had been accidentally
dropped from one of the upper windows." Fortunately for us the parcel
did not reach Aunt Maria; Polly intercepted it.
As the passers-by never wearied of our parcels, I do not know when we
should have got tired of our share of the fun, but for an occurrence
which brought the amusement suddenly to an end. One afternoon we had
made up the neatest of little white-paper parcels, worthy of having
come from a jeweller's, and I clambered on to the window-seat that I
might drop it successfully (and quite clear of the area) into the
street. Just as I dropped it, there passed an elderly gentleman very
precisely dressed, with a gold-headed cane, and a very well-brushed
hat. Pop! I let the cinder parcel fall on to his beaver, from which it
rebounded to his feet. The old gentleman looked quickly up, our eyes
met, and I felt convinced that he saw that I had thrown it. I called
Polly, and as she reached my side the old gentleman untied and
examined the parcel. When he came to the cinder, he looked up once
more, and Polly jumped from the window with a prolonged "Oh!"
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"Oh, dear!" cried Polly; "it's the old gentleman next door!"
For several days we lived in unenviable suspense. Every morning did we
expect to be summoned from the school-room to be scolded by Aunt
Maria. Every afternoon we dreaded the arrival of "the old gentleman
next door" to make his formal complaint, and, whenever the front-door
bell rang, Polly and I literally "shook in our shoes."
But several days passed, and we heard nothing of it. We had given up
the practice in our fright, but had some thoughts of beginning again,
as no harm had come to us.
One evening (by an odd coincidence, my birthday was on the morrow) as
Polly and I were putting away our playthings preparatory to being
dressed to go down to dessert, a large brown-paper parcel was brought
into the nursery addressed jointly to me and my cousin.
"It's a birthday present for you, Regie!" Polly cried.
"But there's your name on it, Polly," said I.
"It must be a mistake," said Polly. But she looked very much pleased,
nevertheless; and so, I have no doubt, did I. We cut the string, we
tore off the first thick covering. The present, whatever it might be,
was securely wrapped a second time in finer brown paper and carefully
tied.
"It's _very_ carefully done up," said I, cutting the second string.
"It must be something nice," said Polly, decisively; "that's why it's
taken such care of."
If Polly's reasoning were just, it must have been something very nice
indeed, for under the second wrapper was a third, and under the third
was a fourth, and under the fourth was a fifth, and under the fifth
was a sixth, and under the sixth was a seventh. We were just on the
point of giving it up in despair when we came to a box. With some
difficulty we got the lid open, and took out one or two folds of
paper. Then there was a lot of soft shavings, such as brittle toys and
gimcracks are often packed in, and among the shavings was--a small
neatly-folded white-paper parcel. _And inside the parcel was a
cinder._
We certainly looked very foolish as we stood before our present. I do
not think any of the people we had taken in had looked so thoroughly
and completely so. We were both on the eve of crying, and both ended
by laughing. Then Polly--in those trenchant tones which recalled Aunt
Maria forcibly to one's mind--said,
"Well! we quite deserve it."
The "parcel-post" was discontinued.
We had no doubt as to who had played us this trick. It was the old
gentleman next door. He was a wealthy, benevolent, and rather
eccentric old bachelor. It was his custom to take an early walk for
the good of his health in the garden of the square, and he sometimes
took an evening stroll in the same place for pleasure. Somehow or
other he had made a speaking acquaintance with Miss Blomfield, and we
afterwards discovered that he had made all needful inquiries as to the
names, etc., of Polly and myself from her--she, however, being quite
innocent as to the drift of his questions.
I should certainly not have selected the old gentleman's hat to drop
our best parcel on to, if I had known who he was. I was not likely to
forget his face now.
I soon got to know all our neighbours by sight. On one side of us was
the old gentleman, whose name was Bartram; on the other side lived Sir
Lionel Damer. He was staying with his guardian, an old Colonel
Sinclair; and when my father came up to town he and this Colonel
Sinclair discovered that they were old school-fellows, which Leo and I
looked upon as a good omen for our friendship.
Polly and I and Nurse Bundle became as learned in gossip as any one
else who lives in a town, and is constantly looking out of the window.
We knew the (bird's-eye) appearance of everybody on our side of the
square, their servants, their cats and dogs, their carriages, and even
their tradesmen. If one of the neighbours changed his milkman, or
there came so much as a new muffin man to the square, we were all
agog. One day I saw Polly upon our perch, struggling to get her face
close to the glass, and much hindered by the size of her nose. I felt
sure that there was _something_ down below--at least a new butcher's
boy. So I was not surprised when she called me to "come and look."
"Who is it?" said Polly.
"I don't know," said I.
And then we both stared on, as if by downright hard looking we could
discover the name of the gentleman who had just come down the steps
from Colonel Sinclair's house. He was a short slight man, young, and
with sandy hair. Neither of us had seen him before. Having the good
fortune to see him return to Colonel Sinclair's house, about two hours
later, I hurried with the news to Polly; and we resolved to get to see
Leo as soon as possible, and satisfy our curiosity respecting the
stranger. So in the afternoon we sent a message to invite him to come
and play with us in the square, but we received the answer that "Sir
Lionel was engaged."
Later on he came into the square, and the stranger with him. Polly and
I and Rubens were together on a seat; but when Leo saw us he gave a
scanty nod and went off in the opposite direction, leaning on the arm
of the stranger and apparently absorbed in talking to him. I was
rather hurt by his neglect of us. But Polly said positively,
"That is Leo's way. He likes new friends. But when he treats me like
that, I do not speak to him for a week afterwards."
That evening a cab carried off the stranger, and next day Leo came to
us in the square, all smiles and friendliness.
"I've been so wanting to see you!" he cried, in the most devoted
tones. But Polly only took up her doll, and with her impressive nose
in the air, walked off to the house.
I could not quarrel with Leo myself, and we were soon as friendly as
ever.
"I want to tell you some news, Regie," he said. "Colonel Sinclair has
decided that I am to have a tutor."
"Are you glad?" I asked.
"Yes, very," said Sir Lionel. "You see I like him very much--I mean
the tutor. He was here yesterday. You saw him with me. He is going to
be a clergyman. He has been at Cambridge, and he plays the flute."
For a long time Leo enlarged to me upon the merits of his tutor that
was to be; and when I went back to Polly the news I had to impart
served to atone for my not having joined her in snubbing the
capricious Sir Lionel. As for him, he was very restless under Polly's
displeasure, and finally apologized, on which Polly gave him a sound
scolding, which, to my surprise, he took in the utmost good part, and
we were all once more the best possible friends.
That visit to London was an era in my life. It certainly was most
enjoyable, and it did me a world of good, body and mind. When my
father came up, we enjoyed it still more. He coaxed holidays for the
girls even out of Aunt Maria, and took us (Leo and all) to places of
amusement. With him we went to the Zoological Gardens. The monkeys
attracted me indescribably, and I seriously proposed to my father to
adopt one or two of them as brothers for me. I felt convinced that if
they were properly dressed and taught they would be quite
companionable, and I said so, to my father's great amusement, and to
the scandal of Nurse Bundle, who was with us.
"I fear you would never teach them to talk, Regie," said my father;
"and a friend who could neither speak to you nor understand you when
you spoke to him would be a very poor companion, even if he could
dance on the top of a barrel-organ and crack hard nuts."
"But, papa, babies can't talk at first," said I; "they have to be
taught."
Now by good luck for my argument there stood near us a country woman
with a child in her arms to whom she was holding out a biscuit,
repeating as she did so, "Ta!" in that expectant tone which is
supposed to encourage childish efforts to pronounce the abbreviated
form of thanks.
"Now look, papa!" I cried, "that's the way I should teach a monkey. If
I were to hold out a bit of cake to him, and say, 'Ta,'"--(and as I
spoke I did so to a highly intelligent little gentleman who sat close
to the bars of the cage with his eyes on my face, as if he were well
aware that a question of deep importance to himself was being
discussed)--
"He would probably snatch it out of your hand without further
ceremony," said my father. And, dashing his skinny fingers through the
bars, this was, I regret to say, precisely what the little gentleman
did. I was quite taken aback; but as we turned round, to my infinite
delight, the undutiful baby snatched the biscuit from its mother's
hand after a fashion so remarkably similar that we all burst out
laughing, and I shouted in triumph,
"Now, papa! children do it too."
"Well, Regie," he answered, "I think you have made out a good case.
But the question which now remains is, whether Mrs. Bundle will have
your young friends in the nursery."
But Mrs. Bundle's horror at my remarks was too great to admit of her
even entering into the joke.
The monkeys were somewhat driven from my mind by the wit and wisdom of
the elephant, and the condescension displayed by so large an animal
in accepting the light refreshment of penny buns. After he had had
several, Leo began to tease him, holding out a bun and snatching it
away again. As he was holding it out for the fourth or fifth time, the
elephant extended his trunk as usual, but instead of directing it
towards the bun, he deliberately snatched the black velvet cap from
Leo's head and swallowed it with a grunt of displeasure. Leo was first
frightened, and then a good deal annoyed by the universal roar of
laughter which his misfortune occasioned. But he was a good-tempered
boy, and soon joined in the laugh himself. Then, as we could not buy
him a new cap in the Gardens, he was obliged to walk about for the
rest of the time bare-headed; and many were the people who turned
round to look a second time after the beautiful boy with the long fair
hair--a fact of which Master Lionel was not quite unconscious, I
think.
My aunt kindly pressed us to remain with her over Christmas. I longed
to see the pantomime, having heard much from my cousins and from Leo
of its delights--and of the harlequin, columbine, and clown. But my
father wanted to be at home again, and he took me and Rubens and Nurse
Bundle with him at the end of November.