“IT’S an ill wind that blaws naebody good, Master Harry—we maun say
that,” observed old Ailsie, Mrs. Delmar’s Scotch nurse, as she went to
close the window, through which rushed in the furious blast; “but I hae
a dear laddie at sea, and when I hear the wind howl like that, I think”—
“Oh, shut the window, nurse! Quick, quick! or we’ll have the casement
blown in!” cried Nina. “Did you ever hear such a gust!”
Ailsie shut the window, but not in time to prevent some pictures,
which the little lady had been sorting, from being scattered in every
direction over the room.
“Our fine larch has been blown down on the lawn,” cried Harry, who had
sauntered up to the window.
“Oh, what a pity!” exclaimed his sister, as she went down on her knees
to pick up the pictures. “Our beauty larch, that was planted only this
spring, and that looked so lovely with its tassels of green! To think
of the dreadful wind rooting up that! I’m sure that this at least is an
ill wind, that blows nobody good.”
“You should see the mischief it has done in the wood,” observed Harry;
“snapping off great branches as if they were twigs. The whole path
through the wood is strewn with the boughs and the leaves.”
“I can’t bear the fierce wind,” exclaimed Nina. “When I was out half an
hour ago I thought it would have blown me away. I really could scarcely
keep my feet.”
“I could not keep my cap,” laughed Harry. “Off it scudded, whirling
round and round right into the river, where I could watch it floating
for ever so long. I shall never get it again.”
“Mischievous, horrid wind!” cried Nina, who had just picked up the last
of her pictures.
“Oh, missie, ye maunna speak against the wind—for ye ken who sends it,”
observed the old nurse. “It has its work to do as we hae ours. Depend
on’t, the proverb is true, ‘It’s an ill wind that blaws naebody good.’”
“There’s no sense in that proverb,” said Harry, bluntly. “_This_ wind
does nothing but harm. It has snapped off the head of mamma’s beautiful
favorite flower”—
“And smashed panes in her greenhouse,” added Nina.
It was indeed a furious wind that was blowing that evening, and as
the night came on it seemed to increase. It rattled the shutters, it
shrieked in the chimneys, it tore off some of the slates, and kept the
children awake with its howling. The storm lulled, however, before the
morning broke; and when the sun had risen, all was bright, calm, and
serene.
“What a lovely morning after such a stormy night!” cried Nina, as
with her brother Harry she rambled in the green wood, while old Ailsie
followed behind them. “I never felt the air more sweet and fresh, and
it seemed so heavy yesterday morning.”
“Ay, ay, the wind cleared the air,” observed Ailsie. “It’s an ill wind
that blaws naebody good.”
“But think of your poor son at sea,” observed Harry.
“I was just thinking o’ him when I spake, Master Harry. I was thinking
that maybe that verra wind was filling the sails o’ his ship, and
blawing him hame all the faster, to cheer the eyes o’ his mither. It is
sure to be in the right quarter for _some one_, let it blaw from north,
south, east, or west.”
“Why, there’s little Ruth Laurie just before us,” cried Harry, as he
turned a bend in the woodland path. “What a great bundle of fagots she
is bravely carrying!”
“Let’s ask after her sick mother,” said Nina, running up to the orphan
child, who was well known to the Delmars. Ruth dwelt with her mother in
a very small cottage near the wood; and the children were allowed to
visit the widow in her poor but respectful home.
“Blessings on the wee barefooted lassie!” exclaimed Ailsie; “I’ll be
bound she’s been up with the lark, to gather up the broken branches
which the wind has stripped from the trees.”
“That’s a heavy bundle for you to carry, Ruth!” said Harry; “it is
almost as big as yourself.”
“I shouldn’t mind carrying it were it twice as heavy and big,” cried
the peasant child, looking up with a bright, happy smile. “Coals be
terrible dear, and we’ve not a stick of wood left in the shed; and
mother, she gets so chilly of an evening. There’s nothing she likes so
well as a hot cup of tea and a good warm fire; your dear mamma gives us
the tea, and you see I’ve the wood for boiling the water. Won’t mother
be glad when she sees my big fagots; and wasn’t I pleased when I heard
the wind blowing last night, for I knew I should find branches strewn
about in the morning!”
“Ah,” cried Harry, “that reminds me of the proverb, ‘’Tis an ill wind
that blows nobody good.’”
“Harry,” whispered Nina to her brother, “don’t you think that you and
I might help Ruth to fill her poor mother’s little wood-shed?”
“What! pick up sticks, and carry them in fagots on our backs? How funny
that would look!” exclaimed Harry.
“We should be doing some good,” replied Nina. “Don’t you remember that
nurse said that the wind has its work to do, as we have ours? If it’s
an ill wind that does nobody good, it must be an _ill child_ that does
good to no one.”
Merrily and heartily Harry and Nina set about their labor of kindness.
And cheerfully, as the children tripped along with their burdens to the
poor woman’s cottage, Nina repeated her old nurse’s proverb, “’Tis an
ill wind that blows nobody good.”
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.