Mary: A Nursery Story for Very Little Children

After that came the great thing of all – that was the perambulator. There was a man in that town who made pony-carriages, and he made perambulators too. Mamma took Mary into a large room which was all glass at the front, and was quite filled with pony-carriages. They did look so shiny and nice – some of them were wicker, and some were made of wood like big carriages. Mary would have liked to get into them all, one after the other, to see which was the most comfortable, and she could not help thinking how very nice it would be to be a pony-carriage man’s little girl. What lovely games she and Leigh and Artie could have in this big room! It would be even nicer than having a draper’s shop. She did not know that carriage-builders’ children and drapers’ children are not allowed to play with their fathers’ carriages and ribbons any more than she and her brothers would be allowed to pull about the books in the library, or to gather all the fruit and flowers in the garden.

They passed through the big room with the glass front to a smaller one behind, where there were a good many perambulators. The man who had shown them in explained to Mary’s mamma about the different kinds and told her the prices; and mamma chose three which she made the man draw out by themselves in front of all the others.

“It must be one of those,” she said; “I want a really good one, but still rather plain and strong, as it is for the country roads.”

Mary thought to herself what a good way of choosing mamma had; it makes choosing so much easier if you put away the things that won’t do. And while she was thinking this, mamma told her she wanted her to get into the perambulator standing next, and say if it was comfortable.

“I will lift her in,” she said to the man. “It’s quite strong enough, I suppose?”

“Oh, dear, yes, ma’am!” he answered. “It could bear a child twice this little lady’s weight. The springs are fust-rate.”

It was very comfortable, and when Mary jigged up and down a little gently, it felt quite “dancey,” she said.

“It’s the springs,” the man repeated; “they’re fust-rate.”

Mary wondered what “fust-rate” meant. She thought she would ask her mamma. Then she was lifted into the next perambulator – the man lifted her in. He meant to be quite kind, but Mary did not like it, and when at last she found herself on the floor again she stroked down her skirts and gave herself a little shake. Mamma saw that she did not like it, but afterwards she told Mary that sometimes it is best to hide that you do not like things, when they are done out of kindness.

“It didn’t matter to-day,” said mamma, “for the man was busy talking to me and he didn’t see you shaking yourself; but you must remember for another time.”

Mary felt very sorry. She did not forget what her mamma said. Even when she grew to be a big girl she remembered about the man meaning to be kind, and how glad she was he had not seen her shake herself.

The other perambulators were not quite as wide as the first one. Mary said they felt rather squeezy, so mamma fixed on the first one. But it could not be sent home at once because the lining had to be changed. It was brown, and the linings of mamma’s victoria and pony-carriage were dark red, and mamma liked Dolly’s carriage to match. So the man promised it should be ready in two or three days; but Mary looked at it a great deal, because she knew Leigh and Artie would want to know exactly what it was like.

After that they went to the grocer’s, but mamma did not stay long there, and then they went to the toy-shop to get a rattle for baby and reins for Leigh. But neither mamma nor Mary liked the reins much. There were some of red braid, but they were too common, and the leather ones did not seem strong, and they were not made of the right sort of leather; Mary was quite distressed.

“What shall we do?” she said. “Leigh will be so disappointed.” She said the word quite right, but it took her a good while.

Then mamma had a capital thought.

“I know,” she said. “We’ll go to the saddler’s. Even if he hasn’t got any toy-reins ready he can easily make them.”

And fancy – was not it lucky? – the saddler had a pair quite ready – beauties, just like what Leigh wanted. Mamma was so pleased, and so was Mary; though I do not think mamma would have been quite so pleased if she had known what Leigh had in his head about the reins. Then mamma went to the confectioner’s, where she bought some very nice little cakes for Mary to take home for the nursery tea, and, as she thought Mary looked a little tired and must be beginning to feel hungry, she asked for a glass of milk for her and a bun, and then she put Mary on a chair close up to the counter, where she could reach the milk. And then, just as she was going to pay for what she had bought, poor mamma started.

“Oh, dear!” she said, “where is my little bag with my purse in it? I must have left it somewhere; I was carrying so many parcels.”

“Mamma, dear,” said Mary, “you had it at the reins’ shop. I sawed it in your hand.”

“Oh, I’m so glad!” said mamma. “Then it’ll be all right. I’ll run back for it. You finish your milk and bun, dear, and I will come for you as quickly as I can.”

Mary did not quite like waiting alone, but she did not want to trouble her mother, so she said, “Very well, mamma dear.”

Her milk and bun did not take long to finish, but she sat on still on the high chair, partly because she thought her mamma would look for her there, partly because she could not get down alone, and she was too shy to ask to be lifted off. But mamma did not come as quickly as Mary hoped, though the time seemed longer to her than it really was.

In a few minutes she heard the door open, and she looked up gladly, thinking it was her mamma; but it was not. Instead of mamma in came a rather fat lady, with two boys and a girl. The lady had a red face, and they all talked very loudly.

“Now, what will you have, my loveys?” said the lady. “Puffs, cheesecakes, macaroons?”

The three children pushed up to the counter and began helping themselves. It was not a large shop, and they crushed against Mary, who was growing very uncomfortable.

“Dear, dear,” said the fat lady, “I am ’ot!” and she fanned herself with her handkerchief. “Haven’t you got a chair for me?”

The shop-woman looked at the girl who had seated herself on the only chair besides Mary’s one.

“I dare say Miss isn’t tired,” she said; “won’t you give the lady your chair?”

But the girl would not move.

“No,” she said; “that child isn’t eating anything. She can give her chair. Put her down, Fred.”

And the bigger of the boys lifted Mary roughly down from her perch before the shop-woman could interfere, and then they all burst out laughing, and Mary, whose face had been getting whiter and whiter, rushed to the open door and ran with all her might down the street.

Chapter Eleven.

Nursery Tea

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.

Chapter Twelve.

Leigh’s Plan

Ever since the day the children had waited for their father outside the Lavender Cottages – the day when it was settled that they were to have Fuzzy – the idea of training the dog to be driven, and making him draw the perambulator as he had seen Ned drawing the Perrys’ old wicker carriage, had been in Leigh’s head. That was why he was so interested about the new carriage for his little sister.

He was sensible in some ways. He knew it would be no use harnessing the dog into a cart or anything till he had accustomed him a little to being driven. That was what had made him think of buying reins. He had waited a good while too, till the dog was nearly full-grown and had grown pretty obedient to his voice and call. But when he heard that the perambulator was really to be bought, he thought to himself that it was quite time Fuzzy’s “breaking-in” should begin.

For it was now late September. Baby Dolly was close upon her fifth “month-day,” as the children called it, and growing so big and lively that nurse could scarcely manage to carry her any distance without feeling rather tired, as Dolly was very fond of sitting straight up and looking about her and giving little jumps and springs when Mary or the boys ran up to her. And “Fuzz,” as Leigh generally called him – for he thought “Fuzzy” rather a girl’s name – was a very big puppy indeed – so big and playful that, when he came galloping over the lawn to the children, Mary used to run behind nurse, if she was there, for fear of being knocked over.

It was fun and affection, of course, and when he stood still Mary would pat him and call him “dear Fuzzy,” “poor old Fuzzy,” quite bravely, but at the bottom, of her heart she was a little afraid of him. And though she did not like to say so to the boys, she often wished that he had stayed a roly-poly, soft, tumbling-about creature, as he was when she had first seen him – only a few weeks old.

But Leigh would not have liked that at all, of course.

Well, the driving-lessons went on, and thanks to Leigh’s patience, of which he had a good deal when he chose, Fuzz became more manageable, as I said. After a while Leigh found an old remains of a little cart on wheels – it was really a sort of small dray which some of his young uncles had knocked together years ago for dragging wood on – which he managed to harness the dog to, to accustom him to feeling something behind him. Fuzz kicked and spluttered and ran away ever so many times; he did not like the rattling noise coming after him, but after a while he grew used to it and would scamper off quite merrily, and so fast that Leigh could scarcely keep up with him. That was the great difficulty – to make him go slowly.

But Leigh was not discouraged.

“It’ll be all right,” he thought, “when he feels he’s pulling something heavier.”

And still he kept it all a secret, except of course from Mellor and the outdoor servants, and they did not know anything about his plan for the perambulator.

It came, about ten days after it had been promised. Mary had been growing very impatient. She thought it was never coming, and even her mamma was on the point of writing to the place where she had ordered it, to ask why they were so long of sending it, when all of a sudden one afternoon it arrived.

Everybody admired it extremely. It was really a very pretty little carriage, and Baby Dolly liked it very much, to judge by the way she crowed and chattered in her own sweet baby language the first time she was tucked into it for a drive.

This was the very morning after it came. For it was luckily a fine, mild day, and the nursery dinner was made a little earlier than usual, so that Baby Dolly should have the best of the afternoon for the first trial of her perambulator; and Mary and the boys and the under-nurse and Fuzzy were all to go too.