Mary: A Nursery Story for Very Little Children

“Very well then, I won’t say nothing,” agreed the little woman. “And I’ll tell Comfort – she’s in the field there behind the hedge with the babies. I’ll see to it that Comfort says nothing neither.”

Then Janie put Baby Dolly tenderly back into her nest again, charging the children to stay close round her till Emma came up, “for fear the sweet little lady should be frightened again.” There was a vision in the distance of Emma slowly making her way to them, and Janie did not want to see her.

“I’ve a sharp tongue in my head, and I’d mebbe say too much,” she thought.

So she hurried back to her own charges, whom she found quite content; the baby sprawling on Comfort’s knee, and Comfort seated on the grass, late October though it was, buried in her book. There was no need to warn her to say nothing. She looked up with a start as Janie ran up to them.

“What have you been doing, Janie?” she said. She had no idea anything had been the matter!

Emma was very cross when she got to the children. She was vexed at her own arm being bruised, and began scolding Leigh as if he had done it all on purpose to hurt her.

“You said it would be as right as could be, Master Leigh,” she grumbled, “and how was I to know? I’m not going to be scolded for it, I can tell you.”

“You needn’t be afraid,” said Leigh, very proudly. “I’ll take all the blame on myself when I tell mamma.”

Then Emma changed her tone and began to cry.

“You’ll not really tell your mamma,” she said. “Of course I’d be blamed, and I’d lose a good place, and what my poor mother’d say I don’t know. It’d go near to break her heart, and she’s not well. Oh Master Leigh, you’ll not tell? There’s no harm done, and Miss Dolly’s none the worse, and we’ll never be so silly again. Miss Mary, my dear, do ask Master Leigh not to tell.”

Mary could not bear to see any one cry, least of all a big person. Her lips began to quiver, and she looked timidly at her brother.

“Leigh,” she began.

And Leigh too was very tender-hearted. But both of them, and Artie too, felt deep down in their hearts that however sorry they might be for Emma they were not doing right in giving in to her.

They did promise not to tell, however; and then the little party turned homewards in very low spirits, though they had such great reason for thankfulness that their dear little sister was not hurt.

They hardly spoke all the way; and Dolly, by this time, tired out by all her adventures, had fallen fast asleep.

Chapter Fourteen.

Happy Again

It was two or three days after Fuzzy’s running away with the perambulator that nurse, who was now quite well again, came in to breakfast in the nursery with a grave face, and without, as usual, Baby Dolly in her arms.

“Where’s baby?” said Leigh; and Mary, who was deeply engaged with her bowl of bread-and-milk, looked up.

“Where’s Baby Dolly, nursie?” she said, in turn.

“In bed,” nurse answered, “in bed and fast asleep. She’s had a bad night, and she only fell really asleep when it was about time for getting up. So of course I didn’t wake her.”

“Is she ill?” asked Leigh; and both he, and Mary and Artie, looked at nurse so anxiously that she felt sorry for them.

“I hope not,” she said. “I hope she’ll be all right when she wakes up. The best and strongest of babies have their little turns. Don’t look so troubled, my dears.”

Just then Emma, who had had her breakfast before, came into the room, and was crossing to the door which led into the night-nursery, when she was stopped.

“I’ll tidy the room myself this morning, Emma,” said nurse. “I don’t want any one to go in. Miss Dolly’s not very well.”

“She’s been very cross this day or two, crying enough to make herself ill. You spoil her, nurse, that’s what I say,” said Emma, pertly.

Nurse made no reply, except to repeat her orders to Emma not to enter the bedroom.

As soon as breakfast was over, the three children – Artie and Mary with clean pinafores, and all with smoothed hair and nicely-washed hands – went downstairs as usual to the dining-room for prayers. But to their surprise their mamma was not there, nor was nurse. They did not wonder much about nurse, however, for they knew some one would have to stay beside baby in case she woke.

But to-day several things seemed strange and different from usual. Instead of going up to the nursery again their father told them they were all to go to the little study where Leigh and Artie did their lessons with their tutor.

“For baby must not be disturbed,” he said, “and if you were all playing in the nursery the noise would go through to the other room.”

“Mayn’t I go up to the nursery, papa dear?” asked Mary. “Just me. I’d be kite quiet. I don’t like to be away from nursie and baby,” and her voice sounded as if she were going to cry. “And I don’t know what to do when Mr Fibbetts comes.”

“Mr Phillips,” said papa. “You’re getting too big to talk so babyishly, Mary. And you mustn’t be selfish, my dear. If you can play quietly in the nursery you can play quietly in the study, or perhaps I’ll send Emma to take you out a little.”

“I don’t want Emma. I want mamma, and nursie and Dolly,” said Mary.

She thought her papa was rather “c’oss,” and she was not used to his being the least cross. And she was unhappy about baby; and deep down in her heart was a sort of fear she tried not to think about. Mary had never been so unhappy in all her life before.

The fear was not in her heart only. Leigh and Artie were feeling just the same. At first when they found themselves alone in the study they all three tried to pretend there was nothing the matter. They hid away the fear, and covered it up, and told it to go to sleep. But fears like that are very troublesome. They won’t go to sleep; just as we think we have got them safely shut in and all seems still, up they jump again, and there they are knocking at the door, not only of our hearts, but of our consciences.

“You have done wrong,” they say, “and wrongdoing brings trouble.”

And after a while the two little brothers and their sister left off pretending. They sat down close together on the hearthrug and looked at each other.

“Leigh,” said Artie, in a strange hushed sort of voice, “do you think Baby Dolly’s very ill?”

Mary did not speak; but she looked up in Leigh’s face, so that he turned his head away.

“How should I know?” he said roughly.

“You heard as much as I did. Babies are often ill.”

But both the others knew quite well that he was just as unhappy as they were.

“Oh, Leigh,” said Mary at last, her voice trembling, “do you think it can be ’cos of – ” but here she stopped.

Leigh turned round sharply. His face was white, but still he tried to be angry.

“Why can’t you speak out, you silly girl?” he said. “Why don’t you say what you mean? – that I’ve made her ill by the tumbling out of the perambulator? Nonsense, she fell on the top of Janie Perry, and Janie said she came quite softly. How could it have hurt her?”

“I don’t know,” said Mary, but she spoke very sadly.

“There’s was a little boy,” began Artie, “wot fell out of a winder, and he jumped up and said he wasn’t hurt, but then he was killed.”

“What do you mean?” said Leigh. “How was he killed if he wasn’t hurt?”

“I mean he died soon,” said Artie. “P’raps it was the next day. He was hurt inside his head though it wasn’t blooding outside.”

“And babies are so dellykid,” said Mary.

Leigh gave a sort of angry grunt, something between a sob and a scold. Certainly Mary and Artie were not comforting. But did he deserve comforting? It was true he had meant no harm at all to dear baby. He had thought it would be fun for her as well as for the others and himself – most for himself, I am afraid – if Fuzz could be taught to draw her carriage quite well, like the dogs papa had told them about. But, had it been right to do it secretly, without anybody’s leave? He had turned it and twisted it so in his mind that he had persuaded himself he only wanted to “surprise” everybody, for one reason; and for another, that nurse was so silly and fussy; and for still another, that there was no need to tease papa and mamma about every little plan for amusing themselves that he and the others made.

But now, somehow, none of these reasons seemed any good; they all slipped and melted away as if there was nothing real in them.

And then there was the second piece of concealment – the hiding about the accident. There was no good excuse for that. Leigh’s own first feelings had been to tell at once, and Janie Perry had trusted that he would. Why had he given in to Emma? Was it really out of pity for her and her mother; or was it partly – a good big “partly” – that he was afraid of being very much scolded himself? As he got to this point of his gloomy thoughts Leigh gave another groan; it was much more of a groan this time, as if he could not bear his own unhappiness.

Then, for he had covered up his eyes, he felt a little hand stealing round his neck – it was Mary.

“Oh, Leigh, dear poor Leigh,” she whispered. “I are so sorry for you, and I are so miderable.”

Leigh drew the trembling, quivering little creature to him, and left off trying to keep up. Artie crept near to them, and they all cried together.

Then Leigh started up.

“I’ll go and tell now,” he said, “now, this minute. It’s been all my fault, and I don’t care what Emma says, nor how I’m scolded. P’raps, p’raps, the doctor’ll be able to do something, even if her head is hurt inside the way that boy’s was.”

He kissed the two others and started off. He seemed away a long time; but, alas! when he came back there was no look of comfort or hope in his face. It was only very white, and his eyes very red.

“It’s no good,” he said, flinging himself down on a chair and bursting out crying. “It’s no good. That’s my punishment. Now that I want to tell I can’t.”

Mary and Artie could not understand.

“Was you too f’ightened, poor Leigh?” said Mary. “Shall I go?”

“No, no, it’s not about me. It’s this way. Papa’s gone, ever so long ago. He’s gone to the station, and I think he was going to see the doctor on the way. And mamma and nurse are shut up in the night-nursery with baby, not to be disturbed by nobody,” said Leigh, forgetting his grammar in his distress. “I saw Emma, but she’s no good, she’d only tell stories to keep herself from being scolded. But I do think she looks frightened about baby. Oh dear, what shall I do? Darling Baby Dolly, and it’s all my fault. I see it now;” and Leigh flung himself on to the floor and burst out sobbing again.

“Leigh, Leigh, poor Leigh,” said Mary and Artie together.

“Mr Fibbetts will be coming,” said Mary in a moment, “and then I’ll have to go out with Emma. Oh, I don’t want to go.”

Leigh looked up.

“Mr Phillips won’t be coming,” he said, “I forgot. Everything’s been so strange to-day. It’s Saturday, Mary. He doesn’t come on Saturdays. You shan’t go out with Emma if you don’t want. She’s a untrue bad girl; it’s a good deal her fault, though she’s not been half so wicked as me.”

“You’ve not been wicked, dear Leigh. You didn’t mean any harm,” sobbed Mary.

“And we’ve all been naughty for not telling,” added Artie.

“Oh, but what are we to do?” cried Leigh again. “The doctor’ll be coming and he won’t know, and p’raps he’ll give Dolly the wrong medicines with not knowing, and baby will get worser and worser. Oh, what shall we do?”

“I know,” said Mary, in a clear, decided voice, which made both her brothers look at her in surprise. “We’ll hide somewhere, so that we can jump out when the doctor passes and tell him. So then he must know what to do for Dolly. Where shall we hide, Leigh?”

Leigh stopped crying to consider.

“Near the lodge would be best,” he said. “The bushes are thick, and he must pass there. But it’s cold, Mary, and we can’t possibly go upstairs to get your things. Artie and I have got our caps and comforters in the hall. And if we left you here Emma would find you.”

“No, no,” said Mary, dancing about in her eagerness, “don’t leave me here, Leigh. There’s shawls in the hall. Can’t you wrap me up in one of them? I’ll be quite good. I won’t fuss about at all.”

So it was settled. The three set off as silently as they could to the hall, where they caught up the best wraps they could find. Then they made their way through the big drawing-room, which opened into a conservatory, out by a side path to the drive.

Five minutes after they had left the study Emma came to look for them, but found the birds flown. She took no further trouble; for, to tell the truth, she was not sorry to keep out of the children’s way; her own conscience was not at all at rest, and she had made up her mind to write to her mother asking for her to come home at once.

Though it was two miles to the village it did not take long to drive there, and Mr Bertram luckily caught Mr Wiseman the doctor just as he was starting on his rounds.

Mr Wiseman was driving a young horse; he went well, but he was rather timid, and apt to shy when anything startled him. The lodge gates were open; as the children’s papa had told the woman that the doctor would be coming, so he drove in without stopping. But, oh dear! Scarcely had he got a few yards up the avenue before there was a great fuss. The young horse was dancing and shaking with fear, and if the groom had not jumped down and got to his head more quickly than it takes me to tell it, who knows what might not have happened.

What had frightened him so?

Three funny-looking little figures had sprung out from among the bushes, calling out in eager but melancholy tones —

“Mr Wiseman, Mr Wiseman, please stop. Oh please stop.”

These were Leigh and Artie, one with an old squashy wide-awake of papa’s, that was much too big for him, the other with a cloth deer-stalker cap which made him look like a Laplander, for in their hurry they had not been able to find their own things.

And Mary, funniest of all, with a shawl mamma used on the lawn, all huddled up round her, and the fringes trailing elegantly behind. For half a minute the doctor thought they were gypsy children from the van on the common.

But then again came the cry —

“Oh, Mr Wiseman, please stay,” and his quick eye saw that all the little faces were swollen and tear-stained. Something must be very wrong.

“The baby,” he thought to himself, “poor little woman. Surely nothing worse has happened to her since I saw Mr Bertram? They could never have sent the children to tell me – ”

He jumped down, stopping an instant to pat his frightened horse. But he had not the heart to scold the children for startling poor Paddy so.

“What is the matter, my dear children?” he said kindly.

The children knew Mr Wiseman well, and were not afraid of him, still it was not easy to get the story clearly from them. The doctor saw he must be patient, and as soon as he heard baby’s name he felt that the matter might be serious, and by careful questioning he at last understood the whole. In his heart he did not feel very uneasy, for little Dolly’s father had told him in what way she seemed ill, and it was not the kind of illness that could have come from a fall. But to the children he was very grave, for he thought it most wrong of them, Leigh especially of course, not to have told exactly what had happened; and he thought, too, that the sooner the under-nurse was sent away the better.

“I don’t think,” he said, “I don’t think I need to tell you how wrong you have been. There is no fear, Leigh, of your ever trying anything of the kind again without leave. And even you two little ones are old enough to know you should not have kept the accident a secret. But I must hurry on to see poor baby as quickly as possible. Come back to the house now, for it is too cold for you to be standing about, and as soon as I can I will let you know how your little sister is. All you can do now is to be as good as possible, and give no trouble while she is ill, even if your mamma and nurse cannot be with you at all.”

With these words he sprang up into his dogcart again and drove off quickly to the house, the children gazing after him.

Then Mary burst into a sad fit of crying again. “Oh Leigh! Oh Artie!” she said. “Does you think Baby Dolly’s going to die?”

Leigh was very pale, and his eyes were still swollen and red, but he had made up his mind not to cry any more. He felt he was so much more to blame than the others that he wanted to try to comfort them.

“I hope God will make her better,” he said in a very low voice. “Please try not to cry, Mary dear. It makes me so very miserable. Let us go home now and wait quietly in the study till Mr Wiseman comes to tell us how baby is.”

Mary slipped her hand into Leigh’s, and choked down her tears.

“I’ll try not to cry,” she said. “But I can’t help thinking about if we have to be all alone with Emma, and she’ll be so c’oss. Do you think, p’raps, we won’t see mamma for a lot of days, Leigh?”

Leigh could only say he did not know, but he squeezed Mary’s hand tight.

“I’ll not let Emma be cross to you, Mary dear,” he said. “I’ll try to be very good to you, for it’s all my fault.”

Artie took Mary’s other hand, and they all three went back to the house. The study was just as they had left it – there was no sign of Emma, which they were very glad of. They felt chilly and tired, though they had walked such a little way, and they were glad all to creep round the fire again, and sit there waiting – oh so very, very anxiously, till they heard Mr Wiseman coming. For Leigh had told him they would be in the study.

It seemed a long time.

“I wonder if he’s never coming,” said Mary, more than once.

At last there came the sound of footsteps, quick and firm, running downstairs.

“There he is,” said Leigh, and he ran to the door which he opened and stood there listening. But strange to say the footsteps crossed the hall towards the front door, instead of turning down the passage to the study. Leigh could scarcely believe his ears – surely it could not be the doctor?

Yes it was – he heard his voice speaking to the butler in the hall. And then – before Leigh had time to run out and call to him, there came the sound of Mr Wiseman’s dogcart driving away as fast as it had come.

Leigh felt faint with disappointment. He came back into the room again, looking so white that Mary and Artie started up.

“He’s gone,” said Leigh, “gone without coming in to tell us.”

“Can it be that Dolly’s so ill he doesn’t like to tell us?” said Artie.

“P’raps he’s gone to get another doctor,” said Mary. “Peoples has two doctors when they’re very ill, nurse said. Oh Leigh, dear Leigh, I’m afraid I’m going to cry.”

Leigh did not speak. If he had, he would have burst out crying himself, I’m afraid. But just then – just when they were feeling as if they could not bear it any more, there came again the sound of some one hastening downstairs, a lighter tread than Mr Wiseman’s this time. And the footsteps did not cross the hall. They came quick and eager, one after the other, down the passages to the study. Then the door opened – and – some one stood there, looking in.

“My poor dears,” said a loving voice with a little tremble in it. And in another second somebody’s arms were round them all – it is wonderful how many children can creep into one pair of arms sometimes! – and they all seemed to be kissing mamma, for of course it was mamma – and each other at once. And somehow – Mary could not remember how mamma told it them – they knew that there were good news. Baby Dolly was not going to be very ill!

It had nothing to do with the fall – but, till the doctor came, it was thought the little sister had got scarlet fever or measles, and that was why the children had been kept out of the nursery all the morning and not allowed to see the baby, or mamma or nurse who had been with her. For those illnesses are very easily caught.

But it was nothing so bad. It was only a little feverish attack, which would soon pass away if she was kept quiet and warm.

“You shall see her this afternoon, just for a minute or two,” said mamma. “I told the doctor I would come down myself to tell you the good news. And I am going to take you out a walk, so as to leave the nursery quite quiet.”

“Not with Emma?” said Mary. She was not sorry, but she was rather surprised.

“No, dear, not with Emma. You will not be with Emma any more, for I cannot trust her.” Leigh grew very red at this.

“Mamma,” he said, “then you can’t trust me.”

“Yes,” she replied. “I do trust you, for I know you have had a lesson you will never forget. Will you, my boy?”

“No, mamma, never,” said Leigh in a very low voice.

The walk was to the Lavender Cottages. Mamma had two reasons for going there. She wanted to thank Janie Perry for the brave way she had behaved; and she also wanted to ask Janie’s mother about a niece of hers, who she thought would make a nice nursery-maid instead of Emma.

It was a very happy walk; they all felt as if they had never loved mamma quite so much before.

And a few days later, when Baby Dolly had got quite well and was able to go out in her carriage once more, mamma came with them again for a great treat. And Fuzzy came too.

“Poor old Fuzzy,” said Mary, who was hopping along as merry as a cricket, feeling quite safe with mamma’s hand. “Poor old Fuzzy. He never meaned to run away, did he, mamma? When Baby Dolly’s a big girl we’ll tell her she needn’t be f’ightened of poor Fuzzy – it’s only his play; isn’t it, mamma dear?”

The End