Mary: A Nursery Story for Very Little Children

"Them doesn't hurt me," she said.

"Ah but they did, Miss Mary," said nurse. "Many a night you couldn't sleep for crying with the pain of them, but you can't remember it."

"It's very funny," said Mary.

"What's funny?" asked Leigh.

"About 'amembering," answered Mary, and a puzzled look came into her face. "Can you 'amember when you was a tiny baby, nurse?"

"No, my dear, nobody can," said nurse. "But don't worry yourself about understanding things of that kind."

"There's somefin in my head now that I can't 'amember," said Mary, "somefin papa said. It's that that's teasing me, nurse. I don't like to not 'amember what papa said."

"You must ask him to-morrow, dearie," nurse answered. "You'll give yourself a headache if you go on trying too hard to remember."

"Isn't it _funny_ how things go out of our minds like that?" said Leigh. "I'll tell you what I think it is. I think our minds are like cupboards or chests of drawers, and some of the things get poked very far back so that we can't get at them when we want them. You see the newest things are at the front, that's how we can remember things that have just happened and not things long ago."

"No," said Artie, "'tisn't quite like that, Leigh. For I can remember what we had for dinner on my birthday, and that was very long ago, before last winter, much better than what we had for dinner one day last week."

"I can tell you how that is," said nurse, "what you had for dinner on your birthday made a mark on your mind because it was your birthday. Everything makes marks on our minds, I suppose, but some go deeper than others. That's how it's always seemed to me about remembering and forgetting. And if there's any name I want to remember very much I say it out loud to myself two or three times, and that seems to press it into my mind. Dear, dear, how well I remember doing that way at school when I was a little girl. There was the kings and queens, do what I would, I couldn't remember how their names came, till I got that way of saying two or three together, like `William and Mary, Anne, George the First,' over and over."

The children listened with great interest to nurse's recollections, the boys especially, that is to say; the talk was rather too difficult for Mary to understand. But her face looked very grave; she seemed to be listening to what nurse said, and yet thinking of something behind it. All at once her eyes grew bright and a smile broke out like a ray of sunshine.

"I 'amember," she said joyfully. "Nursie said her couldn't 'amember names. It was names papa said. He said us was to fink of a name for baby."

"Oh, is that what you've been fussing about?" said Leigh. "I could have told you that long ago. _I've_ fixed what I want her to be called. I've thought of a _very_ pretty name."

Mary looked rather sorry.

"I can't fink of any names," she said; "I can only fink of `Mary.' Can't her be called `Mary,' 'cos it's my birfday?"

Leigh and Artie both began to laugh.

"What a silly girl you are," said Leigh; "how could you have two people in one family with the same name? Whenever we called `Mary,' you'd never know if it was you or the baby we meant."

"You could say `baby Mary,'" said Mary, who did not like to be called a silly girl.

"And when she was big," said Leigh, "how would she like to be called `baby'?"

Mary had not thought of this, still she would not give in.

"Peoples has the same names," she said. "Papa's name's `Leigh,' and your name's `Leigh,'--there now--" and as another idea struck her, "and us _all_ is called Bertum. Papa's Mr Bertum and mamma's Mrs Bertum and--and--"

"And you're `Miss Bertum,'" said Leigh, laughing. "But that's because Bertram is our _family_ name, you see, Mary. We've each got a first name too. It doesn't much matter papa and me being the same, except that sometimes I think mamma's calling me when she means papa, but it would never do if Artie and I had the same name. Fancy, if we were both called `Artie,' we'd never know which you meant."

"No," said Mary, laughing too, "it would be a very bad plan. I never thought of that. But I _can't_ think of a pitty name for dear little baby."

"There's lots," said Artie, who had been sitting very silent--to tell the truth, he had forgotten all about choosing a name, but he did not want to say so. So he had been thinking of all the names he could, so that he might seem quite as ready as Leigh. "There's Cowslip and Buttercup and Firefly and--"

"Nonsense," said Leigh, "considering you're six years old, Artie, you're sillier than Mary. Those are cows' names, and--"

"They're not--not all of them," said Artie, "Firefly's a pony's name. It's little Ella Curry's pony's name, and I think it's very pretty."

"For a pony perhaps," said nurse, "but then you see, Master Artie, your little sister isn't a pony."

"I wish she was," said Leigh, and when nurse looked up astonished he looked rather ashamed. "Of course I don't mean that it isn't nice for her to be a little girl," he went on, "but I do so wish we had a pony."

"You may just be patient for a while, Master Leigh," said nurse; "you know your papa's promised you a pony when you're ten years old, and by that time baby will be nearly two."

"That won't matter," said Leigh, "even Mary won't be able to ride my pony. It's to be a real sensible one, not a stupid donkey sort of pony, with panniers or a basket on its back."

"No," said Artie, "it's to be a galoppy-trot one! Won't we make him go, Leigh."

"I shall," said Leigh; "you won't have much to say to it. You'll be too little too."

Artie's face fell. Mary, who was sitting beside him, slipped her little hand into his.

"Nebber mind, Artie," she said. "We'll ask papa to give us anoder pony. A very gentle one for you and me and baby."

"A perambulator will be more in baby's way," said nurse. "Miss Mary's old one is quite worn out and they do make such pretty ones nowadays. I hope your mamma will get her a very nice one."

"And may we push it sometimes?" said Artie, brightening up again, "that would be nice."

Leigh gave a little laugh.

"What a baby you are, Artie," he was beginning, but nurse, who saw that he was in one of his teasing humours, looked up quickly.

"It's such a fine evening," she said, "and it's scarcely five o'clock. How would you like to go out a little walk? We didn't go very far to-day. We might go as far as the Lavender Cottages, I've something to take there from your mamma."

The boys looked very pleased.

"Oh yes, nurse," they said, "do let's go out."

"And mayn't we stop and see the puppies at the smithy on the way?" Leigh went on.

"I'm f'ightened of those little barky dogs," said Mary; "I don't want to go out, nurse, I'm sleepy."

"It'll do you good, my dear, to have a little walk before you go to bed; you'll sleep all the better for it and wake all the fresher in the morning," and a few minutes afterwards, when the little party were walking down the drive, Mary looked quite bright again.

It was a very lovely evening. The way to the Lavender Cottages lay across the fields, and, as every one knows, there is nothing prettier than a long stretch of grass land with the tender spring green lighted up by late afternoon sunshine.

Mary trotted along contentedly, thinking to herself.

"My birfday's going to bed soon," she thought, "and to-morrow morning it'll be gone--gone away for a long, long time," and she gave a little sigh. "But somefins won't be gone away, all my birfday presents will stay, and baby sister will stay, and when my birfday comes back again it will be hers too. Dear little baby sister! I wish her had comed out a walk wif us, the sun is so pitty."

The smithy was at the foot of the road leading up to the cottages, just opposite the stile by which they left the fields. This stile had three steps up and three steps down, with a bar of wood to clamber across at the top. It was one of the children's favourite stiles, as the boys always pretended that the bar was a pony on which they had a ride on the way over. To-day nurse and Mary waited patiently till they had ridden far enough. Then Artie hopped down the other side and Leigh stood at the top to help his sister over, for though he was a teasing boy sometimes, he never forgot that she was a little girl and that it was his place to take care of her.

"Leigh," said Mary, as he was lifting her down, "I is so f'ightened of those little dogs! Please don't go to see them."

"How can you be frightened of them, Mary?" said Leigh. "It's really very silly! They're only baby dogs, don't you understand; they couldn't hurt anybody."

This was quite a new idea to Mary, and she stopped short on the second step of the stile to think about it.

"_Baby_ dogs," she said, "I never thought little dogs was babies. Is there babies of everything, Leigh?"

"Of course there are. Don't you remember the baby ducks? And the little lambs are baby sheep, and even the tiny buds are baby flowers."

"And _babies_ never hurts nobody, does they?" said Mary, as she got safely to the ground again with the help of her brother's hand. "Then I won't be f'ightened, Leigh, of the little doggies. You may take me to see them," and as Leigh hurried on to the smithy, which he thought the most delightful place in the world, Mary trotted beside him as fast as her little legs could go, holding firmly to him while she said over to herself, though in rather a trembling voice--

"I never thought them was _baby_ dogs, _babies_ don't hurt nobody."

Yakeman the smith was standing in front of his forge, taking a rest after the day's work.

"Good-evening, Master Leigh," he said, as the children came up to him. "Come for a look at the puppies, sir? They're getting on finely. Would Missie like to see them too?" and he turned to open a little gate leading into his garden.

Leigh looked down at Mary, not quite sure what she would feel about it. Her face was rather red, and she pinched his hand more tightly.

"Would you like to see them, Mary?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, I'm not f'ightened now," she answered bravely.

"You've no call to be afear'd," said Yakeman, as he led the way.

"No," said Mary, "'cos them's only babies."

The puppies were all tumbling over each other in a comfortable nest of hay in the corner of a shed. There were four of them, brown curly balls, nearly as soft and fluffy as Leigh's favourite ducklings.

Yakeman stooped down and picked one up with his big hand and held it close to Mary. She stroked it gently with the very tip of her fingers.

"It _are_ sweet," she said, with a rather shaky little laugh, and as no harm came of her touching it, she grew still braver.

"May I kiss its little head?" she said, looking up at the tall blacksmith, who smiled down on her.

"To be sure, Missie," said he, so Mary buried her nose in the brown fur, suddenly giving a little cry as she felt something warm and wet on her cheek.

"He's licking you," said Leigh; "I dare say he means it for kissing though. I say, Mary, wouldn't it be nice if papa would let us have a puppy for our very own."

"A baby puppy and a baby sister," said Mary. "Did you know us had got a baby sister?" she went on, to the smith. "Her comed to-day 'cos it were my birfday."

"That was a fine birthday present," said Yakeman, "and you'd be welcome to this puppy if your papa would allow you to have it. I've promised two and I'm keeping one myself, but this here I'd not settled about."

Mary's eyes sparkled, and so did Leigh's. "We'd have him between us, Mary," said Leigh. "We must ask papa. _You'd_ better ask him because of its being your birthday, you know."

Just then they heard nurse's voice, she had been waiting for Artie while he had another ride on the stile.

"Master Leigh and Miss Mary, where are you?" she said. "We must be getting on."

The children thanked the smith and ran after her, full of the offer which had been made to them.

"Oh, nurse," said Mary, when they had told her of it. "Just fink of all my birfday presents! A baby sister and a baby dog, and all my nother things," and she gave a great sigh of pleasure.

"Yes, indeed, Miss Mary," said nurse. "I don't think you'll ever forget your fourth birthday."

CHAPTER FIVE.

WITH PAPA.

The children's father came back late that night, but too late for them to see him. And the next morning he had to be off again, this time for two whole days together, so there was no chance of asking him about the dog. Leigh and Mary spoke of it to their mother, but dogs are things that papas have most to do with, and she could only say, "You must ask papa."

It was rather trying to have to wait so long to know about it, or at least it would have been so if Mary had not had so many other interesting things to think about just then. There were all her birthday presents, her "regular" birthday presents, as the boys called them, which were still of course quite new, not to speak of the baby, which seemed to Mary more wonderful every time she saw her.

Unless you really live with a baby, and that, as you know, had never happened to Mary before, you can have no idea how very interesting babies are, even when they are so tiny that they can do nothing but go to sleep and wake again, and cry when they are hungry, and stretch themselves and yawn, and make oh! such funny faces! Why, that is quite a long list of things to do already, and there are ever so many more queer little ways about a baby when you come to notice them. Even its little pink toes seemed to Mary the prettiest and funniest things she had ever seen in her life.

Leigh and she fixed together that, till they had asked their father about the dog, they would not go past the smithy.

"It only makes us fink about it," said Mary.

And nurse, who, to tell the truth, was not very eager for them to get the puppy, was not sorry when the children asked her not to pass that way.

"Miss Mary is still frightened of Yakeman's dogs," she thought to herself, "and it's just as well. I don't know whatever we'd do if we had to take a puppy out walks with us as well as Miss Baby."

For of course nurse knew that before long, when the baby grew a little bigger, she would come to live in the nursery altogether and go out walks with the others. Just at first nurse would carry her, but after awhile she would go in the new perambulator which nurse had set her heart upon getting.

That reminds me of Mary's present from her father and mother, which, as I told you, was a doll's perambulator. It was a great amusement to them all, not only to Mary. You have no idea what a lot of fun you can get out of a doll's perambulator. It was not only the dolls that went drives in it; the children tried several other things which did not succeed very well. The kitten for one did not like it at all. Leigh caught it one day, when there was no one else to take a drive, for the dolls had all got very bad colds, and Doctor Artie had said that they must on no account go out. Mary looked very grave at this, but of course the doctor's orders had to be obeyed.

"What shall we do?" she said sadly. "It will be so dull to go out a walk wifout the perambulator," for till now the dolls had had a drive every day.

"Leave it to me," said Leigh, "you'll find some one all ready waiting when you come down to go out."

And sure enough when nurse and Mary arrived at the door, there was the perambulator, and seated in the doll's place, or rather tied into it, was a very queer figure indeed--the kitten, as I told you, looking and feeling perfectly miserable.

Leigh had done his best to make it comfortable. He had tied it in with a large soft handkerchief very cleverly, but it was mewing piteously all the same.

"Come along quick, Mary," he said, "Kitty's in a great hurry to be off; she doesn't like being kept waiting, that's what she's saying."

Mary looked as if she was not quite sure if that was what Kitty's mews really meant, but of course, as Leigh was so much bigger and older, she thought he must know best. So she began pushing the perambulator, very gently at first, for fear of frightening poor pussy, who was so much astonished at feeling herself moving that for a moment or two she left off mewing.

"There now," said Leigh, "you see how she likes it. Go faster, Mary."

Mary set off running as fast as she could, which was not very fast, however, for at four years old, one's legs are still very short, but she did her best, as she wanted to please Leigh and the kitten too. The garden path was smooth and it was a little down hill. Leigh scampered on in front, Mary coming after him rather faster than she meant. Indeed she began to have a queer feeling that her legs were running away with her, when all of a sudden there came a grand upset. Mary found herself on the ground, on the top of the perambulator, and even before she had time to pick herself up her little voice was heard crying out:

"Oh poor Kitty! I'se felled on the top of poor Kitty!"

But no, Kitty was not as much to be pitied as Mary herself, for the poor little girl's knees were sadly scratched by the gravel and one of her hands was really bleeding. While, there was Kitty, galloping home in great glee--Leigh's handkerchief spreading out behind her like a lady's train.

Mary scarcely knew whether to laugh or _cry_. I think she did a little of both. Leigh wanted to catch pussy again, but nurse would not hear of it, and proposed instead that they should use the perambulator to bring home a beautiful lot of primroses for their mother, from the woods.

After this adventure with the kitten, Leigh tried one or two other "tricks," as nurse called them. He wanted to make a coachman of one of his guinea-pigs, who sat quite still as long as he had a leaf of lettuce to munch, but when that was done let himself roll out like a ball over and over again, till even Leigh got tired of catching him and putting him back. Artie's pet rabbit did no better, and then it was decided that when the dolls were ill it would be best to use the perambulator as a cart, for fetching flowers and fir-cones and all sorts of things. This was such fun that the dolls were often obliged to stay at home, even when their colds were not very bad.

And for nearly a week the children kept away from the smithy. Papa had been home during that week, of course, and they had tried to ask about the puppy. But he was very busy and hurried; all he could say was that he must see the dog first, and that of course he had had no time for.

At last there came a morning on which, when the children went down to see their father after the nursery breakfast, they found him sitting comfortably at the table pouring himself out a second cup of nice hot coffee and reading the newspaper, as if he was not in a hurry at all.

"Oh papa," said Leigh, "how jolly it is to see you like that, instead of gobbling up your breakfast as if the train was at the door."

"If the train came as near as that I shouldn't be so hurried," said his father laughing, but Mary did not look quite pleased.

"Papa doesn't gobble," she said. "Leigh shouldn't speak that way, it's like gooses and turkeys."

"I didn't mean that kind of gobbling," said Leigh. "Turkeys gobble-wobble--it's their way of talking. I didn't mean _that_ of papa."

Mary still looked rather doubtful, but her father caught her up and set her on his knee with a kiss.

"Thank you, my princess," he said, "for standing up for your poor old father. Now, what can I do for you? I've got a nice long holiday before me, all to-day and all to-morrow at home, so I'm quite at your service."

Mary looked up. She did not quite understand what "quite at your service" meant, and it was her way when she did not understand anything to think it over for a moment or two before she asked to have it explained. It is not a bad way to do, because there are often things a child can get to understand by a little thinking, and some children have a silly way of never using their own minds if they can help it.