X.
_FRESH TROUBLES._
THE ginger-cakes were a great success. It is true that one's tongue wasbitten, now and then, by a lump of ginger or other spice, not quite asthoroughly mixed in by Nellie's unaccustomed fingers as it might havebeen by those which were stronger and more used to such business; butwho minded such trifles as that, or would refuse to give the littleworkwoman the meed of praise she so richly deserved?
Not her papa certainly, who found no fault whatever, and eat enough ofthe ginger-cakes to satisfy even his Nellie.
Not even Daisy, who met with such a misfortune as that spoken of above,while at the tea-table, and who was perceived first by Nellie holdingher tongue with one thumb and finger, while in the other hand sheheld out the ginger-cake, regarding it with a puzzled and disturbedexpression.
"What's the matter, Daisy?" asked Nellie.
"Somefing stinged my tongue. I b'ieve it was a bee, and I eat himup," said Daisy, the ever ready tears starting to her eyes. They wereexcusable under the circumstances certainly.
"It has been a little bit of ginger," said Mrs. Ransom, who hadsuffered in a similar manner, but in silence. "Take some milk, mydarling."
"O Daisy, I'm so sorry! I suppose I haven't mixed it well," saidNellie, looking horrified.
Daisy obeyed her mother's command, which brought relief to her smartingtongue, and then, turning to Nellie with a most benignant smile,said,--
"You needn't mind, Nellie. I'd just as lieve have my tongue bited foryour ginger-cakes. Papa," she added, turning to her father, "I s'poseyou're going to be busy after tea, ar'n't you?"
"No, papa has nothing to do but to rest himself this evening," answeredMr. Ransom.
"Oh dear!" sighed Daisy, taking her tongue between thumb and fingeragain.
"Do you want papa to be busy?" asked Mr. Ransom.
"I fought you would be," said Daisy, who found it extremelyinconvenient not to be able to pet the injured member and to talk atthe same moment. "I s'posed you'd have to undo that big parcel that'sin the hall closet; and I fought my tongue would feel a good dealbetter to know what's inside of it."
"Oh! that is it, is it?" said Mr. Ransom. "Well, yes, I believe I_have_ that little business to attend to, so your tongue may get wellright away, Daisy."
Having finished his tea, Mr. Ransom now rose and went out intothe hall, returning with the great parcel which had so excited thecuriosity of his little daughter. This he put down upon the floorbeside his chair, went out once more, and came back again with twosmaller parcels. These he put upon the table, and took his seat beforeall three.
Daisy's excitement hardly knew bounds now, especially when there camefrom within one of the smaller parcels a little rustle, as thoughsomething alive was inside. Still, her attention was principally takenup with the "biggest one of all;" and, to her great delight, this wasthe first papa opened.
Paper and string removed, two bird-cages, _empty_ cages, presentedthemselves to the eyes of the children. What could they be for?
"Papa," said Daisy, "you _couldn't_ be going to catch the littlebirdies out the trees, and put them in there, could you?"
"Wait a moment," said her father, taking up the parcel whence therustling had come.
This, opened, revealed another bird-cage, this a tiny wooden one, butoh! delight! containing two beautiful canaries. They looked ratheruncomfortable and astonished, it is true, and as if they might bethoroughly tired of their narrow quarters, from which Mr. Ransom nowspeedily released them, putting one bird in each large cage, which wassoon furnished with fresh seed and water, sugar, and all that birdslove.
"What little beauties! Who are they for, papa?" asked Carrie.
"For little girls who have been helpful and kind to mamma during thepast week," said Mr. Ransom, smiling. "I sent up the cages by express,but brought on the birds myself. Poor little fellows! they are glad tohave reached their journey's end, I think."
"But there's only two, and there are fee girls," said Daisy,--"one,two, fee girls," pointing by turns to her sisters and herself, "andone, two birds. That's not enough, papa."
"Papa thought his Daisy too young to have the care of a bird yet,"said Mr. Ransom, "but here is what he brought for her; for mamma wroteto him what a good girl she was, and what pains she was taking to cureherself of that foolish habit of crying for trifles."
And, unwrapping the last parcel, Mr. Ransom disclosed a box containinga pretty little dinner-set. At another time Daisy would have beendelighted; but what was a dinner-set to a bird?
She stood looking from one to the other without the slightestexpression of pleasure or satisfaction in her own pretty gift.
"Don't you like it, Daisy?" asked her father.
"Papa, I--I--I would if I could, but--but the birdies are 'live, andthe dinner-set is dead; but I wouldn't cry about it, would I, mamma?"
With which she ran to her mother, and buried her face in her lap. Poorlittle woman! it was almost touching to see how hard she struggledwith her too ready tears, which had been so long accustomed to havetheir way upon small occasion. There was no mistaking the good-willand resolution with which she was striving to cure herself of a rathervexatious and foolish habit; but it was such hard work as can only beimagined by little girls who have been troubled with a similar failing.
Mamma's praises and caresses helped her to conquer it this time again,though it was a harder trial than usual, and she altogether declined tolook at the dinner-set, or to take any comfort therein.
"Papa," said Nellie to her father in a low tone, as she and Carriestood beside him, their attention divided between the birds and Daisy,"papa, if you will buy Daisy a bird, I will take care of it for her. Isuppose she is too little to do it herself; but she likes pets so much,and she was so very sweet and unselfish about her white mice, that Ithink she deserves a reward."
Mr. Ransom had not heard the story of the white mice; but he now madeinquiries which Nellie soon answered, Daisy's sacrifice losing nothingof its merit in her telling; while Carrie, feeling more and moreuncomfortable, but neither caring nor daring to run out of hearing,and so excite questions, stood idly rubbing her finger over the barsof her bird's cage. The contrast between her own conduct and that ofher almost baby sister was making itself felt more and more to her ownheart and conscience. If Daisy deserved a bird because she had beenloving and considerate for mamma, surely she did not deserve the same.How she hoped that papa would give Daisy one!
But no; papa plainly showed that he had no such intention, for whenNellie concluded with these words,--
"Don't you think you will give Daisy a bird of her own, papa?" heanswered,--
"I think not at present, Nellie. I have spent as much as I can affordat this time on trifles, and Daisy must wait for her bird tillChristmas, or some other holiday. But she is a darling, blessed,little child, with a heart full of loving, generous feeling, and I donot think the less of her sacrifice because I do not find it best togive her a bird just now. I shall try to give her some other pleasurewhich may make up to her for the loss of her white mice."
But it did not seem to Nellie or Carrie, any more than it did to Daisyherself, that any thing could do this so well as a canary-bird; and,although they knew that it was of no use to try and persuade papa tochange his mind when he had once resolved upon a thing, they felt as ifthey could hardly let the matter drop here.
Daisy had heard nothing of all this, for she was cuddled up in hermother's lap on the other side of the room, where mamma had taken heraway from birds and dinner-set, till she should be petted and comfortedinto happiness once more.
And now papa left the other children, and, going over to mamma andDaisy, sat down beside them, and gave his share of praise to hislittle daughter, not only for the giving up of the white mice, but alsofor that other matter concerning the tears, which she was so bravelylearning to control, with the idea of "helping mamma."
So at last a calm, though mournful resignation returned to the bosom ofthe little one, and she was farther cons
oled by mamma insisting uponputting her to bed herself, a treat which Daisy had not enjoyed sinceNellie had taken up the character of mamma's housekeeper; for, whenRuth could not leave baby, Nellie now always considered this a part ofher duty.
Still Daisy could not refrain from saying, as her mother led her fromthe room,--
"Mamma, I fink I never heard of a little girl who had so many _sorrys_as me; did you?"
When Mrs. Ransom came downstairs, however, she reported Daisy asrestored to a more cheerful frame of spirits, and as singing herselfto sleep with her own version of the popular melody of "One little, twolittle, three little nigger boys,"--namely, "One little, two little,fee little _colored person_ boys;" so careful was she in all thingsto heed mamma's wishes, and not at all disturbed by the fact that thewords of her rhyme did not exactly fit the tune. It was all the same toDaisy. Rules of music and measure were nothing to her, so long as herconscience was at rest.
The family had all gone out upon the piazza. The father and mother sata little apart, talking; the boys were amusing themselves with oldRover upon the lower step; while Nellie and Carrie were seated above atthe head of the flight.
"What makes you so quiet, Carrie?" asked Nellie.
"I don't know," answered Carrie, though she said "don't know" more fromthat way we all have of saying it at times when we are not preparedwith an answer, than from an intention to speak an untruth. Then,after another silence of a moment or two, she spoke again,--
"Nellie, why won't you make one of those brackets for mamma?"
"For the reason I told you. Because I don't think I shall have time. Ithink I'd better take my money to buy her some other Christmas presentall ready made. Mamma will like it just as well if she sees I try tohelp and please her in the mean time," said sensible Nellie.
"But you could give her something a great deal prettier if you made ityourself," said Carrie.
"I know it," answered Nellie, quietly; "but I cannot do it, and haveany play-time, and mamma says she does not wish me to be busy all thetime."
"Pshaw!" said Carrie, whose mind was quite set upon the pair ofbrackets to be worked by herself and her sister, "your housekeepingdon't take you so long, and you never study so _very_ much now, so youhave a good deal of time, and I should think you might be willing touse some of it to make a pretty thing for mamma. You think yourself sogreat with the housekeeping."
"I have some other work I want to do," said Nellie. "I would do it if Icould, but I cannot, Carrie."
"That's real selfish," said Carrie. "You'd rather do something foryourself than please mamma."
Nellie made no answer. If our quiet, gentle "little sunbeam" could notdisperse the clouds of Carrie's ill-temper, she would at least not makethem darker and heavier by an angry retort or provoking sneer. Carriewas very unjust and unreasonable, it was true; but Nellie knew thatshe would feel ashamed and sorry far sooner, if she were let alone,than she would if she were answered back. And Nellie felt that it wasnot so long since she herself had been "cross" and fretful at trifles.She believed, too, that "something ailed Carrie," making her unusuallycaptious and irritable at this time. It was not over-study certainly:Carrie was not likely to be at fault in that; but Nellie could not helpthinking either that she was not well, or that some trouble was on hermind. What that was, of course, she had not the slightest suspicion.
"After all, Nellie don't think so very much about pleasing mamma," saidCarrie to herself, with rather a feeling of satisfaction in the thought.
It was not pleasant to feel that, while both her sisters were trying sohard to be useful and good to mamma, that she alone had done that whichwas likely to bring annoyance and trouble upon her.
There is an old adage that "misery loves company." I am not so sureabout that, for I do not see what comfort there can be in knowing thatothers are unhappy; but I fear that sin often "loves company," and thatthere is a certain satisfaction in being able to feel that some otherperson is as naughty as ourselves. _Then_ we need not draw comparisonsto our own disadvantage.
Such was Carrie's state of mind just now; and there is no denying thatshe was somewhat pleased to believe that Nellie was seeking her ownhappiness rather than mamma's.
But still she did not feel that she could so easily give up the idea ofthe pair of brackets. To make mamma such a grand present as that seemedin some sort a kind of amends for her past undutifulness, and she couldnot bear that she and Nellie should fall behind Maggie and Bessie in aChristmas present to their mother.
So she went on to urge Nellie farther, but in a pleasanter tone.
"I think it would be perfectly splendid to give mamma such a lovelypresent," she said, "and it would be so nice to tell all the girls inschool that we are going to do it. Don't you think it would?"
"I don't care about telling the girls," answered Nellie, "but I wouldbe very glad to make such a lovely thing for mamma."
"And you will do it then?"
"No," said Nellie, reluctantly, but decidedly: "I tell you I cannot,Carrie. I have something else to do, and I know mamma would not wish meto take any more work. Don't ask me any more."
"What are you going to do?" asked Carrie.
"I'll tell you another time," said Nellie, lowering her voice stillmore. "I don't want mamma to hear. Please don't talk about it."
Carrie pouted again, and, to one or two proposals from Nellie thatthey should amuse themselves with some game, returned short and sullenrefusals. Presently she rose, and, going to her father and mother, badethem good-night.
"What! so early, dear?" said her mother in surprise, for it wassomething very unusual for Carrie to wish to go to rest before herordinary bed-time.
"Yes'm," said Carrie: "I've nothing to do, and it's so stupid; andNellie's cross and won't talk to me."
O Carrie, Carrie!
"I am afraid it is Carrie who is a little cross and fretful," said Mrs.Ransom, who had noticed that this had been Carrie's condition all day."Well, perhaps bed is the best place for you. Try to sleep it off, andbe pleasant and good-natured in the morning."
"Everybody seems to think Nellie and Daisy are quite perfect," murmuredCarrie to herself, as she sauntered slowly through the hall and upthe stairs. "No one ever says they do any thing wrong; but always sayI am cross, and every thing else that is horrid. I've a good mind--Imean I'd just like to go 'way far off in a steamboat or the cars orsomething, and stay for a great many years, and then how sorry they'dbe when they'd lost me, and didn't know where I was. They'd be gladenough when I came back; and wouldn't they wish they'd never been crossto me!"
Drawing such solace as she could from thoughts like these, after themanner of too many little children when they have been cross anddiscontented, and brought trouble upon themselves, she went on to thenursery.
"I want my clothes unfastened," she said imperiously to Ruth, whoheld the ever-wakeful baby across her knees, having just succeeded inhushing it to sleep.
Ruth would probably at another time have declined the service demandedfrom her, until Carrie spoke in a more civil way; but now she preferredsubmission to having the baby roused, which would be the probableresult of any contention between Carrie and herself. So she did as shewas _ordered_ without answering, and thereby secured the quiet shedesired. At least so she thought, as Carrie stood perfectly silent tillthe task was nearly completed. But Ruth had reckoned without her host.
Carrie had fully expected that Ruth would reprove her for herdisagreeable way of speaking, perhaps even refuse to do what shewanted; and she felt ashamed and rather subdued as she stood quietlybefore the nurse while she unfastened sash, buttons, and strings. Shehad resolved that she would give no more trouble to-night, would notmake any noise that could disturb baby, and was even trying to make upher mind to tell Ruth she was sorry that she had been so troublesomeand rebellious all day, when she saw--what?
There, secure in the silence of the quiet nursery, was a little mousedarting here and there, seeking, probably, for what he might find inthe shape of food.
&n
bsp; Carrie gave a start, a start as violent as though she herself had beenafraid of the harmless little animals her mother held in such nervousdread, causing Ruth to start also in involuntary sympathy, and thuswaking the baby upon her lap.
Ruth scolded Carrie, of course: she was more apt to blame her thanshe was either of the other children, and to believe that she did avexatious thing "on purpose." Probably this was Carrie's own fault,because she really gave more trouble than her sisters; but it was nonethe pleasanter, and perhaps there was some truth in her oft repeatedcomplaint that she had "a hard time in the nursery."
Be that as it may, Ruth's harsh words were the last drop in Carrie'sbrimming cup; and, wrenching herself out of the nurse's hands, shedeclared she would finish undressing herself, and ran away to her ownroom.