CHAPTER III.
UP IN THE MORNING EARLY
"Sweet, eager promises bind him to this, Never to do so again."
He woke early next morning. He had so much to think of, you see. So muchthat even his dreams were full of all he had heard yesterday.
"Him's been d'eaming him was in the big, big, 'normous boat, and zen himd'eamed of being shuttened up in a t'unk like _poor_ little mother," heconfided to Denny.
He was forced to tell Denny a good many things, because they slept inthe same room, and, of course, everybody knows that _whatever_ mammasand nurses say, going-to-sleep-in-bed time is _the_ time for talking.Waking-up-in-the-morning time is rather tempting, too, particularly insummer, when the sun comes in at the windows _so_ brightly and the birdsare _so_ lively, chattering away to each other, and all the world is upand about, except "_us_," who _have_ to stay in bed till seven o'clock!Ah, it _is_ a trial! On the whole, I don't think chattering in themornings is so much to be found fault with as chattering at night. It isonly children who are so silly as to keep themselves awake when the timefor going to sleep has come. The birds and the bees, and the littlelambs even, all know when that time has come, and go to sleep withoutany worry to themselves or other people. But children are not always sosensible. I _could_ tell you a story--only I am afraid if she were toread it in this little book it would make her feel so ashamed that Ishould really be sorry for her, so I will not tell you her name norwhere she lives--of a little girl who was promised two pounds, two wholegold pounds--fancy! if for one month she would go quietly to sleep atnight when she was put to bed, and let her sister do the same; and shewas to lose two shillings every night she forgot or disobeyed. Well,what do you think? at the end of two weeks the two pounds had come downalready to nineteen shillings! She had forgotten already ten times, orten and a half times--I don't quite understand how it had come tonineteen, but so it had; and at the end of the month--no I don't thinkI will tell you what it had come down to. Only this will show you howmuch more difficult it is to get out of a bad habit than to get into agood one, for this little girl is very sweet and good in many ways, andI love her dearly--_only_ she had got into this bad habit, and it wasstronger, as bad habits so often are, than her real true wish to do whather mother told her.
But I have wandered away from Herr Baby, and I am afraid you won't bepleased. He was forced, I was saying, to tell Denny a good many things,because he was most with her. I don't think he would have told her asmuch but for that, for Denny's head was a very flighty one, and shenever cared to think or talk about the same thing for long together,which was not _at all_ Herr Baby's way. _He_ liked to think a good dealabout everything, and one thing lasted him a good while.
"Him's been d'eaming such a lot," he said to Denny this morning.
"I think dreams are very stupid," said Denny. "What's the good of them?If they made things come _real_ they would be some good. Like, you know,if I was to dream somebody gave me something awfully nice, and then whenI woke up I was to see the thing on my bed, _then_ dreams would be somegood."
"But if zou d'eamed somesing dedful, like being shuttened up in a t'unklike _poor_ little mother, _zen_ it wouldn't be nice for it to comezeal," said Baby, who never forgot to look at things from both sides.
"No, of course it wouldn't. How stupid you are!" said Denny. "And howyour head does run on one thing. I'm quite tired of you talking aboutmother being shut up in the trunk. Do talk of something else."
"Him can't talk of somesing else when him's sinking of one sing," saidBaby gravely.
"Well, then don't talk at all," said Denny sharply, "and indeed I thinkwe'd better be quiet, or Lisa will be coming in, and scolding us. It'sonly half-past six."
Baby did not speak for a minute or two. Then he said solemnly,
"When us goes away ac'oss the sea in the 'normous boat, him _hopes_ himwon't sleep in the same zoom as you any more."
"I'm sure I hope not," said Denny snappishly. There was some excuse forher this morning, she was really rather sleepy, and it is very tiresometo be wakened up at half-past six, when one is quite inclined to sleeptill half-past seven.
But Baby could not go to sleep again. His mind was still running onpacking. If he could but have a _little_ box of his own to pack his owntreasures in, then he would be sure none would be forgotten. He did notwant a _big_ trunk--not one in which he could be shuttened up likemother, but just a nice little one. If mother would give him one!Stay--where had he seen one, just what he wanted, was it in the nurseryor in the cupboard where Fritz kept his garden-tools and his skates, andall the big boy things which Baby too hoped to have of his own some day?No, it was not there. It must have been--yes, it was in the pantry whenhe went to ask James for a glass of water. Up on a shelf, high up itstood, "a tiny _sweet_ little t'unk," said Herr Baby to himself,"wouldn't mother let him have it?" He would ask her this morning as soonas he saw her. Then he lay still and thought over to himself all thethings he would pack in the tiny sweet little t'unk; his best Bible withhis name
"Raymond Arthur Aylmer,"
in the gold letters on the back, should have the nicest corner, ofcourse, and his "_scented_ purse," as he called the Russia leather pursewhich grandfather had given him on his last birthday, that would gonicely beside the Bible, and his watch that _really_ ticked as long asyou turned the key in it--all those things would fit in, nicely packedin "totton wool," of course, and crushy paper. The thought of it allmade Baby's fingers fidget with eagerness to begin his packing. If onlymother would give him the box! It must be mother's, for if it wasJames's he would keep it in his own room instead of up on the pantryshelf among all the glasses and cups. If Baby could just see it again hewould know 'ezackly if it would do!
Baby looked about him. Everything was perfectly still, he heard no onemoving about the house--Denny had said it was only half-past six.
"Denny," said Baby softly.
No reply.
"_Denny_," a very little louder.
Still no reply; but Baby, by leaning over the edge of his cot a little,could see that Denny's eyes were shut, and her nose was half buried inthe pillow in the way she always turned it when she went to sleep. Dennyhad gone to sleep again.
"Zes," said Herr Baby to himself; "her's a'leep--her's beazing so soft."
He looked about him again; he stuck one little warm white foot out ofbed--it did feel _rather_ cold; he felt more than half inclined just tocuddle himself up warm again and lie still till Lisa came to dress him.But the thought of the little t'unk was too much for him.
"Him would so like just to _see_ it," he said to himself.
Then he stood right up in bed and clambered over the edge of the cot theway he had to do to get out of it by himself. He did not make muchnoise--not enough to waken Denny, and indeed he would not much haveminded if she _had_ awakened, only that perhaps she would have wanted togo too, and Baby wished just to go down to the pantry this quiet time ofthe morning before any one was there and take a good look by himself.
It was cold on the stair--just at the edge, that is to say, where thecarpet did not cover, and where he had stepped without thinking, notbeing used to trotting about on bare feet, you see. But in the middle,on the carpet, it was nice and soft and warm.
"It would be dedful to be poor boys wif no shoes and stockings," he saidto himself, "'cept on the carpet. Him would like to buy lots of lublysoft carpets for zem poor boys."
And he pitied the poor boys still more when he got to the back passageleading to the pantry, where there was no carpet at all, only oilcloth.He pattered along as fast as he could; there was no sound to be heardbut the ticking of the clock, and Baby wondered that he had nevernoticed before what a loud ticking clock it was; it did not come intohis head that it was very late for none of the servants to be down, forsuch matters were not his concern, and if he had known the truth thatDenny had made a mistake of an hour, and that it was only half-past fiveinstead of half-past six, he would not have thought much about it.
He g
ot to the pantry at last. It was darker in here than in the passageoutside, which was a disappointment. The shutters were shut, that wasthe reason, and when Baby looked up at them and saw how strong andbarred they were, even _he_ felt that it would be no use to try to openthem. He climbed up on to the dresser that ran round one side of thewall to see better. Yes, there it was--the tiny, sweet, littlet'unk--just as he had been fancying it. Not so very high up either. Ifhe could but give it a little poke out he could almost reach it down--itcould not be heavy, it was _such_ a tiny t'unk; and, oh, if he couldcarry it out to the passage, where it was light, how beautifully hecould look at it! He stood up on tiptoe, and found he could almost reachit. A brush with a sticking-out handle was lying beside him. Baby tookit, and found that by poking it in a little behind the box he could makeit move out, and if it were moved out a very little way he could reachto lift it down. He moved it out enough, then he stretched up his twohands to lift it down--it was not very heavy, but still rather heavierthan he had thought. But with the help of his curly head, which hepartly rested it on, he got it out safely enough, and was just slippingit gently downwards to the dresser when _somehow_ the brush handle,which he had left on the shelf, caught him or the box, he could not tellwhich, and, startled by the feeling of something pushing against him,Baby lost his balance and fell! Off the dresser right down on to thehard floor, which had no carpet even to make it softer, he tumbled, andthe little t'unk on the top of him. What a noise it made--even in themiddle of his fright Baby could not help thinking what a tremendousnoise he and the box seemed to make. He lay still for a minute; luckilythe box, though it had come straight after him, had fallen a little toone side, and had not hit him. He was bruised enough by the flooralready--any more bumps would have been _too_ much, would they not? Butthe poor box itself was to be pitied; it had come open in the fall, andall that was in it had naturally tumbled out. _That_ explained the noiseand clatter. The box had held--indeed it had been made on purpose tohold them--two beautiful glass jugs, which had been sent to mother allthe way from Italy! Baby had never seen them, because they were onlyused when mother and auntie wanted the dinner-table to look very nice,and of course Baby was too little ever to come down to dinner. And,alas, the beautiful jugs, so fine and thin that one could almost havethought the fairies had made them, were both broken, one of them,indeed, crushed and shivered into mere bits of glass lying about thepantry floor, and the box itself had lost its lid, for the hinges hadbeen broken, too, in the fall.
For a minute or two Baby could not make out what had happened.--P. 50.]
For a minute or two Baby could not make out what had happened. He felt alittle stupid with the fall, and sore too. But he never was ready to cryfor bumps or knocks; he would cry much more quickly if any one spokesharply to him than if he hurt himself. So at first he lay still,wondering what was the matter. Then he sat up and looked about him, and_then_, seeing the broken box and the broken glass, he understood thathe had done some harm, and he burst into piteous sobbing.
"Him didn't mean," he cried; "him didn't know there was nuffin in thetiny t'unk. Oh, what shall him do?"
He cried and sobbed, and, being now very frightened, he cried the morewhen he saw that there was blood on his little white nightgown, and thatthe blood came from one of his little cold feet, which had been cut by apiece of the broken glass. Baby was much more frightened by the sight ofblood than by anything else--when he climbed up on the nursery chest ofdrawers, and Denny told him he'd be killed if he fell down, he didn'tmind a bit, but when Lisa said that he might hurt his face if he fell,and make it _bleed_, he came down at once--and now the sight of theblood was too much.
"Oh, him's hurt hisself, him's all bleeding!" he cried. "Oh, _what_shall him do?"
He dared not move, for he was afraid of lifting the cut foot--he reallydid not know what to do--when he heard steps coming along the passage,pattering steps something like his own, and before he had time to thinkwho it could be, a second little white-night-gowned figure trotted intothe room.
"Baby, poor Baby, what's the matter?" and, looking up, Baby saw it wasFritz.
"Him's hurt hisself, him's tumbled, and the tiny t'unk is brokened, andsomesing else is brokened. Him didn't mean," he sobbed; and Fritz satdown on the floor beside him, having the good sense to keep out of theway of the broken glass, and lifted the little bleeding foot gently.
"Must have some sticking-plaster," said Fritz. "There's some in mother'spocket-book in her room. We must go to mother, Baby."
"But him can't walk," said Baby piteously. "Him's foot bleedens dedfulwhen him moves it."
"Then I must carry you," said Fritz, importantly.
With some difficulty he got Baby on to his back and set off with him.Baby had often ridden on Fritz's back before, in the nursery, for fun,and it seemed very nice and easy. But now, though he had only hisnightgown on, Fritz was surprised to find how heavy he seemed aftergoing a little way. He was obliged to rest after he had gone up a fewsteps, and Baby began to cry worse than before when he saw how tiredpoor Fritz was. I really don't know how they ever got to the door ofmother's room, and, when their knocking brought her out, it was rathera frightening sight for her--Baby perched on Fritz's back, both littleboys looking white and miserable, and the wounded foot covered withblood.
But mother knew better than to ask what was the matter till she had donesomething to put things to rights again.
"Him's foot" was the first thing Baby said, stretching out his poorlittle toes.
And the foot looked so bad that mother felt quite thankful when she hadbathed it and found that the cut was not really a very deep one afterall. And when it was nicely plastered up, and both little boys weretucked into mother's bed to get warm again, then mother had to hear allabout it. It was not much Fritz could tell. He, too, had wakened early,and had heard Denny and Baby talking, for he slept in a little room neartheirs. He had fallen half asleep again, and started up, fancying heheard a noise and a cry, and, getting out of bed, had found his way tothe pantry, guided by Baby's sobs. But what Baby was doing in thepantry, or why he had wandered off there all alone so early in themorning, Fritz did not know.
So Baby had to tell his own story, which he did straight on in his ownway. He never thought of _not_ telling it straight on; he was afraidmother would be sorry when she heard about the "somesing" that wasbroken, but it had never entered his little head that one could helptelling mother "ezackly" all about anything. And so he told thewhole--how he had been "sinking" about trunks and packing, and"d'eaming" about them too, how Denny had been "razer c'oss" and wouldn'ttalk, and how the thought of the tiny sweet t'unk had come into his headall of itself, and he had fancied how nice it would be to go downstairsand look at it on the pantry shelf, and then how all the misfortunes hadcome. At the end he burst into tears again when he had to tell of the"somesing brokened," now lying about in shiny fragments on the pantryfloor.
Poor mother! She knew in a minute what it was that was broken, and Icannot say but that she was very sorry, more sorry perhaps than Babycould understand, for she had had the pretty jugs many years, and thethoughts of happy days were mingled with the shining of the rainbowglass. Baby saw the sorry look on her face, and stretched up his twoarms to clasp her neck.
"Him is so sorry, so werry sorry," he said. "Him will take all the moneyof him's money-box to buy more shiny jugs for mother."
Mother kissed him, but told him that could not be.
"The jugs came from a far-away country, Baby dear," she said, "and youcould not get them here. Besides, I cared for them in a way you can'tunderstand. I had had them a long time, and one gets to care for things,even if they are not very pretty in themselves, when one has had them solong."
"Oh ses, him does understand," said Baby. "Him cares for old 'sings, farbest."
"Yes," said Fritz, "he really does, mother. He cries when Lisa says shemust put away his old shoes, and his old woolly lamb is dreadful--reallydreadful, but he _won't_ give it away."
"It _has_ suc
h a sweet face," said Baby.
"Well I don't care; I wish it was burnt up. He mustn't take it in therailway with us when we go away; must he, mother?"
"Couldn't it be washed?" said mother.
"I don't think so, and I don't believe Baby would like it as much if itwas. Would you, Baby?" said Fritz.
Baby would not answer directly. He seemed rather in a hurry to changethe subject.
"Mother," he said, "when we go away in the 'normous boat, won't wep'raps go to the country where the shiny jugs is made? And if him takesall the money in him's money-box, couldn't him buy some for you?"
"They wouldn't be the same ones," said Fritz.
Baby's face fell. Mother tried to comfort him.
"Never mind about the jugs any more just now," she said. "Some day,perhaps, when you are a big man you will get me some others quite aspretty, that I shall like for your sake. What will please me more thannew jugs just now, Baby, is for you to promise me not to try to dothings like that without telling any one. Just think how very badly hurtyou might have been. If only you had waited to ask me about the littlebox all would have been right, and my pretty jugs would not have beenbroken."
"And mother told us that last night, you know, dear," said Fritz, in hisproper big brother tone. "Don't you remember in the story about her whenshe was little? It all came of her not waiting for her big sister to seeabout the trunk."
Baby gave a deep sigh.
"If God hadn't put so much 'sinking into him's head, it would have beenmuch better," he said. "Him 'sinks and 'sinks, and zen him can't helpwanting to do 'sings zat moment minute."
"Then 'him' must learn what _patience_ means," said mother with a littlesmile. "But I'll tell you what _I've_ been thinking--that if we don'ttake care somebody else may be hurting themselves with the broken glasson the pantry floor."
"P'raps the cat," said Baby, starting up, "oh _poor_ pussy, if her wasto cut her dear little foots. Shall him go downstairs again, mother, toshut the door? Why, him's foot's still _zather_ bleedy," he added,drawing out the wounded foot, which had a handkerchief wrapped round itabove the plaster.
"No," said his mother, "it will be better for me to tell the servantsmyself," so she rang the bell, and as it was now about the time thatDenny had thought it when Baby first woke up, in a few minutes her maidappeared, looking rather astonished. She looked still more astonished,and a little afraid too, when she caught sight of the two curly heads,one dark and one light, on mother's pillow.
"Is there anything wrong with the young gentlemen?" she said. "Shall Icall Lisa, my lady?"
"No, not quite yet," said mother. "I rang to tell you to warn James andthe others that there is some broken glass on the pantry floor, and theymust be careful not to tread on it, and it must be swept up."
"Broken glass, ma'am," repeated the maid, who was rather what Dennycalled "'quisitive." "Was it the cat? I did think I heard a noise earlythis morning."
"No, it wasn't the cat," said mother. "It was an accident. James willsee what is broken."
The light curly head had disappeared by this time under the clothes, forBaby had ducked out of sight, feeling ashamed of its being known that_he_ had been the cat. But as soon as the maid had left the room he cameup again to the surface like a little fish, and a warm feeling of thanksto his mother went through his heart.
"You won't tell the servants it were him, will you?" he whispered,stretching up for another kiss.
"No, not if 'him' promises never to try to do things like reaching downboxes for himself. Herr Baby must ask mother about things like that,mustn't he?" she said.
Mother often called him "Herr Baby" for fun. The name had taken herfancy when he was a very tiny child, and Lisa had first come to be hisnurse. For Lisa was _very_ polite; she would not have thought it at allproper to call him "Baby" all by itself.
Herr Baby kissed mother a third time, which, as he was not a verykissing person, was a great deal in one morning.
"Ses," he said, "him will always aks mother. Mother is so sweet," headded coaxingly.
"He calls everything he likes 'sweet,'" said Fritz. "Mother and the catand the tiny trunk--they're all sweet.'"
But mother smiled, so Baby didn't mind.