IV.
_PAPA'S STORY._
The next morning while they were at breakfast, the postman broughtthree letters for papa and mamma.
"Margaret," said Mr. Bradford, looking up from one of his, "this isfrom Aunt Patty to say that she will put off her visit until spring."
Maggie and Bessie both looked up.
"Oh!" said Mrs. Bradford, in a tone as if she were rather more gladthan sorry to hear that Aunt Patty was not coming at present. Papaglanced at her with a smile which did not seem as if he were very muchdisappointed either. Probably the children would not have noticed toneor smile had they not been thinking of what they heard yesterday.
"Holloa!" said Fred, in a voice of dismay, "Aunt Patty is not cominghere again; is she? You'll have to look out and mind your P's andQ's, Midget and Bess, if that is the case. We'll all have to for thatmatter. Whew-ee, can't she scold though! I remember her tongue if it isfour years since I heard it."
"Fred, Fred!" said his father.
"It's true, papa; is it not?"
"If it is," replied his father, "it does not make it proper for youto speak in that way of one so much older than yourself, my boy. AuntPatty is not coming at present; when she does come, I hope we shall allbe ready to receive her kindly and respectfully."
"I see you expect to find it difficult, papa," said the rogue, with amischievous twinkle of his eye. Before Mr. Bradford had time to answer,Mrs. Bradford, who had been reading her letter, exclaimed joyfully,--
"Dear Elizabeth Rush says she will come to us at New Year, and make usa long visit. I wish she could have come at Christmas, as I begged herto do, but she says she has promised to remain in Baltimore with hersister until after the holidays."
"Mamma," said Bessie, "do you mean Aunt Bessie is coming to stay withus?"
"Yes, darling. Are you not glad?"
"Indeed, I am, mamma; I do love Aunt Bessie, and the colonel will beglad too."
"That's jolly!" exclaimed Fred; and a chorus of voices about thetable told that Aunt Bessie's coming was looked forward to with verydifferent feelings from those which Aunt Patty's excited.
"Mamma," said Maggie suddenly, as they were about leaving the table,"don't you wish you had forty children?"
"Forty!" exclaimed Mrs. Bradford, laughing. "No, that would be rathertoo large a family, Maggie."
"But, mamma, if you had forty children, the house would be so fullthere would never be room for Aunt Patty."
The boys laughed, but mamma was grave in a moment.
"Do you remember Aunt Patty, my darling?" she asked, looking ratheranxiously at Maggie.
"Oh, yes, mamma, I remember her ever so well," answered poor Maggie,coloring all over her face and neck, and looking as if the remembranceof Aunt Patty were a great distress.
"I thought you had quite forgotten her, dear," said her mother.
"I had, mamma, but yesterday Aunt Annie and Miss Carrie were talkingabout her, and then I remembered her, oh! so well, and how fierce shelooked and what a loud voice she had, and how she scolded, mamma, andhow angry she used to be, and oh! mamma, she's such a dreadful oldperson, and if you only wouldn't let her come to our house."
"And, mamma," said Bessie, "Aunt Annie said nobody had any peace fromthe time she came into the house until she went out, and you know we'reused to peace, so we can't do without it."
By this time Maggie was crying, and Bessie very near it. Their mammascarcely knew how to comfort them, for whatever they might have heardfrom Annie and her friends was probably only too true; and both she andpapa had too much reason to fear with Bessie that the usual "peace" oftheir happy household would be sadly disturbed when Aunt Patty shouldcome there again. For though the old lady was not so terrible as thelittle girls imagined her to be, her unhappy temper always made muchtrouble wherever she went. All that Mrs. Bradford could do was to tellthem that they must be kind and respectful to Mrs. Lawrence, and sogive her no cause of offence; and that in no case would she be allowedto punish or harm them. But the thing which gave them the most comfortwas that Aunt Patty's visit was not to take place for some months,possibly not at all. Then she talked of Miss Rush, and made pleasantplans for the time when she should be with them, and so tried to taketheir thoughts from Aunt Patty.
"And Uncle Ruthven is coming home," said Maggie. "Grandmamma had aletter from him last night, and she said he promised to come before thewinter was over; and _won't_ we all be happy then?"
Mamma kissed her little daughter's April face, on which the tears werenot dry before smiles were dancing in their place, and in happy talk ofUncle Ruthven, Aunt Patty was for the time forgotten.
Uncle Ruthven was mamma's only brother, and a famous hero in the eyesof all the children. None of them save Harry had ever seen him, and hehad been such a very little boy when his uncle went away ten years ago,that he could not recollect him. But his letters and the stories of histravels and adventures had always been a great delight to his youngnieces and nephews; and now that he talked of coming home, they lookedforward to seeing him with almost as much pleasure as if they had knownhim all their lives. As for the mother and the sisters who had beenparted from him for so long, no words could tell how glad they were. Asad rover was Uncle Ruthven; it was easier to say where he had not beenthan where he had. He had climbed to the tops of high mountains andgone down into mines which lay far below the surface of the earth; hadpeeped into volcanoes and been shut up among icebergs, at one time hadslung his hammock under the trees of a tropical forest, at another hadrolled himself in his blankets in the frozen huts of the Esquimaux; hadhunted whales, bears, lions, and tigers; had passed through all mannerof adventures and dangers by land and by sea; and at last was reallycoming home, "tired of his wanderings, to settle down beside his dearold mother and spend the rest of his days with her." So he had saidin the letter which came last night, and grandmamma had read it overmany times, smiled over it, cried over it, and talked of the writer,until, if Maggie and Bessie had doubted the fact before, they must thenhave been quite convinced that no other children ever possessed sucha wonderful uncle as this Uncle Ruthven of theirs. When he would comewas not quite certain,--perhaps in two months, perhaps not in three orfour, while he might be here by Christmas or even sooner.
And now came faithful old nurse to hear the good news and to have hershare in the general family joy at the return of her first nursling,her beloved "Master Ruthven."
"And will your Aunt Patty be here when he comes, my dear lady?" sheasked.
"I think not," said Mrs. Bradford, at which mammy looked well pleased,though she said no more; but Maggie and Bessie understood the lookquite well.
Mrs. Bradford had intended by and by to talk to her children of Mrs.Lawrence and to tell them that she was rather odd and different frommost of the people to whom they were accustomed, but that they must bepatient and bear with her if she was sometimes a little provoking andcross. But now she found that they already knew quite too much, andshe was greatly disturbed when she thought that it would be of littleuse to try and make them feel kindly towards the old lady. But themischief had spread even farther than she had imagined.
That afternoon Maggie and Bessie with little Franky were all in theirmamma's room, seated side by side upon the floor, amusing themselveswith a picture-book. This book belonged to Harry, who had made ithimself by taking the cuts from magazines and papers and puttingthem in a large blank book. It was thought by all the children to besomething very fine, and now Maggie sat with it upon her lap whileshe turned over the leaves, explaining such pictures as she knew, andinventing meanings and stories for those which were new to her.
Presently she came to one which quite puzzled her. On the front of thepicture was the figure of a woman with an eagle upon her shoulder,intended to represent America or Liberty; while farther back stood aman with a gun in his hand and a lion at his side, who was meant forJohn Bull of England. Miss America had her arm raised, and appeared tobe scolding Mr. England in the most terrible manner. Maggie could nottell the
meaning of it, though she knew that the woman was America, butFranky thought that he understood it very well. Now Master Franky hada good pair of ears, and knew how to make a good use of them. He had,also, some funny ideas of his own, and like many other little children,did not always know when it was best to keep them to himself. He hadheard a good deal that morning of some person named Patty, who was saidto scold very much; he had also heard of his Uncle Ruthven, and he knewthat this famous uncle had hunted lions in far-away Africa. The pictureof the angry woman and the lion brought all this to his mind, and nowhe suddenly exclaimed,--
"Oh, my, my! Dere's a Patty wis her chitten, and she stolds Uncle'Utven wis his lion."
This was too much for Maggie. Pushing the book from her knees, shethrew herself back upon the carpet and rolled over, screaming withlaughter at the joke of America with her eagle being mistaken for AuntPatty with a chicken; Bessie joined in, and Franky, thinking he hadsaid something very fine, clapped his hands and stamped his feet uponthe floor in great glee. Mrs. Bradford herself could not help smiling,partly at the droll idea, partly at Maggie's amusement; but the nextmoment she sighed to think how the young minds of her children hadbeen filled with fear and dislike of their father's aunt, and how muchtrouble all this was likely to make.
"Children," said Mr. Bradford, that evening, "who would like to hear atrue story?"
Papa found he was not likely to want for listeners, as three or foureager voices answered.
"Wait a moment, dear," he said, as Bessie came to take her usual placeupon his knee, and rising, he unlocked a cabinet secretary which stoodat the side of the fireplace in his library. This secretary was anobject of great interest to all the children, not because it heldpapa's private papers,--those were trifles of very little accountin their eyes,--but because it contained many a relic and treasure,remembrances of bygone days, or which were in themselves odd andcurious. To almost all of these belonged some interesting and truestory,--things which had happened when papa was a boy, or even fartherback than that time,--tales of travel and adventure in other lands, orperhaps of good and great people. So they were pleased to see theirfather go to his secretary when he had promised "a true story," knowingthat they were sure of a treat.
Mr. Bradford came back with a small, rather worn, red morocco case,and as soon as they were all quietly settled, he opened it. It helda miniature of a very lovely lady. Her bright eyes were so sparklingwith fun and mischief that they looked as if they would almost danceout of the picture, and the mouth was so smiling and lifelike that itseemed as if the rosy lips must part the next moment with a joyous,ringing laugh. Her hair was knotted loosely back with a ribbon, fromwhich it fell in just such dark, glossy ringlets as clustered aboutMaggie's neck and shoulders. It was a very beautiful likeness of a verybeautiful woman.
"Oh, how sweet, how lovely! What a pretty lady!" exclaimed thechildren, as they looked at it.
"Why, she looks like our Maggie!" said Harry.
"Only don't flatter yourself you are such a beauty as that, Midget,"said Fred, mischievously.
"Oh, Fred," said Bessie, "my Maggie is a great deal prettier, and Idon't believe that lady was so good as Maggie either."
"She may have been very good," said Harry, "but I don't believe she hadhalf as sweet a temper as our Midge. I'll answer for it that those eyescould flash with something besides fun; could they not, papa?"
"Was she a relation of yours, papa?" asked Fred.
"Yes," answered Mr. Bradford, "and I am going to tell you a story abouther."
"One summer, a good many years ago, two boys were staying on theiruncle's farm in the country. Their father and mother were travellingin Europe, and had left them in this uncle's care while they shouldbe absent. It was a pleasant home, and the boys, accustomed to a citylife, enjoyed it more than I can tell you. One afternoon, their uncleand aunt went out to visit some friends, giving the boys permission toamuse themselves out of doors as long as they pleased. All the servantsabout the place, except the old cook, had been allowed to go to a fairwhich was held in a village two or three miles away, so that the houseand farm seemed to be quite deserted. Only one other member of thefamily was at home, and this was an aunt whom the boys did not love atall, and they were only anxious to keep out of her way."
"Papa," said Fred, eagerly, "what were the names of these boys andtheir aunt?"
"Ahem," said Mr. Bradford, with a twinkle in his eye, as he saw Fred'sknowing look. "Well, I will call the oldest boy by my own name, Henry,and the youngest we will call Aleck."
"Oh," said Fred, "and the aunt's name was, I suppose--"
"Henrietta," said his father, quickly; "and if you have any remarks tomake, Fred, please keep them until my story is done."
"Very well, sir," said Fred, with another roguish look at Harry, andhis father went on.
"Henry was a strong, healthy boy, who had never known a day's sickness;but Aleck was a weak, delicate, nervous little fellow, who could bearno excitement nor fatigue. Different as they were, however, theaffection between them was very great. Gentle little Aleck looked upto his elder and stronger brother with a love and confidence whichwere beautiful to see, while the chief purpose of Henry's life at thistime was to fulfil the charge which his mother had given him to carefor Aleck, and keep him as far as he could from all trouble and harm,looking upon it as a sacred trust.
"There was a large old barn standing at some distance from the house,used only for the storing of hay; and as they found the sun too warmfor play in the open air, Henry proposed they should go there and makesome boats which later they might sail in the brook. Aleck was readyenough, and they were soon comfortably settled in the hayloft withtheir knives and bits of wood. But while they were happily workingaway, and just as Henry was in the midst of some marvellous story, theyheard a voice calling them.
"'Oh, dear,' said little Aleck, 'there's Aunt Henrietta! Now she'llmake us go in the house, and she'll give me my supper early and sendme to bed, though Aunt Mary said I might sit up and have tea with therest, even if they came home late. Let us hide, Henry.'
"No sooner said than done. The knives and chips were whisked out ofsight, Aleck hidden beneath the hay. Henry, scrambling into an oldcorn-bin, covered himself with the corn-husks with which it was halffilled, while the voice and its owner came nearer and nearer.
"'You'd better take care; she'll hear you,' said Henry, as he heardAleck's stifled laughter; and the next moment, through a crack in thebin, he saw his aunt's head appearing above the stairs. Any strangermight have wondered why the boys were so much afraid of her. She was atall, handsome lady, not old, though the hair beneath her widow's capwas white as snow. She stood a moment and cast her sharp, bright eyesaround the hayloft; then, satisfied that the boys were not there, wentdown again, saying quite loud enough for them to hear,--
"'If I find them, I shall send Henry to bed early, too; he's alwaysleading dear little Aleck into mischief. Such nonsense in Mary to tellthat sick baby he should sit up until she came home!'
"Now it was a great mistake for auntie to say this of Henry. He didmany wrong things, but I do not think he ever led his little brotherinto mischief; on the contrary, his love for Aleck often kept himfrom harm. So his aunt's words made him very angry, and as soon as heand Aleck had come out of their hiding-places, he said many things heshould not have said, setting a bad example to Aleck, who was alsodispleased at being called 'a sick baby.'
"'Let's shut ourselves up in Dan's cubby-hole,' said Henry; 'she'llnever think of looking for us there, if she comes back.'
"Dan's cubby-hole was a small room shut off from the rest of thehayloft, where one of the farm hands kept his tools; and here the boyswent, shutting and bolting the door behind them. They worked away formore than an hour, when Aleck asked his brother if he did not smellsmoke.
"'Not I,' said Henry; 'that little nose of yours is always smellingsomething, Aleck.'
"Aleck laughed, but a few moments after declared again that he reallydid smell smoke and felt it too.
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"'They are burning stubble in the fields; it is that you notice,' saidHenry. But presently he sprang up, for the smell became stronger, andhe saw a little wreath of smoke curling itself beneath the door. 'Thereis something wrong,' he said, and hastily drawing the bolt, he openedthe door. What a sight he saw! Heavy clouds of smoke were pouring upthe stairway from the lower floor of the barn, while forked flamesdarted through them, showing that a fierce fire was raging below. Henrysprang forward to see if the stairs were burning; but the flames,fanned by the draught that came through the door he had opened, rushedup with greater fury, and drove him back. How could he save Aleck?The fire was plainly at the foot of the stairs, even if they were notalready burning, while those stifling clouds of smoke rolled betweenthem and the doors of the haymow, and were now pouring up through everychink and cranny of the floor on which he stood. Not a moment was tobe lost. Henry ran back, and closing the door, said to his terrifiedbrother,--
"'Aleck, you must stay here one moment until I bring the ladder. I canlet myself down from this little window, but cannot carry you. Standclose to it, dear boy, and do not be frightened.'
"Stretching out from the window, he contrived to reach an old worn-outleader which would scarcely bear his weight, and to slide thence to theground. Raising the cry of 'Fire!' he ran for the ladder, which shouldhave been in its place on the other side of the barn. It was not there.Frantic with terror, as he saw what headway the fire was making, herushed from place to place in search of the missing ladder; but all invain; it could not be found. Meanwhile his cries had brought his auntand the old cook from the house. Henry ran back beneath the window ofthe little room where he had left Aleck, and called to him to jump downinto his arms, as it was the only chance of safety left. But, alas,there was no answer; the poor little boy had fainted from fright. Backto the door at the foot of the stairs, which were now all in a blaze,through which he was about to rush, when his aunt's hand held him back.
"'Live for your father and mother. _I_ have _none_ to live for.'
"With these words, she threw her dress over her head, and dashing upthe burning stairs, was the next moment lost to sight. Two minuteslater, her voice was heard at the window. In her arms she held thesenseless Aleck, and when Henry and the old cook stood beneath, shecalled to them to catch him in their arms. It was done; Aleck was safe.And then letting herself from the window by her hands, she fell uponthe ground beside him scarcely a moment before the flames burst upwardthrough the floor. Aleck was quite unhurt, but his aunt was badlyburned on one hand and arm. She insisted, however, upon sitting upand watching him, as he was feverish and ill from fright. Late in thenight Henry awoke, and, opening his eyes, saw his aunt kneeling by theside of the bed, and heard her thanking God that he had given her thischild's life, beseeching him, oh, so earnestly, that it might be themeans of turning his young heart towards her, that there might be someone in the world to love her. Will you wonder if after this Henry feltas if he could never be patient or forbearing enough with this poorunhappy lady?"
"But what made her so unhappy, papa, and why were the boys so afraid ofher?" asked Maggie.
"Well, dear, I must say that it was her violent temper, and her wish tocontrol every one about her, which made her so much feared not only bythe boys, but by all who lived with her. But perhaps when I tell you alittle more, you will think with me that there was much excuse for her.
"She was the only daughter and youngest child in a large family ofboys. Her mother died when she was a very little baby, so that she wasleft to grow up without that tenderest and wisest of all care. Herfather and brothers loved her dearly; but I am afraid they indulged andspoiled her too much. She had a warm, generous, loving heart, but shewas very passionate, and would sometimes give way to the most violentfits of temper. The poor child had no one to tell her how foolish andsinful this was, or to warn her that she was laying up trouble forherself and her friends, for her father would never suffer her to becontradicted or corrected."
"Papa," said Bessie, as her father paused for a moment, "do you meanthe story of this passionate child for a lesson to me?"
"No, darling," said her father; "for I think my Bessie is learning,with God's help, to control her quick temper so well that we may hopeit will not give her much trouble when she is older. It is not foryou more than for your brothers and sister. But I have a reason forwishing you all to see that it was more the misfortune than the faultof the little Henrietta that she grew up with an ungoverned will andviolent temper. Whatever she wanted was given without any thought forthe rights or wishes of others; so it was not strange if she soon cameto consider that her will was law and that she must have her own way inall things. Perhaps those who had the care of her did not know the harmthey were doing; but certain it is, that this poor child was sufferedto grow up into a most self-willed woman."
"I am very sorry for her," said Bessie, "'cause she did not have suchwise people as mine to tell her what was yight."
"Yes, she was much to be pitied. But you must not think that thislittle girl was always naughty; it was not so by any means. And inspite of the faults which were never checked, she was generally verybright, engaging, and sweet. As she grew older, she became morereasonable, and as every one around her lived only for her pleasure,and she had all she desired, it was not difficult for her to keep hertemper under control. It is easy to be good when one is happy.
"This picture, which shows you how very lovely she was, was takenfor her father about the time of her marriage, and was said to bean excellent likeness. Soon after this, she went to Europe with herhusband and father. There she passed several delightful months,travelling from place to place, with these two whom she loved so dearly.
"But now trouble, such as she had never dreamed of, came to this poorgirl. They were in Switzerland, and one bright, sunny day, when no onethought of a storm, her husband and father went out in a small boat onthe Lake of Geneva. There sometimes arises over this lake a terriblenorth-east wind, which comes up very suddenly and blows with greatviolence, causing the waves to rise to a height which would be thoughtalmost impossible by one who had not seen it. For some reason Henriettahad not gone with the two gentlemen, but when she knew it was time forthem to be coming in, she went down to the shore to meet them. She soonsaw the boat skimming along, and could almost distinguish the facesof the two dear ones for whom she was watching, when this terriblewind came sweeping down over the water. She saw them as they struggledagainst it, trying with all their strength to reach the shore; but invain. Wave after wave rolled into the little boat, and before manyminutes it sank. Henrietta stood upon the shore, and as she stretchedout her helpless hands toward them, saw her husband and father drown.Do you wonder that the sight drove her frantic? That those who stoodbeside her could scarcely prevent her from throwing herself into thosewaters which covered all she loved best? Then came a long and terribleillness, during which that dark hair changed to snowy white."
"Papa," said Bessie, whose tender little heart could not bear to hearof trouble or distress which she could not comfort,--"papa, I don'tlike this story; it is too mournful."
"I have almost done with this part of it, dear," said her father, "andI tell it to you that you may know how much need this poor woman hadthat others should be kind and patient with her, and how much excusethere was for her when all this sorrow and trouble made her irritableand impatient.
"Her brother came for her and took her home, but not one of her friendscould make her happy or contented; for this poor lady did not knowwhere to turn for the best of all comfort, and she had no strength ofher own to lean upon. So the faults of temper and disposition, whichhad been passed over when she was young and happy, now grew worseand worse, making her so irritable and cross, so self-willed anddetermined, that it was almost impossible to live with her. Then foryears she was a great sufferer, and besides all this, other troublescame upon her,--the loss of a great part of her fortune through onewhom she had trusted, and various other trials. So by degrees she droveone after a
nother of her friends from her, until she seemed to standquite alone in the world, and to be, as she said, 'without any one tocare for her.'"
"Did not Aleck love her after the fire?" asked Bessie.
"I think he was very grateful to her, dear, but I am afraid he neverbecame very fond of her. He was a gentle, timid little fellow, andthough his aunt was never harsh to him, it used to frighten him to seeher severity with other people."
"I'd have loved her, even if she was cross," said Maggie, lookingagain at the picture. "I'd have been so good to her that she couldn'tbe unkind to me, and if she had scolded me a little, I wouldn't haveminded, because I'd have been so sorry for her."
"Oh, Midget," said Harry, "you would have been frightened out of yourwits at her first cross word."
"No, I wouldn't, Harry; and I would try to be patient, even if shescolded me like--like Aunt Patty."
"And what if she was Aunt Patty?" said Fred.
"But then she wasn't, you know."
"But she was," said papa, smiling.
Maggie and Bessie opened their eyes very wide at this astonishing news.
"You said her name was Henrietta, papa," said Maggie.
"Aunt Patty's name is also Henrietta," replied Mr. Bradford, "and whenshe was young, she was generally called so."
"And Henry was this Henry, our own papa," said Fred, laying his handon his father's shoulder. "And Aleck was Uncle Alexander, who died solong ago, before any of us were born. I guessed it at the beginning."
"Well, now," said Mr. Bradford, "if Aunt Patty comes to us by and by,and is not always as gentle as she might be, will my little childrenremember how much she has had to try her, and how much there is in herwhich is really good and unselfish?"
The boys promised readily enough, and Bessie said doubtfully thatshe would try, but when papa turned to Maggie, she looked as shy andfrightened as if Aunt Patty herself had asked the question.
"What is my rosebud afraid of?" said Mr. Bradford.
"Papa," said Maggie, "I'm so sorry for that pretty lady, but I can'tbe sorry for Aunt Patty,--and oh, papa, I--I--do wish--Aunt Pattywasn't"--and poor Maggie broke down in a desperate fit of crying.
Mr. Bradford feared that his story had been almost in vain so far ashis little girls were concerned, and indeed it was so. They couldnot make the pretty lady in the picture, the poor young wife whosehusband and father had been drowned before her very eyes, or the brave,generous woman who had saved little Aleck, one and the same with thedreaded Aunt Patty. The mischief which words had done words could notso easily undo.
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