Chapter 3

The fact was, the little ones were getting really tired, for the fine May morning had turned into a hot day; and in a few minutes more, a still further aggravation of feeling took place.

No. 6 got up again, shook the gravel from her frock, blew it off her hands, pushed back a heap of heavy curls from her face, set her hat as far back on her head as she could, and exclaimed:-

"I wish there were no such things as weeds in the world!"

Everybody seemed struck with this impressive sentiment, for they all left off weeding at once, and Aunt Judy came forward to the front of the alcove.

"Don't you, Aunt Judy?" added No. 6, feeling sure her sister had heard.

"Not I, indeed," answered Aunt Judy, with a comical smile: "I'm too fond of cream to my tea."

"Cream to your tea, Aunt Judy? What can that have to do with it?"

The little ones were amazed.

"Something," at any rate, responded Aunt Judy; "and if you like to come in here, and sit down, I will tell you how."

Away went hoes and weeding-knives at once, and into the alcove they rushed; and never had garden-seats felt so thoroughly comfortable before.

"If one begins to wish," suggested No. 5, stretching his legs out to their full extent, "one may as well wish oneself a grand person with a lot of gardeners to clear away the weeds as fast as they come up, and save one the trouble."

"Much better wish them away, and save everybody the trouble," persisted No. 6.

"No: one wants them sometimes."

"What an idea! Who ever wants weeds?"

"You yourself."

"I? What nonsense!"

But the persevering No. 5 proceeded to explain. No. 6 had asked him a few days before to bring her some groundsel for her canary, and he had been quite disappointed at finding none in the garden. He had actually to "trail" into the lanes to fetch a bit.

This was a puzzling statement; so No. 6 contented herself with grumbling out:-

"Weeds are welcome to grow in the lanes."

"Weeds are not always weeds in the lanes," persisted No. 5, with a grin: "they're sometimes wild-flowers."

"I don't care what they are," pouted No. 6. "I wish I lived in a place where there were none."

"And I wish I was a great man, with lots of gardeners to take them up, instead of me," maintained No. 5, who was in a mood of lazy tiresomeness, and kept rocking to and fro on the garden-chair, with his hands tucked under his thighs. "A weed--a weed," continued he; "what is a weed, I wonder? Aunt Judy, what is a weed?"

Aunt Judy had surely been either dreaming or cogitating during the last few minutes, for she had taken no notice of what was said, but she roused up now, and answered:-

"A vegetable out of its place."

"A VEGETABLE," repeated No. 5, "why we don't eat them, Aunt Judy."

"You kitchen-garden interpreter, who said we did?" replied she. "All green herbs are VEGETABLES, let me tell you, whether we eat them or not."

"Oh, I see," mused No. 5, quietly enough, but in another instant he broke out again.

"I'll tell you what though, some of them are real vegetables, I mean kitchen-garden vegetables, to other creatures, and that's why they're wanted. Groundsel's a vegetable, it's the canary's vegetable. I mean his kitchen-garden vegetable, and if he had a kitchen-garden of his own, he would grow it as we do peas. So I was right after all, No. 6!"

That TWIT at the end spoilt everything, otherwise this was really a bright idea of No. 5's.

"Aunt Judy, do begin to talk yourself," entreated No. 6. "I wish No. 5 would be quiet, and not teaze."

"And he wishes the same of you," replied Aunt Judy, "and I wish the same of you all. What is to be done? Come, I will tell you a story, on one positive understanding, namely, that whoever teazes, or even TWITS, shall be turned out of the company."

No. 5 sat up in his chair like a dart in an instant, and vowed that he would be the best of the good, till Aunt Judy had finished her story.

"After which--" concluded he, with a wink and another grin.

"After which, I shall expect you to be better still," was Aunt Judy's emphatic rejoinder. And peace being now completely established, she commenced: "There was once upon a time--what do you think?"--here she paused and looked round in the children's faces.

"A giant!" exclaimed No. 8.

"A beautiful princess!" suggested No. 6.

"SOMETHING," said Aunt Judy, "but I am not going to tell you what at present. You must find out for yourselves. Meantime I shall call it SOMETHING, or merely make a grunting--hm--when I allude to it, as people do to express a blank."

The little ones shuffled about in delighted impatience at the notion of the mysterious "something" which they were to find out, and Aunt Judy proceeded:-

"This--hm--then, lived in a large meadow field, where it was the delight of all beholders. The owner of the property was constantly boasting about it to his friends, for he maintained that it was the richest, and most beautiful, and most valuable--hm--in all the country round. Surely no other thing in this world ever found itself more admired or prized than this SOMETHING did. The commonest passer-by would notice it, and say all manner of fine things in its praise, whether in the early spring, the full summer, or the autumn, for at each of these seasons it put on a fresh charm, and formed a subject of conversation. 'Only look at that lovely--hm--' was quite a common exclamation at the sight of it. 'What a colour it has! How fresh and healthy it looks! How invaluable it must be! Why, it must be worth at least--' and then the speaker would go calculating away at the number of pounds, shillings, and pence, the--hm--would fetch, if put into the money-market, which is, I am sorry to say, a very usual, although very degrading way of estimating worth.

"To conclude, the mild-eyed Alderney cow, who pastured in the field during the autumn months, would chew the cud of approbation over the- -hm--for hours together, and people said it was no wonder at all that she gave such delicious milk and cream."

Here a shout of supposed discovery broke from No. 5. "I've guessed, I know it!"

But a "hush" from Aunt Judy stopped him short.

"No. 5, nobody asked your opinion, keep it to yourself, if you please."

No. 5 was silenced, but rubbed his hands nevertheless.

"Well," continued Aunt Judy, "that 'SOMETHING' ought surely to have been the most contented thing in the world. Its merits were acknowledged; its usefulness was undoubted; its beauty was the theme of constant admiration; what had it left to wish for? Really nothing; but by an unlucky accident it became dissatisfied with its situation in a meadow field, and wished to get into a higher position in life, which, it took for granted, would be more suited to its many exalted qualities. The 'SOMETHING' of the field wanted to inhabit a garden. The unlucky accident that gave rise to this foolish idea, was as follows:-

"A little boy was running across the beautiful meadow one morning, with a tin-pot full of fishing bait in his hand, when suddenly he stumbled and fell down.

"The bait in the tin-pot was some lob-worms, which the little boy had collected out of the garden adjoining the field, and they were spilt and scattered about by his fall.

"He picked up as many as he could find, however, and ran off again; but one escaped his notice and was left behind.

"This gentleman was insensible for a few seconds; but as soon as he came to himself, and discovered that he was in a strange place, he began to grumble and find fault.

"'What an uncouth neighbourhood!' Such were his exclamations. 'What rough impracticable roads! Was ever lob-worm so unlucky before!' It was impossible to move an inch without bumping his sides against some piece of uncultivated ground.

"Judge for yourselves, my dears," continued Aunt Judy, pathetically, "what must have been the feelings of the 'SOMETHING' which had lived proudly and happily in the meadow field for so long, on hearing such offensive remarks.

"Its spirit was up in a minute, just as yours would have been, and it did not hesitate to inform the intruder that travellers who find fault with a country before they have taken the trouble to inquire into its merits, are very ignorant and impertinent people.

"This was blow for blow, as you perceive; and the TEAZE-AND-TWIT system was now continued with great animation on both sides.

"The lob-worm inquired, with a conceited wriggle, what could be the merits of a country, where gentlemanly, gliding, thin-skinned creatures like himself were unable to move about without personal annoyance? Whereupon the amiable 'SOMETHING' made no scruple of telling the lob-worm that his BETTERS found no fault with the place, and instanced its friend and admirer the Alderney cow.

"On which the lob-worm affected forgetfulness, and exclaimed, 'Cow? cow? do I know the creature? Ah! Yes, I recollect now; clumsy legs, horny feet, and that sort of thing,' proceeding to hint that what was good enough for a cow, might yet not be refined enough for his own more delicate habits.

"'It is my misfortune, perhaps,' concluded he, with mock humility, 'to have been accustomed to higher associations; but really, situated as I am here, I could almost feel disposed to--why, positively, to wish myself a cow, with clumsy legs and horny feet. What one may live to come to, to be sure!'

"Well," Aunt Judy proceeded, "will you believe it, the lob-worm went on boasting till the poor deluded 'SOMETHING' believed every word he said, and at last ventured to ask in what favoured spot he had acquired his superior tastes and knowledge.

"And then, of course, the lob-worm had the opportunity of opening out in a very magnificent bit of brag, and did not fail to do so.

"Travellers can always boast with impunity to stationary folk, and the lob-worm had no conscience about speaking the truth.

So on he chattered, giving the most splendid account of the garden in which he lived. Gorgeous flowers, velvet lawns, polished gravel- walks, along which he was wont to take his early morning stroll, before the ruder creatures of the neighbourhood, such as dogs, cats, &c. were up and about, were all his discourse; and he spoke of them as if they were his own, and told of the nursing and tending of every plant in the lovely spot, as if the gardeners did it all for his convenience and pleasure.

"Of the little accidents to which he and his race have from time immemorial been liable from awkward spades, or those very early birds, by whom he ran a risk of being snapped up every time he emerged out of the velvet lawns for the morning strolls, he said just nothing at all.

"All was unmixed delight (according to his account) in the garden, and having actually boasted himself into good humour with himself, and therefore with everybody else, he concluded by expressing the condescending wish, that the 'SOMETHING' in the field should get itself removed to the garden, to enjoy the life of which he spoke.

"'Undeniably beautiful as you are here,' cried he, 'your beauty will increase a thousand fold, under the gardener's fostering care. Appreciated as you are now in your rustic life, the most prominent place will be assigned to you when you get into more distinguished society; so that everybody who passes by and sees you, will exclaim in delight, 'Behold this exquisite--hm--!'"

"Oh dear, Aunt Judy," cried No. 6, "was the 'hum,' as you will call it, so silly as to believe what he said?"

"How could the poor simple-minded thing be expected to resist such elegant compliments, my dear No. 6?" answered Aunt Judy. "But then came the difficulty. The 'SOMETHING' which lived in the field had no more legs than the lob-worm himself, and, in fact, was incapable of locomotion."

"Of course it was!" ejaculated No. 5.

"Order!" cried Aunt Judy, and proceeded:-

"So the--hm--hung down its graceful head in despair, but suddenly a bright and loving thought struck it. It could not change its place and rise in life itself, but its children might, and that would be some consolation. It opened its heart on this point to the lob-worm, and although the lob-worm had no heart to be touched, he had still a tongue to talk.

"If the--hm--would send its children to the garden at the first opportunity, he would be delighted, absolutely charmed, to introduce them in the world. He would put them in the way of everything, and see that they were properly attended to. There was nothing he couldn't or wouldn't do.

"This last pretentious brag seemed to have exhausted even the lob- worm's ingenuity, for, soon after he had uttered it, he shuffled away out of the meadow in the best fashion that he could, leaving the 'SOMETHING' in the field in a state of wondering regret. But it recovered its spirits again when the time came for sending its children to the favoured garden abode.

"'My dears,' it said, 'you will soon have to begin life for yourselves, and I hope you will do so with credit to your bringing up. I hope you are now ambitious enough to despise the dull old plan of dropping contentedly down, just where you happen to be, or waiting for some chance traveller (who may never come) to give you a lift elsewhere. That paradise of happiness, of which the lob-worm told us, is close at hand. Come! it only wants a little extra exertion on your part, and you will be carried thither by the wind, as easily as the wandering Dandelion himself. Courage, my dears! nothing out of the common is ever gained without an effort. See now! as soon as ever a strong breeze blows the proper way, I shall shake my heads as hard as ever I can, that you may be off. All the doors and windows are open now, you know, and you must throw yourselves out upon the wind. Only remember one thing, when you are settled down in the beautiful garden, mind you hold up your heads, and do yourselves justice, my dears.'

"The children gave a ready assent, of course, as proud as possible at the notion; and when the favourable breeze came, and the maternal heads were shaken, out they all flew, and trusted themselves to its guidance, and in a few minutes settled down all over the beautiful garden, some on the beds, some on the lawn, some on the polished gravel-walks. And all I can say is, happiest those who were least seen!"

"Grass weeds! grass weeds!" shouted the incorrigible No. 5, jumping up from his seat and performing two or three Dervish-like turns.

"Oh, it's too bad, isn't it, Aunt Judy," cried No. 6, "to stop your story in the middle?"

Whereupon Aunt Judy answered that he had not stopped the story in the middle, but at the end, and she was glad he had found out the meaning of her--HM--!

But No. 6 would not be satisfied, she liked to hear the complete finish up of everything. "Did the 'HUM'S' children ever grow up in the garden, and did they ever see the lob-worm again?"

"The--hm's--children did SPRING up in the garden," answered Aunt Judy, "and did their best to exhibit their beauty on the polished gravel-walks, where they were particularly delighted with their own appearance one May morning after a shower of rain, which had made them more prominent than usual. 'Remember our mother's advice,' cried they to each other. 'This is the happy moment! Let us hold up our heads, and do ourselves justice, my dears.'

"Scarcely were the words spoken, when a troop of rude creatures came scampering into the walk, and a particularly unfeeling monster in curls, pointed to the beautiful up-standing little--hms--and shouted, 'Aunt Judy, look at these HORRIBLE WEEDS!'

"I needn't say any more," concluded Aunt Judy. "You know how you've used them; you know what you've done to them; you know how you've even wished there were NO SUCH THINGS IN THE WORLD!"

"Oh, Aunt Judy, how capital!" ejaculated No. 6, with a sigh, the sigh of exhausted amusement.

"'The HUM was a weed too, then, was it?" said No. 8. He did not quite see his way through the tale.

"It was not a weed in the meadow," answered Aunt Judy, "where it was useful, and fed the Alderney cow. It was beautiful Grass there, and was counted as such, because that was its proper place. But when it put its nose into garden-walks, where it was not wanted, and had no business, then everybody called the beautiful Grass a weed."

"So a weed is a vegetable out of its place, you see," subjoined No. 5, who felt the idea to be half his own, "and it won't do to wish there were none in the world."

"And a vegetable out of its place being nothing better than a weed, Mr. No. 5," added Aunt Judy, "it won't do to be too anxious about what is so often falsely called, bettering your condition in life. Come, the story is done, and now we'll go home, and all the patient listeners and weeders may reckon upon getting one or more farthings apiece from mamma. And as No. 6's wish is not realized, and there are still weeds {1} in the world, and among them Grass weeds, _I_ shall hope to have some cream to my tea."

COOK STORIES.

"Down too, down at your own fireside, With the evil tongue and the evil ear, For each is at war with mankind." TENNYSON'S Maud.

Aunt Judy had gone to the nursery wardrobe to look over some clothes, and the little ones were having a play to themselves. As she opened the door, they were just coming to the end of an explosive burst of laughter, in which all the five appeared to have joined, and which they had some difficulty in stopping. No. 4, who was a biggish girl, had giggled till the tears were running over her cheeks; and No. 8, in sympathy, was leaning back in his tiny chair in a sort of ecstasy of amusement.

The five little ones had certainly hit upon some very entertaining game.

They were all (boys and girls alike) dressed up as elderly ladies, with bits of rubbishy finery on their heads and round their shoulders, to imitate caps and scarfs; the boys' hair being neatly parted and brushed down the middle; and they were seated in form round what was called "the Doll's Table," a concern just large enough to allow of a small crockery tea-service, with cups and saucers and little plates, being set out upon it.

"What have you got there?" was all Aunt Judy asked, as she went up to the table to look at them.

"Cowslip-tea," was No. 4's answer, laying her hand on the fat pink tea-pot; and thereupon the laughing explosion went off nearly as loudly as before, though for no accountable reason that Aunt Judy could divine.

"It's SO good, Aunt Judy, do taste it!" exclaimed No. 8, jumping up in a great fuss, and holding up his little cup, full of a pale-buff fluid, to Aunt Judy.

"You'll have everything over," cried No. 4, calling him to order; and in truth the table was not the steadiest in the world.

So No. 8 sat down again, calling out, in an almost stuttering hurry, "You may keep it all, Aunt Judy, I don't want any more."

But neither did Aunt Judy, after she had given it one taste; so she put the cup down, thanking No. 8 very much, but pulling such a funny face, that it set the laugh going once more; in the middle of which No. 4 dropped an additional lump of sugar into the rejected buff- coloured mixture, a proceeding which evidently gave No. 8 a new relish for the beverage.

Aunt Judy had got beyond the age when cowslip-tea was looked upon as one of the treats of life; and she had not, on the other hand, lived long enough to love the taste of it for the memory's sake of the enjoyment it once afforded.

Not but what we are obliged to admit that cowslip-tea is one of those things which, even in the most enthusiastic days of youth, just falls short of the absolute perfection one expects from it.

Even under those most favourable circumstances of having had the delightful gathering of the flowers in the sweet sunny fields--the picking of them in the happy holiday afternoon--the permission to use the best doll's tea-service for the feast--the loan of a nice white table-cloth--and the present of half-a-dozen pewter knives and forks to fancy-cut the biscuits with--nay, even in spite of the addition of well-filled doll's sugar-pots and cream-jugs--cowslip-tea always seems to want either a leetle more or a leetle less sugar--or a leetle more or a leetle less cream--or to be a leetle more or a leetle less strong--to turn it into that complete nectar which, of course, it really IS.

On the present occasion, however, the children had clearly got hold of some other source of enjoyment over the annual cowslip-tea feast, besides the beverage itself; and Aunt Judy, glad to see them so safely happy, went off to her business at the wardrobe, while the little ones resumed their game.

"Very extraordinary, indeed, ma'am!" began one of the fancy old ladies, in a completely fancy voice, a little affected, or so. "MOST extraordinary, ma'am, I may say!"

(Here there was a renewed giggle from No. 4, which she carefully smothered in her handkerchief.)

"But still I think I can tell you of something more extraordinary still!"

The speaker having at this point refreshed his ideas by a sip of the pale-coloured tea, and the other ladies having laughed heartily in anticipation of the fun that was coming, one of them observed:-

"You don't SAY so, ma'am--" then clicked astonishment with her tongue against the roof of her mouth several times, and added impressively, "PRAY let us hear!"

"I shall be most happy, ma'am," resumed the first speaker, with a graceful inclination forwards. "Well!--you see--it was a party. I had invited some of my most distinguished friends--really, ma'am, FASHIONABLE friends, I may say, to dinner; and, ahem! you see--some little anxiety always attends such affairs--even--in the best regulated families!"

Here the speaker winked considerably at No. 4, and laughed very loudly himself at his own joke.

"Dear me, you must excuse me, ma'am," he proceeded. "So, you see, I felt a little fatigued by my morning's exertions, (to tell you the truth, there had been no end of bother about everything!) and I retired quietly up-stairs to take a short nap before the dressing- bell rang. But I had not been laid down quite half an hour, when there was a loud knock at the door. Really, ma'am, I felt quite alarmed, but was just able to ask, 'Who's there?' Before I had time to get an answer, however, the door was burst open by the housemaid. Her face was absolute scarlet, and she sobbed out:-

"'Oh, ma'am, what shall we do?'

"'Good gracious, Hannah,' cried I, 'what can be the matter? Has the soot come down the chimney? Speak!'

"'It's nothing of that sort, ma'am,' answered Hannah, 'it's the cook!'

"'The cook!' I shouted. 'I wish you would not be so foolish, Hannah, but speak out at once. What about Cook?'

"'Please, m'm, the cook's lost!' says Hannah. 'We can't find her!'

"'Your wits are lost, Hannah, _I_ think,' cried I, and sent her to tidy the rooms while I slipt downstairs to look for the cook.

"Fancy a lost cook, ma'am! Was there ever such a ridiculous idea? And on the day of a dinner-party too! Did you ever hear of such a trial to a lady's feelings before?"

"Never, I am sure," responded the lady opposite. "Did YOU, ma'am?" turning to her neighbour.

But the other three ladies all shook their heads, bit their lips, and declared that they "Never had, they were sure!"

"I thought not!" ejaculated the narrator. "Well, ma'am, I went into the kitchens, the larder, the pantries, the cellars, and all sorts of places, and still no cook! Do you know, she really was nowhere! Actually, ma'am, the cook was lost!"

Shouts of laughter burst forth here; but the lady (who was No. 5) put up his hand, and called out in his own natural tones:-

"Stop! I haven't got to the end yet!"

"Order!" proclaimed No. 4 immediately, in a very commanding voice, and thumping the table with the head of an old wooden doll to enforce obedience.

And then the sham lady proceeded in the same mincing voice as before:-