Chapter 4

His mamma attempted to give him the castor oil; but Limby, although he liked tops and bottoms, and cordial, and pap, and sweetbread, and oysters, and other things nicely dished up, had no fancy for castor oil, and struggled, and kicked, and fought every time his nurse or mamma attempted to give it him.

'Limby, my darling boy,' said his mamma, 'my sweet cherub, my only dearest, do take its oily poily--there's a ducky, deary--and it shall ride in a coachy poachy.'

'O! the dear baby,' said the nurse, 'take it for nursey. It will take it for nursey--that it will.'

The nurse had got the oil in a silver medicine spoon, so contrived that if you could get it into the child's mouth the medicine must go down. Limby, however, took care that no spoon should go into his mouth; and when the nurse tried the experiment for the nineteenth time, gave a plunge and a kick, and sent the spoon up to the ceiling, knocked off nurse's spectacles, upset the table on which all the bottles and glasses were, and came down whack on the floor.

His mother picked him up, clasped him to her breast, and almost smothered him with kisses. 'O! my dear boy,' said she, 'it shan't take the nasty oil--it won't take it, the darling; naughty nurse to hurt baby: it shall not take nasty physic'; and then she kissed him again.

Poor Limby, although only two years old, knew what he was at--he was trying to get the master of his mamma; he felt he had gained his point, and gave another kick and a squall, at the same time planted a blow on his mother's eye.

'Dear little creature,' said she, 'he is in a state of high convulsions and fever--he will never recover.'

But Limby did recover, and in a few days was running about the house, and the master of it; there was nobody to be considered, nobody to be consulted, nobody to be attended to, but Limby Lumpy.

II

Limby grew up big and strong; he had everything his own way. One day, when he was at dinner with his father and mother, perched upon a double chair, with his silver knife and fork, and silver mug to drink from, he amused himself by playing drums on his plate with the mug.

'Don't make that noise, Limby, my dear,' said his father. 'Dear little lamb,' said his mother, 'let him amuse himself. Limby, have some pudding?'

'No; Limby no pudding'--_drum! drum! drum!_

A piece of pudding was, however, put on Limby's plate, but he kept on drumming as before. At last he drummed the bottom of the mug into the soft pudding, to which it stuck, and by which means it was scattered all over the carpet.

'Limby, my darling,' said his mother; and the servant was called to wipe Limby's mug and pick the pudding up from the floor. Limby would not have his mug wiped, and floundered about, and upset the cruet-stand and the mustard on the table-cloth.

'O! Limby Lumpy; naughty boy,' said his father.

'Don't speak so cross to the child; he is but a child,' said his mother; 'I don't like to hear you speak so cross to the child.'

'I tell you what it is,' said his father, 'I think the boy does as he likes; but I don't want to interfere.'

Limby now sat still, resolving what to do next. He was not hungry, having been stuffed with a large piece of pound cake about an hour before dinner; but he wanted something to do, and could not sit still.

Presently a saddle of mutton was brought on the table. When Limby saw this he set up a crow of delight. 'Limby ride,' said he, 'Limby ride'; and rose up in his chair, as if to reach the dish.

'Yes, my ducky, it shall have some mutton,' said his mamma; and immediately gave him a slice, cut up into small morsels. That was not it. Limby pushed that on the floor, and cried out, 'Limby on meat! Limby on meat!'

His mamma could not think what he meant. At last, however, his father recollected that he had been in the habit of giving him a ride occasionally, first on his foot, sometimes on the scroll end of the sofa, at other times on the top of the easy chair. Once he put him on a dog, and more than once on the saddle; in short, he had been in the habit of perching him on various things; and now Limby, hearing this was a _saddle_ of mutton, wanted to take a ride on it.

'Limby on--Limby ride on bone,' said the child, in a whimper.

'Did you _ever hear_?' said the father.

'What an extraordinary child!' said the mother; 'how clever to know it was like a saddle--the little dear. No, no, Limby--grease frock, Limby.'

But Limby cared nothing about a greasy frock, not he--he was used enough to that; and therefore roared out more lustily for a ride on the mutton.

'Did you ever know such a child? What a dear, determined spirit!'

'He is a child of an uncommon mind,' said his mother. 'Limby, dear--Limby, dear--silence! silence!'

The truth was, Limby made such a roaring, that neither father nor mother could get their dinners, and scarcely knew whether they were eating beef or mutton.

'It is impossible to let him ride on the mutton,' said his father: 'quite impossible!'

'Well, but you might just put him astride the dish, just to satisfy him; you can take care his legs or clothes do not go into the gravy.'

'Anything for a quiet life,' said the father. 'What does Limby want?--Limby ride?'

'Limby on bone!--Limby on meat!'

'Shall I put him across?' said Mr. Lumpy.

'Just for one moment,' said his mamma: 'it won't hurt the mutton.'

The father rose, and took Limby from his chair, and, with the greatest caution, held his son's legs astride, so that they might hang on each side of the dish without touching it; 'just to satisfy him,' as he said, 'that they might dine in quiet,' and was about to withdraw him from it immediately.

But Limby was not to be cheated in that way, he wished to feel the saddle _under_ him, and accordingly forced himself down upon it; but feeling it rather warmer than was agreeable, started, and lost his balance, and fell down among the dishes, soused in melted butter, cauliflower, and gravy--floundering, and kicking, and screaming, to the detriment of glasses, jugs, dishes, and everything else on the table.

'My child! my child!' said his mamma; 'O! save my child!'

She snatched him up, and pressed his begreased garments close to the bosom of her best silk gown.

Neither father nor mother wanted any more dinner after this. As to Limby, he was as frisky afterwards as if nothing had happened; and, about half an hour from the time of this disaster, _cried for his dinner_.

[5] This story and the one which follows it are not by Mrs. Fenwick. 'Limby Lumpy' is from _The Holiday Book_.

The Oyster Patties

There was once a little boy, who perhaps might have been a good little fellow if his friends had taken pains to make him so, but I do not know how it was, instead of teaching him to be good, they gave him everything he cried for; so, whenever he wished to have anything, he had only to cry; and if he did not get it directly, he cried louder and louder till at last he got it. By this means Alfred was not only very naughty but very unhappy; he was crying from morning till night; he had no pleasure in anything; he was in everybody's way, and nobody liked to be with him. Well, one day his mamma thought she would give him a day of pleasure, and make him very happy indeed, so she told him he should have a feast, and dine under the great cedar tree that stood upon the lawn, and that his cousins should be invited to dine with him, and that he should have whatever he chose for his dinner. So she rang the bell, and she told the servants to take out tables and chairs and to lay the cloth upon the table under the tree; and she ordered her two footmen to be ready to wait upon him. She desired the butler to tell the cook to prepare the dinner, and to get all sorts of nice dishes for the feast; but she said to Alfred, 'What shall you like best of all, my dear boy?' So Alfred tried to think of something that he had never had before, and he recollected that one day he had heard a lady say, who was dining with his papa and mamma, that the oyster patties were the best she had ever eaten. Now Alfred had never tasted oyster patties, so he said he would have oyster patties for dinner. 'Oyster patties, my dear boy? You cannot have oyster patties at this time of the year, there are no oysters to be had,' his mamma said to him; 'try, love, to think of something else.'

But naughty Alfred said, 'No, I can think of nothing else,' so the cook was sent for, and desired to think of something that he might like as well. The cook proposed first a currant pie, then a barberry pie, or a codlin pie with custard. 'No, no, no,' said Alfred, shaking his head. 'Or a strawberry tart, my sweet boy; or apricot jam?' said his mamma, in a soothing tone of voice.

But Alfred said, 'No, mamma, no, I don't like strawberries; I don't like apricot jam; I want oysters.'

'But you cannot have oysters, my little master,' said the cook. 'But I will have oysters,' said the little boy, 'and you shan't say that I can't have them, shall she, mamma?' and he began to scream and to cry. 'Do not cry, my sweet soul,' said his mamma, 'and we will see what we can do; dry up your tears, my little man, and come with me, and the cook, I daresay, will be able to get some oysters before dinner; it is a long time to dinner, you know, and I have some pretty toys for you upstairs if you will come with me till dinner is ready.' So she took the little crying boy by the hand and led him up to her room, and she whispered to the cook as she passed not to say anything more about it now, and that she hoped he would forget the oyster patties by the time dinner was ready. In the meantime she took all the pains she could to amuse and please him, and as fast as he grew tired of one toy she brought out another. At last, after some hours, she gave him a beautiful toy for which she had paid fifteen shillings. It was a sand toy of a woman sitting at a spinning wheel, and when it was turned up the little figure began spinning away, and the wheel turned round and round as fast as if the woman who turned it had been alive. Alfred wanted to see how it was done, but, instead of going to his mother to ask her if she would be so good as to explain it to him, he began pulling it to pieces to look behind it. For some time he was very busy, and he had just succeeded in opening the large box at the back of the figure when all the sand that was in it came pouring out upon the floor, and when he tried to make the little woman spin again, he found she would not do it any more; she could not, for it was the sand dropping down that had made her move before.

Now do you know that Alfred was so very silly that he began to be angry even with the toy, and he said, 'Spin, I say; spin directly,' and then he shook it very hard, but in vain; the little hands did not move, and the wheel stood still. So then he was very angry indeed, and, setting up a loud cry, he threw the toy to the other end of the room. Just at this very moment the servant opened the door and said that dinner was ready and that Alfred's cousins were arrived.

'Come, my dear child, you are tired of your toys, I see,' said mamma, 'so come to dinner, darling; it is all ready, under the tree.' So away they went, leaving the room all strewed with toys, with broken pieces, and the sand all spilt in a heap upon the floor. When they went under the dark spreading branches of the fine old cedar tree, there they saw the table covered with dishes and garnished with flowers; there were chickens, and ham, and tongue, and lobsters, besides tarts, and custards, and jellies, and cakes, and cream, and I do not know how many nice things besides; there was Alfred's high chair at the head of the table, and he was soon seated in it, as master of the feast, with his mother sitting by him, his cousins opposite to him, his nurse standing on the other side, and the two footmen waiting besides. As soon as his cousins were helped to what they liked best, his mamma said, 'What will you eat first, Alfred, my love? A wing of a chicken?' 'No,' said Alfred, pushing it away. 'A slice of ham, darling?' said nurse. 'No,' said Alfred, in a louder tone. 'A little bit of lobster, my dear?' 'No, no,' replied the naughty boy. 'Well, what _will_ you have then?' said his mother, who was almost tired of him. 'I will have oyster patties,' said he. 'That is the only thing you cannot have, my love, you know, so do not think of it any more, but taste a bit of this pie; I am sure you will like it.'

'You _said_ I should have oyster patties by dinner time,' said Alfred, 'and so I will have nothing else.' 'I am sorry you are such a sad naughty child,' said his mother; 'I thought you would have been so pleased with all these nice things to eat.' 'They are _not_ nice,' said the child, who was not at all grateful for all that his mother had done, but was now in such a passion, that he took the piece of currant tart, which his nurse again offered to him, and squeezing up as much as his two little hands could hold, he threw it at his nurse, and stained her nice white handkerchief and apron with the red juice. Just at this moment his papa came into the garden, and walked up to the table. 'What is all this?' said he. 'Alfred, you seem to be a very naughty boy, indeed; and I must tell you, sir, I shall allow this no longer; get down from your chair, sir, and beg your nurse's pardon.' Alfred had hardly ever heard his father speak so before, and he felt so frightened, that he left off crying, and did as he was bid. Then his father took him by the hand, and led him away. His mother said she was sure he would now be good, and eat the currant tart. But his papa said, 'No, no, it is now too late, he must come with me'; so he led him away, without saying another word. He took him into the village, and he stopped at the door of a poor cottage.

'May we come in?' said his father. 'Oh yes, and welcome,' said a poor woman, who was standing at a table with a saucepan in her hand. 'What are you doing, my good woman?' 'Only putting out the children's supper, your honour.' 'And what have you got for their supper?' 'Only some potatoes, please you, sir, but they be nicely boiled, and here come the hungry boys! They are coming in from their work, and they will soon make an end of them, I warrant.'

As she said these words, in came John, and William, and Thomas, all with rosy cheeks and smiling faces. They sat down, one on a wooden stool, one on a broken chair, and one on the corner of the table, and they all began to eat the potatoes very heartily. But Alfred's papa said, 'Stop, my good boys, do not eat any more, but come with me.' The boys stared, but their mother told them to do as they were bid, so they left off eating, and followed the gentleman. Alfred and his papa walked on till they arrived once more under the cedar tree in the garden, and there was the fine feast, all standing just as they had left it, for Alfred's cousins were gone away, and his mamma would not have the dinner taken away, because she hoped that Alfred would come back to it. 'Now, boys,' said the gentleman, 'you may all sit down to this table, and eat whatever you like.'

John, William, and Thomas sat down as quickly as they could, and began to devour the chickens and tarts, and all the good things at a great rate; and Alfred, who now began to be very hungry, would gladly have been one of the party; but when he was going to sit down, his papa said, 'No, sir, this feast is not for _you_; there is nothing here that you like to eat, you know; so you will wait upon these boys, if you please, who seem as if they would find plenty that they will like.' Alfred at this began to cry again, and said he wanted to go to his mamma; but his father did not mind his crying, and said he should not go to his mamma again till he was quite a good boy. 'So now, sir, hand this bread to John, and now take a clean plate to Thomas, and now stand ready to carry this custard to William. There now, wait till they have all done.' It was of no use now to cry or scream; he was obliged to do it all. When the boys had quite finished their supper, they went home, and Alfred was led by his father into the house. Before he went to bed, a cup of milk and water and a piece of brown bread were put before him, and his father said, 'That is your supper, Alfred.' Alfred began to cry again, and said he did not want such a supper as that. 'Very well,' said his father, 'then go to bed without, and it shall be saved for your breakfast.' Alfred cried and screamed louder than ever; so his father ordered the maid to put him to bed. When he was in bed, he thought his mamma would come and see him, and bring him something nice, and he lay awake a long while; but she did not come, and he cried and cried till at last he fell asleep.

In the morning when he awoke he was so hungry he could hardly wait to be dressed, but asked for his breakfast every minute. When he saw the maid bring in the brown bread again without any butter, and some milk and water, he was very near crying again; but he thought if he did he should perhaps lose his breakfast as he had lost his supper; so he checked his tears, and ate a hearty meal.

'Well,' said his father, who came into the room just as he was eating the last bit of bread. 'I am glad to see the little boy who could not yesterday find anything good enough for him at a feast eating such simple fare as this so heartily. Come, Alfred, now you may come to your dear mamma.'

THE END

_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_

Transcriber's Note.

One obvious misspelling is corrected. All other archaic variants and inconsistencies of spelling, capitalization, and punctuation are retained from the original.

Redundant story title pages have been removed. Page numbers in the table of contents match the original.

The page scans came from the Children's Book Collection of the Library of the University of California, Los Angeles.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Bad Family and Other Stories, by Mrs. Fenwick