Aunt Mary Part 12

'Oh flowers of celestial birth!

Though springing from clods of the earth, How rich are the odours ye shed O'er the couch where the languis.h.i.+ng head

'Is pillow'd in gentle repose, Forgetting awhile its past woes; Then waking, the incense of praise, With your odorous breathings, to raise.'

None but those who are recovering from a serious illness can conceive the feelings of grat.i.tude and love which take possession of the heart when it is rightly disposed, what time the rod of affliction is removed.

Mabel seemed to feel herself a new creature, and as she threw her arms round her cousin's neck, she gave expression to feelings of thankfulness and love for the kind attention she had received from her and from her aunt. She did not fail to lament bitterly the pride and sinful temper, which now appeared to her to have been the princ.i.p.al cause of all her trouble.

It was while she was thus bitterly lamenting the past, and weeping on Clara's shoulder, that Aunt Mary came rather suddenly into the room and surprised them.

'Come, my children,' said the kind lady, 'this will never do! Nurse and convalescent both in tears,' she added, for Clara was also weeping; 'I am afraid, dear Mabel, I shall have to dismiss your young attendant, and engage one with more judgment and with less sympathy.'

'Oh no, no, dear aunt,' was the ready response. '_I_ will behave better, I a.s.sure you,' said Clara. 'Poor Mabel is weak, and a little thing makes her cry. She is only sorrowing now for the past; you will teach her, I know, to hope for the future.'

'Yes, even while we sorrow, we must hope; hope is the great lightener of all trouble. Come, cheer up, my child,' said Aunt Mary; 'I have some pleasant news for you to-day. I have just had a letter from Camden Terrace, to say that your papa and mamma and Freddy are coming to see you this afternoon, and to drink tea with me. Ah, I see you can smile, and be glad. We must have no more tears to-day; entertain only thoughts of love and thankfulness.'

CHAPTER XVIII.

A FAMILY PARTY.

What a blessing it is to be possessed of a happy and cheerful disposition!

And who so likely to have such blessing as those who not only _say_ 'Our Father which art in Heaven,' but believing what they say, 'try to walk with Him in love, as dear children.' Such persons diffuse cheerfulness all around them; while on the contrary, those who are selfish and pa.s.sionate, sow the seeds of trouble and discontent broadcast around them. And pride--oh, that hateful sin--what have children to do with pride? Helpless and dependent as they are on parents or friends, what have they to be proud of? Nothing!

Look at that curly-headed little boy, Freddy Ellis, who would be beautiful were it not for the disdainful curl on his upper lip, and the indignant expression in his eye when he has received some supposed affront. Listen to the pa.s.sionate vehemence of his words when he is refused some indulgence which he has been teasing his mamma to grant him, though it would surely try your patience, as it has done mine, to hear the stamping and screaming that is going on just outside the parlour-door; and yet, for all this, Freddy receives no punishment. Oh no! 'It would break his spirit.' What absurd reasoning!

Do we inquire from whom is this spirit, which has more of the _serpent_ than the _dove_? The answer will be, 'It is _not_ from the meek and lowly Saviour!'

Oh parents, whoever you be, take care lest you foster the serpent that will diffuse its subtle poison over the cherished blossoms which you are, or _ought to be_, training for heaven, and leave a sting which may pierce your own hearts. One thing we may be sure of, that the faults which we, through negligence or weak indulgence, leave unchecked in our children in early life, a wiser though severer hand than ours will use the rod of correction to eradicate. And can this really be _love_, that puts off the proper time of chastis.e.m.e.nt, knowing that it is likely to be doubled on that account? Alas, no!

But I must crave pardon for sermonising, and return to the sick chamber, for Mabel's papa and mamma have come to pay their promised visit. Poor girl, she is so thin and pale that papa, who has only seen her twice during her illness, is quite shocked, and sitting down beside the arm-chair, declares that he can scarcely believe she is his once plump, rosy girl. Mamma has seen her often, and has shed many a tear over her suffering child; but still it was a comfort to her to know that Mabel was in such good hands. Sister Julia is also here, looking very sorrowful; but Aunt Mary says:

'Now I am not going to permit anybody who draws a long face to remain in my nursery; so those who look as if they were preparing to cry, instead of to smile, must please take a walk in the garden, till they have recovered themselves. What say you, Freddy, to this?' inquired Aunt Mary of her little nephew, who stood looking on, not knowing seemingly whether he was expected to smile or to cry, though on hearing his aunt's cheery address, he came to the conclusion that it was not necessary for him to commence the disagreeable alternative, although it must be confessed he was a ready pract.i.tioner in yelling bouts.

'I should like to go into the garden, aunt,' responded Freddy. 'I want to see Clara's hens and chickens; may I go now?'

'No, not just now, dear,' replied his aunt; 'your cousin will go with you presently; she is engaged just at present, so you will have to wait.'

This waiting, however, did not at all suit the impatient spirit of Master Fred, and on Aunt Mary's going out of the room he gave expression to his vexation.

'Why can't I go into the garden by myself, I wonder?' he exclaimed pa.s.sionately to his mamma, by whose chair he was standing. 'Aunt needn't think that I should hurt the fowls; it is very unkind of her.'

All this was said in a subdued tone, that papa, who was talking with Mabel, might not hear.

'Hush, hush, Freddy!' said his mother; 'your Aunt Mary is never unkind: you should not say such things of her.'

'But _I_ think she is very unkind,' repeated the boy emphatically, as if what he said must settle the point; but it only drew the attention of his papa, who inquired what the vehement talking was about, and threatened severe punishment if any of Fred's tempers were exhibited at Oak Villa.

'Don't check the poor child so harshly,' said unwise mamma; 'he only wants his aunt to let him go and see the fowls. And really I think she might let him go, for he could do no harm.'

Mr. Ellis had a strong inclination to reply to this ill-advised speech, but he looked at the pale face beside him, and prudently forbore any further remark.

A nicely spread tea-table, on which there were plenty of cakes, smoothed down the ruffled temper of the spoilt boy; yet he did not forget what had all along been uppermost in his mind, namely, that he was to go and see the chickens as soon as tea was over. Had Mr. Ellis not been afraid of creating a disturbance at Oak Villa, he would certainly have prevented Fred's going into the garden, after his display of temper in his sister's room. He, however, made no opposition when the impatient boy, having despatched his tea and cake, made the announcement to his cousin Clara, that he was ready to go with her to see the fowls; and she good-naturedly rose from the table to attend him--not, however, without asking her aunt's leave.

Freddy of course was delighted with all he saw, though he said he thought the chickens were very large ones, and inquired after those he had seen a month ago, being very difficult to be persuaded that those he was now looking at were really the very identical chickens.

Like his sister Mabel, Freddy wanted to nurse one of the chickens; nor did he ask if he might do so, but while Clara went for the corn he opened the wire door and boldly thrust his hand in: only, however, to receive, as she had done, a severe peck from the hen, which sent him stamping and screaming up and down, no doubt to the great astonishment of the c.o.c.k and hens, and the immediate disarrangement of the family party, who all rushed out to know what was the matter. It certainly was a severe peck that the old hen had given, and a very great fright that the household had been put into by the screams and the roaring of the cowardly boy, which continued as he clung to his mamma's dress, until he accidentally caught sight of his papa, and then the storm ceased as if by magic; and so much of sham had there been in the affair, that the tempest calmed down without leaving trace of sob or tear.

Mr. Ellis saw that his presence had been effectual, so he only said a few words to the young rebel, but he cast a half-sorrowful, half-angry glance at his wife; and Aunt Mary could not help whispering, 'Ada, what troubles you are making for yourself!'

CHAPTER XIX.

MAY DAY.

It was months before Mabel could really be said to have regained her health and strength. The dreary winter had pa.s.sed away, and the tender leaves, and blossoms of April, had put forth their signs of returning spring.

It must not however be supposed that the cold and dark season had been an unprofitable one; far from it. Though Mabel had been an occasional sufferer, during all that time, she and Clara had diligently attended to their studies, and had, Aunt Mary said, made rapid advance; while the inward change which had been experienced by the invalid left no room for regret either to herself or her friends.

Mabel knew and felt that she had been healed of a far worse malady than any bodily one, and though, as in the case of rheumatic pains, hidden evils still gave occasional inward spasms, she had learned at whose hands she was to receive the healing draught, and she never failed to apply for it in the hour of need.

I ought perhaps to have informed my readers, that soon after Mabel had been taken ill, Mr. and Mrs. Maitland, with their two daughters, Dora and Annie, had gone to spend the winter months in the west of England, with that lady's mother, who was now far advanced in years, and very desirous of having the company of this her last surviving child, and to feel the cheering influence of lively girlhood in the society of her truly loving and attentive granddaughters.

And now, as I have before said, the winter had gone, and dewy April, with its smiles and tears, its soft green, tender leaves, its embryo buds and blossoms, its morning salutations which blithe birds sang in the half-clothed trees or in the air, made fragrant by the breath of primrose pale, or violet blue, or polyanthus bright--yes, dewy April, notwithstanding all these delights, was about to take its departure, in order to make way for the pleasant month of May, whose praises Aunt Mary celebrated in rhyme. Oak Villa was indeed a highly privileged home; no young girl, whose mind was properly balanced, could have considered it otherwise. Its owner was cheerful as the lark, industrious as the bee, thoughtful and provident as the ant, benevolent as!--well, I won't liken her to any of our four-footed friends; indeed, just at this moment, I must confess that no comparison occurs to me: but Aunt Mary loved her nieces, delighted to impart to them those stores of knowledge to which she was herself constantly adding, and which a very retentive memory enabled her to draw on for almost any occasion.

Master Freddy, who, in his visit to the truly happy home I have been speaking of, had contrived to make himself as disagreeable as possible, had been punished for his conduct by being prevented from going with his sister Julia in her occasional visits to Oak Villa; this, of course, was by papa's order, and the prohibition was almost as grievous to mamma as it was to Freddy, but there was no redress. Julia had enjoyed many a pleasant walk with her sister and cousin, and she was particularly fond of going to see the poor people, especially Mrs. Simmons, whose husband had in a great measure regained his strength, and was now able to do at least some little towards the maintaining of his family. It had been very dull at home for Julia, after her sister had gone to Oak Villa; but she had her mamma to attend to, and to teach the children, though to say the truth this latter was almost an impossibility where Freddy was concerned, so he was often sent down to stay with mamma, being p.r.o.nounced incorrigible.

But May morning has come at last; it is Aunt Mary's birthday, and such a lovely day! The cousins have a great deal of work to do before breakfast-time: may-blossoms to gather, garlands to twine, vases to fill with the sweet-scented early flowers, the breakfast-table to arrange with the best possible taste. As to Bridget, she had the day before been preparing for this special holiday; and even now she is very busy with her hot cakes and buns, which bid fair to be of the very best quality. Nine o'clock was the appointed hour for breakfast, and as Aunt Mary was not permitted by the young decorators to see what had been done in the way of preparation, it had been agreed that prayers were to be read in her bedroom, where, at half-past eight, Clara and Mabel, and Bridget, made their appearance; the former clasping Aunt Mary's neck, kissing her, and offering their most sincere and loving good wishes, the latter looking on the while, with no less kindly feeling, and with the honest tears of a faithful and devoted heart in her eyes.

Punctually at nine, a cab drove up to the garden-gate of Oak Villa, which Bridget stood ready to open, while Clara and Mabel waited at the hall-door, to receive the joyful little party, and Aunt Mary formed the background of the scene.

'How smart you are, Freddy,' remarked Clara, as she handed that young gentleman out of the cab; 'why, I never saw you in that dress before.'

'We were kept waiting some time,' said his mamma, 'because he would not have his other clothes on. I was afraid we should be too late, so I let him have his own way.'

'As usual, my dear sister,' said Aunt Mary, smiling, as she kissed and welcomed her sister. 'I'm afraid Freddy's light clothes will come to grief before the day is over, but he must take care.'

'Oh, how beautifully you have set out the table!' was the general exclamation as they all entered the breakfast-room together; and really, it was a very imposing sight, and the juveniles thought a very appetising sight, for ham, and eggs, and tongue, and chicken, and cakes, and buns, make a strong appeal for their share of commendation, even where the more delicate and refined tastes are attracted by beautiful colours and delicious odours.

It is really a very pleasant party that sits round this well-appointed table, though the kind and hospitable hostess regrets much that her brother-in-law, Mr. Ellis, was not able to be of the company. Aunt Mary knew who it was that kept order at home, and much, very much did she wish that her sister would be guided by her husband in the management of their children. But now there is nothing but bright looks and smiling happy faces, if we except that of Master Fred, who is looking round at the several dainties, apparently considering which he shall choose from first.

Unfortunately for the peace of society, Aunt Mary helped Freddy to some ham without being asked, and before that young gentleman had made up his mind as to what he should choose. This was indeed a sad mistake, though done without the slightest suspicion of giving offence; but the offence was very quickly manifested.