The Bad Family & Other Stories

On the day that Mr. Daleham removed from his town residence to his new house in the country there was much bustle and business in the family. The servants were all employed in unpacking and arranging chairs, tables, sofas, and sideboards in their proper places. Some men were putting up beds, while others were hanging window-curtains and nailing down carpets. The only idle persons in the house were Arnold and Isabel, and they could find nothing to do but to skip from room to room, ask questions, admire their new dwelling-house, and talk of the pleasure they should receive in a visit their father was engaged to make that day to Mr. Morton, his intimate friend, who lived about one mile and a half distant.

So desirous were Arnold and Isabel of seeing Morton Park, or rather perhaps of eating some of the fine grapes and melons which they had heard grew in Mr. Morton's hot-house, that the morning seemed to be the length of the whole day. When people are without employment, time hangs heavily on their hands, and minutes will appear to be as long as hours. Half a dozen times in the course of the morning these children ran to the door of the library, to ask their father when he would be ready to go, and though he was engaged sorting papers and arranging his books, they did not forbear their troublesome inquiries till he was quite angry with them.

At length, however, the joyful tidings came to Arnold and Isabel that they were to dress directly, as their father would be ready to set out in half an hour. As the day was very fine, and the coachman's assistance was useful to the other servants busied in disposing the furniture in the various apartments, Mr. Daleham chose to walk to Morton Park; but after he had dressed, and the half-hour had elapsed, he still had orders to give that detained him.

Arnold and Isabel meanwhile were standing at the hall door, almost wild with their impatience to be gone; and at last Arnold proposed to his sister that they should go on first, as their papa could soon overtake them; and Isabel eagerly ran to ask the housekeeper whether they must take the right or the left-hand road. The housekeeper was busy with a basket of china, some of which had been broken in the carriage; and as her thoughts were fixed on the fragments of the china, she scarcely attended to the nature of Isabel's question, and said hastily that the right-hand road led to Morton Park; and so it did, but that was the coach road, and Mr. Daleham meant to go a much nearer and cleaner way, upon a raised path across some pleasant meadows.

No sooner had Isabel received the housekeeper's reply than away they went, and in their eagerness to reach Morton Park, they did not at first observe that the lane was very dirty; but at last some large splashes of mud on Isabel's clean frock attracted Arnold's notice, and he then perceived that his own white stockings and nankeen trousers were in the same dirty state. What was now to be done? They both felt that it was highly improper to go to a gentleman's house in such a condition; but then Arnold said that his father must know that the road was dirty after so much rain as they had had lately, and as he meant to walk, he supposed their getting a few splashes was of no consequence. Isabel agreed with this mode of reasoning, and on they went, expecting every moment to hear their father's steps behind them.

The lane now became wider and more open to the beams of the sun, which had dried the pathway; but though they were somewhat out of the mud, the heat of the sun was so intense they knew not how to bear it, and they walked as fast as they could in order to get to some shady place. While they were panting with heat, they suddenly came to a stream that ran directly across the road, and it had no bridge over it, because foot passengers rarely came that way.

They were now in the greatest distress. To stand still in the full burning sun was dreadful, and to go back was equally fatiguing. There was no place to sit down in that part of the road, but on the opposite side of the stream three large oak trees were growing, and formed a pleasant shade over a green bank. Isabel, greatly tired, and almost fainting with heat, wished she could get to the shady bank; so did Arnold, and he said he could take off his shoes and stockings, and carry his sister through the water on his back. This plan was settled; and they agreed that, when they were over the stream, they would wait on the bank for their papa, and endeavour to rub off upon the grass the clots of mud that stuck to their shoes. But either Arnold was not so strong as he had supposed he was, or Isabel, having her brother's shoes and stockings to carry in her hand, did not hold fast round his neck, for just as they were in the middle of the stream, his foot slipped, he staggered, fell, and down went brother and sister at once into the pool.

Both scrambled up in a moment, and neither had suffered more injury than being completely bathed in the water. With streaming hair and dripping garments they reached the bank; but when Isabel saw that the ribbons of her new straw bonnet were spoiled, she began to cry and accuse her brother of having thrown her down on purpose, which so provoked the young gentleman, that he said it was all owing to her clumsiness, and at the same time he shook the sleeves of his jacket, from which he was wringing the wet, in her face. Isabel's anger increasing at this, she rudely gave her brother a severe box on the ear. A scuffle now ensued, which caused a second tumble, and this fall being on the rough gravel, Isabel's face was scratched by the sharp pebbles, and Arnold's elbow sadly cut by a large flint stone.

The smart of these wounds cooled their passions; they thought no more of fighting, and were wiping away the blood, and looking with grief and dismay at their wet, dirty clothes, when a servant came up who had been sent in pursuit of them.

Mr. Daleham was not far behind. He had been told that Arnold and Isabel were gone before him, and was much alarmed at not finding them in the field-path. He had therefore returned the same way to search for them; he ordered the servant to conduct them home, and told them that their silly impatience had spoiled their pleasure, as it was not possible for them now to appear at Morton Park.

Mr. Daleham then hastened on, for fear Mr. Morton's dinner should wait for him; and Arnold and Isabel, forlorn, wet, draggled, and dirty, were led back to their own house. They passed a dismal afternoon, lamenting their folly and imprudence; and next morning they heard that there were not only plenty of grapes, melons, peaches, and filberts on Mr. Morton's table, but that also a very merry party of children were assembled there, who danced on the lawn till the dusk of evening approached, and then played at blindman's buff in the great hall.

The Deaf and Dumb Boy

'Now, my dear boy and girl,' said their aunt to Charles and Helen Laurie, 'you are come to stay a whole fortnight with me, and we must take care not to mis-spend our time, for not all the art of man can restore one day that is lost. You, Charles, shall practise your drawing while Helen works, and then while I hear Helen spell and read, you may write. Each day of our lives should be made some good use of; and while we are young, and have health and strength, we ought to learn all those things which we may wish to know when we are grown old.'

Charles and Helen Laurie now ran in search of their books, which were soon found, as they were laid in the right place; and then they sat down to their tasks, glad to please their aunt, and quite certain that to learn to be wise and good was the best thing in the world.

At the hour of noon, when the clock had struck twelve, their aunt told them to leave their books, put on their hats, and go out to walk with her. They went through some fields, and down a pretty lane, and in the hedges on each side were tall oak, elm, and poplar trees, that made the lane look like a grove, and kept them from the rays of the sun. At length they came to a small, neat, white house that stood on a green lawn, and had bushes of lilac blossoms before the windows, with a large fish-pond at the end of it. The house had rails before it, and Charles and Helen went with their aunt through a gate that was made of the tools that men work with in the fields, such as a rake, a spade, a hoe, and a scythe.

In the house they saw a fine-looking boy of ten years of age, with light-brown hair, hazel eyes, and cheeks as red as a rose. He came up to Charles and Helen, and shook hands with them, and seemed joyous at seeing them, but did not say a word. They thought it strange that he did not speak to them; and at last Charles said to him, 'Your lawn would be a good place to play at trap-ball on, if it were not for the fish-pond that is so near it. Do you play at trap-ball, sir?'

The boy, whose name was Jackson, put his hand to his mouth, shook his head, got up from his chair, went for a slate, wrote on it, and gave it to Charles, who read these words: 'I cannot speak to you. I do not hear what you say to me. I am a poor deaf and dumb boy, but I shall be glad to please you, now you have been so kind as to come to see me. Pray write down on this slate what you wish me to do.'

Charles took the slate, and when Helen read the words that were written on it, her eyes were full of tears, to think that such a sweet boy should be deaf and dumb. But Charles hung his head, for Jackson wrote so fine a hand, that he did not like to show that he could not perform as well. Helen knew what Charles was thinking of, for she had heard him found fault with, and had seen him write when he did not take pains to learn to write a fine hand; so she went to the hall door and made a sign to Jackson, as much as to say they would like to go out.

Jackson led them round the lawn to the fish-pond, and that they might see the fish, he threw in some pieces of bread to make the fish jump up to catch the bread in their mouths. He next took them to the back of the house to show them the farm-yard; there they saw cocks and hens on the rubbish heap, ducks and geese dipping or swimming in the pond, pigs grunting, cows, calves, and a pet lamb, who, as soon as he saw them, came out of a barn and ran up to Jackson, that he might stroke and play with him; but he was full of tricks, and when Charles or Helen went near him he strove to butt them with his young horns. He would not eat out of their hands, but he took all that Jackson gave him. In the same barn that the lamb came out of, were a goat and two young kids. The goat, the kids, the lamb, the calves, all were fond of Jackson, for he had a kind heart and would not hurt the smallest insect.

Charles and Helen stayed that day to dine with Jackson, of whom they grew more and more fond each moment that they were with him. He was a boy of a sweet, gentle temper, and won the kindness of all who came to his house. He drew as well as he wrote, and knew all the things that a deaf and dumb boy could learn. He had a box of tools, and had made a bird-cage and a neat desk to write on. It is a sad thing to be deaf and dumb, for much of what boys learn at school, and which it is right to know, cannot be taught to a deaf and dumb child.

Charles told his aunt Laurie, as they went home at night, that when he had grown to be a man he would love Jackson, and try to be of use to him, since blind or deaf and dumb men must want some one to guide and take care of them.

It is a sad thing not to see, or not to speak and hear; so that all boys and girls who have their sight and speech should be glad to make the best use of them. They should, while they are young, do what they are told by their friends is right to be done, and then when they grow up they can be of great use in the world. A fool, a dunce, or a bad man does harm and not good in the world.

Limby Lumpy;

Or, the Boy who was Spoiled by his Mamma[5 - This story and the one which follows it are not by Mrs. Fenwick. 'Limby Lumpy' is from The Holiday Book.]

I

Limby Lumpy was the only son of his mamma. His father was called the 'Pavior's Assistant'; for he was so large and heavy, that when he used to walk through the streets the men who were ramming the stones down with a large wooden rammer would say, 'Please to walk over these stones, sir.' And then the men would get a rest.

Limby was born on the 1st of April; I do not know how long ago; but, before he came into the world, such preparations were made. There was a beautiful cradle; and a bunch of coral, with bells on it; and lots of little caps; and a fine satin hat; and tops and bottoms for pap; and two nurses to take care of him. He was, too, to have a little chaise, when he grew big enough; after that, he was to have a donkey, and then a pony. In short, he was to have the moon for a plaything, if it could be got; and, as to the stars, he would have had them, if they had not been too high to reach.

Limby made a rare to-do when he was a little baby. But he never was a little baby – he was always a big baby; nay, he was a big baby till the day of his death.

'Baby Big,' his mamma used to call him; he was 'a noble baby,' said his aunt; he was 'a sweet baby,' said old Mrs. Tomkins, the nurse; he was 'a dear baby,' said his papa, – and so he was, for he cost a good deal. He was 'a darling baby,' said his aunt, by the mother's side; 'there never was such a fine child,' said everybody, before the parents; when they were at another place they called him 'a great, ugly, fat child.'

Limby was almost as broad as he was long. He had what some people called an open countenance; that is, one as broad as a full moon. He had what his mamma called beautiful auburn locks, but what other people said were carroty; not before the mother, of course.

Limby had a flattish nose and a widish mouth, and his eyes were a little out of the right line. Poor little dear, he could not help that, and therefore it was not right to laugh at him.

Everybody, however, laughed to see him eat his pap, for he would not be fed with the patent silver pap-spoon which his father bought him; but used to lay himself flat on his back, and seize the pap-boat with both hands, and never leave go of it till its contents were fairly in his dear little stomach.

So Limby grew bigger and bigger every day, till at last he could scarcely draw his breath, and was very ill; so his mother sent for three apothecaries and two physicians, who looked at him, and told his mamma there were no hopes: the poor child was dying of over-feeding. The physicians, however, prescribed for him – a dose of castor oil.

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.'