A Christmas Child: A Sketch of a Boy-Life

"Thoo doesn't knock Ted about, and thoo is big, Percy," he said, remonstratingly.

"No, of course I don't, but that's different. You're like my brother, you know."

"And bruvvers couldn't knock theirselves about," said Ted with an air of satisfaction.

"N-no, I suppose not," said Percy. Boy as he was, he felt somehow that he could not bear to destroy little Ted's beautiful faith. "But never mind about that just now," he added; "let's run down the bank and see how the cabbages and cauliflowers are getting on. They were just put in when I was here last;" and for some time both boys were intensely interested in examining the state of the vegetable beds.

"Ted likes f'owers best," said the child, after a few moments' silence. "When Ted – "

"Why don't you say 'I' and 'I like,' Teddy?" said Percy. "You're getting such a big boy – four years old."

"Ted means I," persisted the small man. "I sall have all f'owers in Ted's garden, when me is big."

Percy was obliged to leave off what he was about – hunting for the slugs and caterpillars among the cabbages – in order that he might stand still and laugh.

"I'm afraid you wouldn't get the prize for grammar at our school, Ted," he said. But Ted only laughed too.

"I haven't learnt grammar," he said slowly and distinctly. "But please, Percy, Ted doesn't like cabbages. Come and see the f'owers. There was lots of c'ocodiles at that side. Ted likes zem best of all, but zem's done now."

"Crocodiles," said Percy. "What can crocodiles be?"

"Little f'owers with pointy leaves," said Ted. "P'raps it isn't c'ocodiles but somesing like coc – coco – "

"Crocuses perhaps," said Percy, as they made their way up to the house. "Yes, they're very pretty, but they're soon done."

"When I'm big I'll have a garden where they'll never be done," said Ted. "I'll have c'ocodiles and towslips for muzzer and – and – "

"Come in to breakfast, my man," called out his father from the dining-room. "What have you been about this morning?"

"We'se been in the garden," said Ted, "and Percy's been 'samining the cabbages. He's caught slugs upon slugs, worms upon worms, earwigs upon earwigs."

"My dear little boy," said Ted's father, though he couldn't help laughing, "you mustn't learn to exaggerate."

"What's 'saggerate?" began Ted, but looking round another idea caught him. "Where's muzzer?" he said suddenly.

"Mother is rather tired this morning," said his father. "Eat your breakfast, dear," and then he turned to talk to Percy and ask him questions as to how he was getting on at school.

For a minute or two neither of them noticed Ted. He sat quietly at his place, his bowl of bread and milk before him, but he made no attempt to eat it. Then Percy happened to see him.

"Aren't you hungry, Ted?" he said.

Ted looked up with his two blue eyes full of tears.

"Ses," he said, "Ted's hungry. But if muzzer doesn't come down Ted can't eat. Ted won't eat nothing all day, and he'll die."

"Not quite so bad as that," said his father quietly, for he did not want Ted to see that it was difficult not to smile at his funny way of speaking, "for see here is mother coming."

Ted danced off his seat with pleasure.

"It's dedful when thoo's not here," he said feelingly, and now the bread and milk was quickly despatched. "When I'm big," he continued, in the intervals of the spoonfuls, "I'll have a house as big – as big as a mountain," his eyes glancing out of the window, "and all the little boys in the world shall live there with all their favers and muzzers, and Percies, and everybodies, and nobody shall never go away, not to school or bidness, or nothing, so that they'll all be togever always."

Ted looked round for approval, and then took another spoonful.

"What a nice place you'll make of the world, my boy, when you're big," said his father.

"Ses," said Ted with satisfaction.

"But as that time hasn't come yet, I'm afraid I must go to my 'bidness,'" his father went on. For he had to go several times a week a good way into the country, to see that his men were all doing their work properly. "And Percy must go with me to-day," he went on, "for he needs some new clothes, and I shall be driving through A – ," which was the nearest town to which they lived.

Percy's face looked very pleased, but Ted's grew rather sad.

"Never mind, Teddy," whispered Percy. "We'll have lots of days. You must have a good game with Chevie to keep up your spirits."

"And David is going to cut the grass to-day," said his father, "so you will have plenty of fun."

"But Ted must be careful," said his mother; "don't touch David's sharp tools, Ted. I was quite frightened the other day," she added; "Ted was trying to open and shut those great big shears for clipping the borders."

"Zem was sticked fast," said Ted. "Zem opens kite easy sometimes."

"Well, don't you touch them any way," said his mother, laughing. But though Ted said "No," I don't feel sure that he really heard what his mother was saying. His wits were already off, I don't know where to – running after Cheviott perhaps, or farther away still, up among the little clouds that were scudding across the blue sky that he caught sight of out of the window.

And then his father and Percy set off, and his mother went away about her housekeeping, sending Ted up to the nursery, and telling him that he might ask nurse to put his big blouse on, so that he might play about the garden without risk of soiling his clothes.

Ted felt, for him, a very little sad as he trotted out into the garden. He had hoped for such a nice merry day with Percy. But low spirits never troubled him long. Off he set with Cheviott for the race down to the little bridge, always the first bit of Ted's programme, and careful Chevie as usual pulled up in plenty of time to avoid any risk of toppling his master into the brook. Arrived on the bridge, Ted stood still and "jigged" a little as usual. Then he peered down at the shiny water with the bright brown pebbles sparkling up through it, and wondered what it would feel like to be a little fish.

"Little fisses," he said to himself, "always has each other to play with. They don't go to school, and they hasn't no bidness, nor no cooks that they must be such a long time ordering the dinners with, nor – nor beds to make and stockings to mend. I wish nurse would 'tum out this morning. Ted doesn't like being all alone. Ted would like somebody littler to play with, 'cos then they wouldn't go to school or out d'ives with papa."

But just as he was thinking this, he caught sight of some one coming across the garden, and his ideas took another turn at once.

"David, old David," he cried, "is thoo going to cut the grass? Do let me come and help thoo, David."

And he ran back across the bridge again and made his way to David as fast as he could.

"Good morning, Master Ted," said the gardener. "Is it beautiful day, Master Ted, to be sure. Yes indeed."

"Ses," agreed Ted. "Good morning, old David. I'm going to stay out in the garden a long time, a tevible long time, 'cos it's such a sprendid lovely day. What is thoo going to do, David? Can't Ted help thoo?"

"I am going to cut the grass, Master Ted, but I not be very long – no; for it is only the middle that's be cut. All the rest stand for hay, to be sure. Ay, indeed."

"And when will the hay be cuttened?" inquired Ted.

"That's be as Master order, and not as Master can choose neither – no," said David. "He not able to make for the sun to shine; no, indeed; nor the rain neither, – no."

"'Dod sends rain and sun," said Ted, reverently, but yet looking at David with a sort of curiosity.

"Well, indeed you are right, Master Ted. Yes, yes. But I must get on with my work. God gives us work to do, too; ay, indeed; and them as not work never expect to eat, no, never; they not care for their victual anyhow if they not work for it. No."

Ted looked rather puzzled. "Ted eats," he said, – "not victuals – Ted doesn't know that meat – but bread and butter, and tea, and potatoes, and rice pudding, and meat, and sometimes 'tawberry jam and apple pie and – and – lots of things. And Ted likes zem very much, but him doesn't work."