Mary: A Nursery Story for Very Little Children

“Specially as it’s Mary’s birthday,” said Artie.

“Oh rubbish,” said Leigh; “birthday or no birthday, it’s proper.”

“I beg the young lady’s pardon,” said Robert, who was a very well brought up footman. “I’m sure I meant no offence,” and he looked towards Mary, but just then he could not see anything of her. For while her brothers were correcting Robert, Mary had been employing herself in getting down from her chair, which took a good while, as it was high and she was very short. Nothing but a sort of fluff of blue skirts and sash and white muslin pinafore and shaggy hair, with here and there a shoe or a little pink hand sticking out, was to be seen. Robert sprang forwards, meaning to be extra polite and set Miss Mary right side uppermost again, but in some mysterious way she managed to get on her feet by herself.

“No, zank you, Robert,” she said with dignity, as she stood there with a rather red face, smoothing down her pinafore. “I can get down alone.”

“Miss Mary, my dear,” said nurse. “I’m always telling you to ask me to lift you down. The chair will topple over some day and you’ll be hurting yourself badly.”

“But, nurse, I’m four, now,” said Mary. “Four is big.”

“Of course it is,” said Leigh. “Never mind, nurse. The best plan will be for me to hold her chair while she gets down. Are you ready, Artie? Mary and I are.”

Artie had managed to “honey” his face and hands, and nurse thought Mary too would not be the worse for a slight sponging.

“Papa likes a sweet kiss, but not a honey one,” she said.

But at last they were all ready and on their way down to the dining-room, where they came upon Robert again, ready to throw open the door with great dignity, as he had hurried down the back stairs on purpose to be there before them.

Papa was just finishing his breakfast. He looked up with a bright smile.

“Well, young people,” he said. “Well, my pet,” this was to Mary. “So this is your birthday, my little queen – eh?”

He lifted her on to his knee and kissed her.

Mary loved when papa called her his little queen.

“I have to be off immediately,” he said, “but first I have to give you your birthday presents from dear mamma and me.”

“And ours, papa, Leigh’s and mine. They’re all together – mamma put them all together,” said Artie.

“All right. They are over there on the side-table. You fetch them,” said papa.

“Are you going to a meeting, father?” asked Leigh.

“Yes, my boy, to lots of meetings. I shan’t be back till late to-night.”

“What are meetings?” Mary was just going to ask, but the sight of Artie and the parcels put it out of her head. There was a beautiful doll’s perambulator from papa and mamma, and “a church book,” bound in red, and with “Mary” outside, in lovely gold letters; and from Leigh and Artie, a doll’s tea-service – cups and saucers and teapot and everything – in white china with little pink flowers, and dear little teaspoons of shining silver, or at least quite as pretty as silver. And then there was the birthday cake – covered with white sugar and with “Mary” in pink letters. There was no fear of Mary forgetting her name this birthday, was there?

How her eyes sparkled, and how quick her breath came with pleasure, and how rosy her cheeks grew!

“Oh papa,” she said, “oh Leigh, oh Artie!” and for a minute or two that was all she could say.

“Are you pleased, my pet?” said papa.

“Oh, I never, never did have such sp’endid presents,” said Mary.

“Dear little Mary,” said Artie, kissing her. “I am so glad you like them.”

Then another thought struck Mary, as she stood touching gently one of her treasures after the other, as if she did not know which she loved the most.

“Papa, dear,” she said, “can’t I see dear mamma? I would like to zank dear mamma.”

“And so you shall, my pet,” said her father. And he picked her up as he spoke and seated her on his shoulder. Mary was very fond of riding on papa’s shoulder. “Come along, boys,” he said, “you may come with me, if you won’t be noisy, to see mamma and something else – Mary’s best birthday present of all.”

“Anoder birfday present,” said Mary, so surprised that she felt quite breathless. “Anoder, papa?”

“Yes, old woman – you couldn’t guess what, if you tried for a week of Sundays,” said papa.

Papa did say such funny things sometimes! Mary would have begun wondering what a week of Sundays could be like, if her thoughts had not been so busy with the idea of another birthday present, that she could not take in anything else.

What could it be?

“There’s been nothing but guessing to-day,” said Artie. “Nurse was making us guess so at breakfast, about something that’s comed for Mary’s birthday. Could it be this other present, papa? I’m tired of guessing.”

“Well, don’t guess any more,” said papa. “I’m going to show you.”

Chapter Three.

A Wonderful Birthday Present

There was a room next to Mary’s mother’s room which was not often used. Mary was rather surprised when her father carried her straight to this room instead of to her mother’s. And when he lifted her down from his shoulder she was still more surprised to see that there was a nice little fire burning in the grate, and that the room looked quite cheerful and almost like another nursery, with a rocking-chair in front of the fire, and the blinds drawn up to let the pretty summer morning brightness in.

There was something in the corner of the room which Mary would have stared at a great deal if she had seen it. But just now she did not look that way, for she was surprised for the third time by seeing that a door stood open in the corner near the window, where she had never known before that there was a door.

“Where does that go to, papa?” she said, and she was running forward to look when her father stopped her.

“It goes into mamma’s room, my pet,” he said, “but I don’t want you to go in there yet. Perhaps mamma’s asleep.”

“It’s all dark,” said Mary; she had been peeping in. She felt rather strange, and a very tiny, weeny bit frightened. Everything seemed “funny” this birthday morning. She almost felt as if she was dreaming.

“Why is mamma’s room all dark?” she said again. “Is her asleep?”

“I’m not sure, dear. Wait here a minute and I’ll see,” and her father went into the next room, closing the door a little after him.

Mary and her brothers stood looking at each other. What was going to happen?

“It’s to be a surprise, I s’pose,” said Artie.

“It’s the guesses, I say,” said Leigh.

“It’s a birfday present for me. Papa said so,” said Mary.

“We’re speaking like the three bears,” said Artie laughing. “Let’s go on doing it. It’s rather fun. You say something, Leigh – say ‘somebody’s been in my bed’ – that’ll do quite well. Say it very growlily.”

“Somebody’s been in my bed,” said Leigh, as growlily as he could. Leigh was a very good-natured boy, you see.

“Now, it’s my turn,” said Artie, and he tried to make his voice into a kind of gruff squeak that he thought would do for the mamma bear’s talking. “Somebody’s been in my bed,” he said. “Come along, Mary, it’s you now.”