Poppy's Presents

CHAPTER VIII

JACKY AND JEMMY

Now, my dear,' said grandmother, when she had rested for a minute or two, 'where's my lad's wife? Your mother, my lass; where is she?'

'Oh, she's in bed, grandmother!' said Poppy. 'She's very ill, is my mother.'

'I'll go up and see her,' said the old woman. 'To think that my John Henry has been a married man these ten years, and I've never seen his wife!'

But when she did see John Henry's wife, grandmother sat down and sobbed like a child. She was so white, so thin, so worn, that the kind old woman's heart was filled with love and with shame—love for her poor suffering daughter-in-law, shame that her son, the lad of whom she had been so proud, should have left her when she needed him so much.

How long grandmother would have cried it is impossible to say, had not a dismal wail come from one side of the bed, followed almost immediately by another dismal wail from the other side of the bed. It was Enoch and Elijah, who had fallen asleep for a few minutes whilst Poppy was downstairs, but who had waked up at the sound of a strange voice. Grandmother sprang from her seat as soon as she heard them cry. She had not seen the babies before, for they were covered by the bed-clothes. She held them one in each arm, and kissed them again and again.

'Oh, my bonny, bonny bairns!' she said; 'my own little darling lambs! To think that God Almighty has sent you back again! Why, I'm like Job, my lass; I lost them five-and-forty years ago;—ay, but it seems only five-and-forty days. Oh! my own beautiful little lads. I kicked sore against losing them, I did indeed, my lass, poor silly fool that I was! and now here's God given me them back again. I'm a regular old Job now, ain't I? Not that I was patient, like him; he was a sight better than me—a sight better. Oh, you dear things, won't your grandmother love you!'

'Had you twins of your own, grandmother?' asked her daughter-in-law.

'Ay, my dear, that I had, and little lads, too—the finest children you ever saw; why, it was the talk of the country-side, my dear, what beautiful bairns they was.'

'And how old were they when you lost them, grandmother?'

'Why, my dear,' said the old woman, 'my child was ten months and one week old, and his child was ten months and three weeks old—just a fortnight's difference, my dear.'

'I thought you said they were both yours, grandmother,' said Poppy.

'Ay, my darling, so they was; but that was how we got to talk of them. You see, me and my master had been married nigh on five years, and never had no childer (we lived up at the farm at that time), and then these babies came, and I think our heads were fairly turned by them—he was well-nigh crazed, he was indeed, my dear. "Sally," he says, when he came in to look at them, "you pick one and I'll have the other—half-and-half, that's fair share," he says. "Now, Sally, you choose first."

'"Well," says I, "I'll have the ginger-haired one; it's most like me." I used to have ginger hair, my dear; you wouldn't believe it, for it's all turned white now, but I had, just like Poppy there, beautiful ginger hair. Some folks don't like the colour, my dear, but your grandfather used to like it. Why, he said when he was courting me that my hair was the colour of marigolds, and they was always his favourite flowers; he had, 'em in his own little garden when he was a tiny lad, he said.

'Well, I picked the one with ginger hair, and called it my child, and he picked the black-haired one, which was the very picture of him—why, he had a head like a crow's back, my dear. And so we each had a baby of our own, and would you believe it, my lass, he took that care of it, you'd have thought he was an old nurse—you would indeed. He washed it and he dressed it,—ay, but I did laugh the first time,—and he gave it the bottle, and he got a little girl from the village to come and mind it when he was out, and in the evening we sat one on each side of the fire, he with his child, and I with mine; and then at night, when we went to bed, his bairn slept in his arms, and my bairn slept in mine. Well then we had them christened, and his was Jacky and mine was Jemmy, and he was proud of his child that day—as proud as Punch; he was indeed, my dear. He carried him all the way—Oh, dear! oh, dear! what have I done!' said the old woman, as she turned to the bed and saw Poppy's mother in tears.

'Why, you're crying, my dear; I oughtn't to have told you. What a silly old goose I am! I ought to have remembered that lad of mine, and how he's gone and left you, instead of giving a hand with his own babies, as my master did. Dear me, dear me, whatever was I thinking of?'

'Oh, granny,' said her daughter-in-law, 'do tell me about them; I like to hear—I do indeed; please go on.'

'Well, my dear, if you will have it so, I'll go on. They grew up beautiful babies, they did indeed, and didn't folks admire them! There's lots of people drives through our village when it's the season at Scarborough; they takes carriages, my dear, and they come driving out with lads in red jackets riding on them poor tired horses—"post-williams," I think they call them. I'm telling you no lie, my dear, when I tell you them little lads has brought in scores of threepenny bits that the ladies have thrown them from their carriages, when the girl took them out by the lodge gate; they was so taken with the pretty dears, they was.

'Well, all went on well, my lass, till the teeth began to come,—oh, them teeth, what a nuisance they are! I've lost mine, my dear, all but two, and I'm sure it's a good job to have done with 'em—they're nothing but bother, always aching and breaking and worrying you. Well, the teething went very hard with the babies; his child was the worst, though, and one day little Jacky had a convulsion fit, and didn't my master send off for the doctor in a hurry; and all that night he sat up watching his bairn, for fear it should have another fit. Doctor came once or twice after that, for the little lad kept poorly, though the fits did not come back.

'"Ay, doctor," I says one day, when he had little Jack in his arms, and was saying what a pretty boy he was—"Ay, doctor," I says, "but look at my child," and I held up little Jemmy. "He's the beauty now, isn't he, doctor?"

'"You're very fond of that boy, aren't you?" says doctor.

'"Fond of him! Why, doctor," I says, "I love him till I often think I could go bare-foot all my life and live on bread and water if it would do him a bit of good."

'"Take care you don't love him too much," says doctor, looking quite grave; "folks mustn't make idols even of their own bairns. Don't be offended, missis," he says, "but it doesn't do to set your heart too much on anything, not even on your own little lad: you might lose him, you know."

'Well, I was huffy with doctor after that; I was a bit put out, and I says, "Well, doctor, if I thought I was going to lose him I would love him a hundred times better than ever." So, my dear, doctor shook his head at me and went away, and (would you believe it!) only five hours after I had to send for him all in a hurry to come to my child. He'd taken a fit like Jacky had; but oh! my dear, he didn't come out of it as Jacky did; it was a sore, sore fit, and before doctor could get to him—and he ran all the way from the village—my bonny bairn was gone.'

'Oh, grandmother, you would feel that,' said Poppy's mother.

'Yes, my dear, I did indeed; and when bedtime came, and he had his child laid aside him, and my child was laid dead in the best room downstairs, I felt as if my heart would break. He wanted me to take his child, but little Jacky was used to father, and wouldn't come to me, and, my dear, I cried myself to sleep.'

'And how much longer did the other baby live, grandmother?' said Poppy.

'Only fifteen days, my dear, and we buried 'em both in one little grave,—I often go to look at it now;—and when we put his child in, and I saw my child's little coffin at the bottom of the grave, my dear, I wished I could go in too.

'I was very hard and rebellious, ay, I was, I see it all now,' said grandmother, wiping her eyes. 'But just to think of God giving 'em back to me after five-and-forty years! Why, it's wonderful,' said the old woman in a cheerful voice. '"Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits." That's the verse for me, my dear, now, isn't it?'

And grandmother took up first Enoch and then Elijah, and kissed them and hugged them as lovingly as ever she had kissed her own little babies.

CHAPTER IX

JOHN HENRY'S BAIRN

I have read the story of a fairy who came down into a dark and dismal room, where a poor girl clad in rags was cleaning the fireside, and who, by one touch of her wand, changed everything in the room; the girl found herself dressed in a beautiful robe, and everything around her was made lovely and pleasant to look at. It was a new place altogether.

Now, I think that grandmother was something like that good fairy, for it was perfectly wonderful what a change she made, in the course of a few hours, in that dismal house. No sooner had she had a cup of tea, than she took off her bonnet and shawl, and set to work to put things in order. First, she gave the babies a warm bath, and cried over them, and loved them to her heart's content; and then, as they had no clean clothes to put on, she wrapped them in some of her own garments which she took from her bundle, and, soothed by the unusual comfort and cleanliness, Enoch and Elijah were soon fast asleep.

Then grandmother trotted downstairs again for more hot water, and washed Poppy's poor sick mother, and brushed her tangled hair, and then dressed her in one of her own clean night-gowns, smelling of the sweet field of clover in which it had been dried, and put on the bed a pair of her own sheets, which she had brought with her in case they might be useful.

Oh, how grateful Poppy's mother was!

'Granny,' she said, as she gave her a kiss, 'I haven't been so comfortable never since I was ill; I declare I feel quite sleepy.'

'Well, go to sleep, my lass,' said grandmother; 'that's the very best thing you can do.' So she laid the babies beside their mother in bed, and she and Poppy went downstairs.

'Now, my little lass,' said the old woman, 'you and me will soon tidy things up here.'

It was wonderful to Poppy to see how quickly her grandmother could work. She was a brisk, active old woman, and in a very short time all the cups, and saucers, and plates were washed and put by, the fireside was swept, and the kitchen table was scoured. Then, leaving Poppy to wash the floor, her grandmother carried off the heap of dirty clothes lying in the corner into the tiny back kitchen, and, long before Poppy's mother or the babies woke, there were two lines of little garments hung out to be quickly dried in the scorching afternoon sun.

'And now, Poppy,' said grandmother, 'fetch my basket, my good little lass, and we'll unpack it.'

Oh, what a basket that was! Poppy's eyes opened wide with astonishment when she saw all that it contained. There was a whole pound of fresh country butter, a loaf of grandmother's own home-made bread, a plum cake she had made on purpose for Poppy, a jar of honey made by grandmother's bees, and a box of fresh eggs laid by grandmother's hens, a bottle of thick yellow cream, and, what Poppy liked best of all, a bunch of roses, and southernwood and pansies, and lavender from grandmother's garden.

It was very pleasant to get tea ready, when there were so many good things to put on the table, and it was still more pleasant when Poppy's mother woke, to take her a cup of tea with the good country cream in it, and to watch how she enjoyed some thin slices of grandmother's bread and butter, and a fresh egg laid that morning by 'little Jenny, the bonniest hen of the lot.'

'Now, Poppy,' said grandmother, when tea was over, 'you get on your hat, and go out a bit. You're a good little lass if ever there was one—bless you, my darling, my own John Henry's bairn! But you want a bit of rest and play, you do indeed.'

'Yes, that she does,' said her mother. 'Why, it's weeks since she got out for a walk—not since I was in bed, bless her!'

So Poppy put on her hat and went out. It was a lovely summer's evening; the great heat of the day was over, and a gentle breeze was blowing, which was very cooling and refreshing to the tired little girl. She went slowly past the great cathedral, and she thought how beautiful it looked, standing out against the quiet evening sky. Then she climbed up a flight of stone steep, and these took her to the top of the old wall, which went all round that ancient city.

And now Poppy had a beautiful view, over the tops of the chimneys, and across the black smoky courts, to where the green fields were lying in the evening sunshine, and the river was lighted up by the rays of the setting sun. And there on the top of the old city wall, in a quiet little corner where no one could see her, Poppy knelt down, and thanked God for hearing her prayer, and for sending grandmother to help her. On her way home she met Jack coming to meet her. 'Poppy,' he said, 'I've got a present for you.'

He put his hand under his thick fustian jacket and pulled out something tied up tightly in a red cotton pocket-handkerchief.

'Come and sit on this doorstep, Poppy,' he said, 'and look what it is.'