“My love, I think I have something to say that will please you;” said Phebe’s Mamma to her, one day.
“O dear, have you, Mamma,—pray tell me directly,” said Phebe; “I cannot think what it is.”
“Why, my love, Mrs. Mason has been here this morning, and she was so kind as to ask me to let you spend a few days with her; so I told her, that if you were a good girl you should go on Tuesday.—Shall you like it, Phebe?”
“O dear, yes, Mamma; how very much delighted I am;—what a good girl I will be;—but what a while it is to wait,—Friday—Saturday—Sunday—Monday—Tuesday: I wish it had been sooner;—I shall be so happy.—I suppose Mrs. Mason’s house is not at all like ours, is it, Mamma?”
“No, my dear; I believe that you will find many things at Mrs. Mason’s quite different from what you see here.”
“Dear, how glad I am of that,” said Phebe; “and then, besides all the fine things I shall see there, I shall not have my lessons to learn, nor be called to do a great many tiresome jobs that hinder me so when I am at play; and I shall not have William to tease me; and that will be a great comfort.”
“So you really think that you shall be happier without poor William, do you Phebe? I am sorry for that;” said her Mother.
“O, I like to have him with me sometimes, Mamma; and so I should always if he would not tease me so much; but it was only the other day that he came into the nursery, when I had drest my doll in a clean white frock, and it was looking so pretty; and instead of praising it, as I expected, he held it up by one foot and laughed at it, and said he wondered what pleasure I could take in making clothes for a log of wood.—And he did what was worse still, last night, Mamma; for he took up my wax doll, and really held one of its hands to the candle, because he said he wanted to seal a letter to cousin Thomas; only Papa was in the room and reproved him for it, (which I was very glad of,) and said he wondered how he could tease the poor child so; and then William said he did not really intend to do it, because it was not the right sort of wax; but I dare say he would if Papa had not been there. Now was not it very wrong of him, Mamma?”
“I know he often teases you, my love; for boys are very fond of teasing their little sisters; but yet I think you should not be very glad when he is reproved, because he is really good natured, and willing to do any thing for you that you want.”
“So he is, poor fellow,” said Phebe; “and I did not particularly wish him to be reproved, only I was afraid that he would spoil my doll. But let us say something more about going to Mrs. Mason’s, Mamma.—I dare say I shall sit up to supper every night; and I shall most likely sleep in a room all by myself, instead of in the nursery: and every thing will be a great deal more pleasant than it is here.”
“Why, really Phebe,” said her Mamma, “if a little girl who lives in a comfortable house, with a kind Papa and Mamma, and several good brothers and sisters, and a great many playthings, finds so much to be discontented with, I cannot promise that she will find every thing just as she would wish it, even at Mrs. Mason’s.”
“I am not very discontented, Mamma,” said Phebe; “only I think there are a few things that I would alter if I were a woman and could do exactly as I liked.”
“I never yet heard of a woman who could do exactly as she liked, Phebe; and I am afraid that, when you are a woman, you will always find somebody to tease you, even though William should live a great many miles away; and though you should then have no Papa and Mamma, “to make you do a great many tiresome jobs when you want to play”; or rather I mean, Phebe, that those who are apt to be fretful and discontented about very little things, will always have a great many little things to fret about.”
Phebe could never think of the time when she should have no Papa and Mamma, without feeling the tears come into her eyes, for she loved her parents dearly, and if ever she felt unwilling to leave off playing when her Mother called her, she had only to think, how very—very sorry she should be when that time came, to recollect that her Mamma had ever found her in the least disobedient or unkind; and then she left off and went cheerfully, even though she were at play ever so prettily.
“However, Mamma,” said Phebe, who wished to continue the conversation; “I cannot think of any thing that is likely to make me at all uncomfortable while I am at Mrs. Mason’s.”
“Then I hope you will be quite happy all the time, my love; and remember, when you return, I shall ask you whether you have or not.”
“O do, Mamma; pray do not forget it;” said Phebe, “who thought that, for once, her Mamma would certainly be mistaken.”
Phebe’s Mamma was quite right in telling her that she would find many things at Mrs. Mason’s different from what she had been used to at home; for Phebe’s parents lived in a handsome red brick house, in the middle of a large town: there was a garden behind the house, but it was not very large, and there were high brick walls all round it; and then they had to walk through several smoky streets before they could get into the pretty green fields, and feel the sweet fresh air blowing on them.—But Mr. Mason’s was a cheerful looking white house, standing in the midst of the fields; with a great many tall trees about it, and a farm yard in sight of one of the windows, where there were cows, and pigs, and ducks, and geese, and a number of things that were all quite new to Phebe.—Mr. and Mrs. Mason, too, were plain elderly people, not at all like Phebe’s Papa and Mamma; but they were very pleasant people, and Phebe had often heard her parents say that they had a great respect for them. They had no family of their own; but they were very fond of children; Mrs. Mason, particularly, was extremely good-natured to them, and was sure to laugh at every thing they said.
Phebe asked a great many questions every day about her visit, and thought that Tuesday was a long while coming; however it came at last, and when dinner was over the chaise was brought to the door, and as soon as she was comfortably seated between her Papa and Mamma they set off, and Phebe began to be very happy.
“Well, Phebe, are you quite happy?” said her Papa, after they had gone a little way.
“Yes, thank you, Papa;—that is to say, I should be, if the sun did not shine exactly in my eyes;—and I am obliged to keep holding my bonnet too, or else I am afraid the wind would blow it off; and that makes my arm ache rather.”
“So you see, my love, there is always something to keep us from being quite happy,” said her Papa.
“Yes, till we get to Mrs. Mason’s, Papa,” replied Phebe.
“What a pretty house,” exclaimed she, as the chaise stopped at Mr. Mason’s gate; “and what a nice garden before it!”
They were shown into a very pretty cheerful parlour, with a window almost down to the ground, overlooking the garden, which was filled with all sorts of flowers, and just beyond the garden was a large meadow, where there were a number of lambs skipping about, and looking as frolicsome as could be. Mr. and Mrs. Mason took a great deal of notice of Phebe, and promised that she should have whatever she liked, all the while she was there.
“O how I will run about in the fields to-morrow,” thought Phebe; “and then when I come in, how delightful it will be to sit in this pretty parlour and look at the lambs!”
Soon after tea her Papa and Mamma left her, with many injunctions to be a good girl. She had never visited any where alone, before, and she could scarcely help crying when she saw them drive out of sight, and leave her all alone, five miles from home. It soon grew dark, and Phebe began to feel very tired. Mr. Mason was reading the newspaper, and Mrs. Mason had got out her knitting; but Phebe had nothing at all to do, and very much wished it was bed-time.
“Perhaps, my dear, you’d like to go to bed before supper,” said Mrs. Mason, seeing her look very sleepy.
“No, thank you, Ma’am, I had much rather sit up to supper,” said Phebe, gaping.
“I’m sure I do not know what we can find to amuse you,” said Mrs. Mason; “for I have no playthings, and I’m afraid you’ll be sadly dull, poor thing:—let’s see though,” said she, “I think there’s a box of dominoes somewhere, if I can but find them. O here they are, I declare: you’ll like them, won’t you, dear.”
Phebe was not very fond of dominoes, especially when she had no one to play with her: she contrived however, by the help of them, to keep her eyes open till supper-time; and directly after supper she went to bed, thinking that, the evening was not quite so pleasant at Mrs. Mason’s as she had expected. Besides, she had never slept by herself before, and she felt so lonely when Susan had taken her candle away, that she was glad to go to sleep as fast as possible.
The next morning she awoke in very good spirits, and rose the moment that Susan called her. She found her way to the parlour; but was surprised to see that the window shutters were not open.
“No, this way, if you please, Miss;” said Susan, opening a door on the other side the passage.
“Dear,” said Phebe, looking quite amazed as she entered a large old-fashioned kitchen, strewed with red sand, finding that they were really going to breakfast there. “Well, I did not know that people ever lived in kitchens: I thought they were only made for servants. We do not live in ours.”
“No, I dare say not,” said Mrs. Mason, “but you like this kitchen love, don’t you?”
“Yes, I like it very well,” replied Phebe; “but I think the parlour a great deal more pleasant:—besides the bricks are so cold to one’s feet.—We have carpets in all our rooms except the kitchen; and I dare say we should have one there, if we lived in it. Such nice warm thick ones; I think they call them turkey carpets—you cannot think how comfortable they are.”
“Aye, I dare say they are for those that like them; but I am very happy without one, my little lady,” said Mr. Mason, who knew that he had excellent reasons for not having a turkey carpet in his kitchen.
“But how I wonder you do not live in the parlour: I cannot think what you have it for,” said Phebe; who was very fond of talking when her Mamma was out of the way.
“We have it to use sometimes, when we want it, my dear;” said Mrs. Mason: “but I like the kitchen best in common.”
“O, I suppose you only use it when you have company; that’s it, I dare say,” said Phebe; “and that is why we were there last night, when Papa and Mamma were here. Well, I shall tell them that, when I go home.”
“I dare say your ’Ma don’t want to hear about that, dear,” said Mrs. Mason; “for my part I don’t think it worth remembering; not I.”
“O yes, I shall certainly tell her,” replied Phebe: “I am sure she will think it very funny that you should live in the kitchen.”
Phebe could not help thinking just now, that she would “do a great many tiresome jobs,” as well as submit to some of William’s teasing, rather than always live in a kitchen; especially in a kitchen without a carpet.
She employed herself during breakfast in looking at every thing in the kitchen; and made many observations, some of which were very impertinent; and though Mr. and Mrs. Mason laughed at the droll things she said, they would have felt rather uncomfortable if any body else had been there to hear them.
“O dear, there is a gun,” said she, having at last discovered the square hole in the ceiling, in which Mr. Mason kept his fire-arms.
“Aye, shall I take it down, and show it you, dear,” said Mr. Mason.
“O, no, pray don’t—pray don’t,” said Phebe; “I am so frightened at it.” Phebe had often heard her Mamma tell William that guns were dangerous things for children, because they sometimes went off when people did not expect it; so, notwithstanding all that Mr. Mason could say, she kept casting anxious glances at the ceiling, all breakfast time, as if she were every instant expecting to be shot.
When breakfast was over, Phebe felt very glad that she was not wished to go to her lessons, though she longed for somebody to play with. She wandered for sometime about the garden; and at last ventured into the field which joined it. “Dear,” thought she, “how courageous Mamma would think me, if she could see me now,—walking all alone in the fields; and I am not at all afraid.”
The meadow was covered with cowslips, daisies, and buttercups; and she gathered a lap full of them, together with some primroses and violets, with which the hedges were filled. She then sat down on the stump of a tree close to the stile, at the further end of the field, and began making them into a large nosegay. She had nearly finished it, when she heard a noise like something breathing very loud, close to her; and lifting up her head, she saw a terrific bull, standing, close to the other side of the stile, looking at her. Without waiting an instant to consider what harm it could do for a bull to look at her, she threw down all her flowers; and set off running home as fast as she could, not stopping even to look back at him, till she had got within the garden gate. “O dear, the bull!” exclaimed Phebe, scarcely able to speak.
“My patience, Miss! whatever have you been a doing of;” said Susan, as soon as she saw her. “Why I was sitting comfortably close to the stile, and I just happened to look up, and there was a great bull staring at me as hard as ever he could; and I was so very much frightened; and I am so hot and tired with running:—O dear! O dear!” said Phebe.
“What’s the matter,—what’s the matter?” cried Mrs. Mason, running to her; for having heard Phebe’s exclamation, she feared that some misfortune had happened.
“Loy! loy! Ma’am,” said Susan, laughing heartily, “if Miss ha’nt been a scampering all across the long mead as hard as ever she could tear, just because she saw the bull a looking at her; and she is in such a heat, poor thing.”
“Bless the child,” said Mrs. Mason, “why what did you think he could do to you?” “O, Ma’am, he looked exactly as if he were just going to jump over the gate at me, and then what should I have done.”
“Not he, indeed; he would soon have been tired of looking at you, and then he would have walked away again. But it is well he was not in the same field, for then, if he had seen you running, he would most likely have run after you.”
“Well, I almost wish I had not minded it now,” said Phebe; “and I have lost all my pretty flowers: dear how sorry I am.”
“O, never mind the flowers,” said Mrs. Mason, “there are plenty more to be found: but do sit down and cool yourself, child.”
Phebe was so tired and heated with her run, that she sat still for a very long time, thinking how wonderful it was that any body should not be frightened at a bull, and wishing too that she had not lost her flowers. She did not, however, feel inclined to gather any more that day, but thought she would wait till the next morning, and then summon up all her courage for another ramble. But what was her disappointment at finding, when she awoke in the morning, that it rained hard; she thought it very unfortunate, that, out of so few days, one of them should be rainy.
“Dear! dear! what shall I find to do all day long,” said Phebe, as soon as she came down stairs. “What a very great pity it is that it should rain so fast.”
“O, do not make troubles out of nothing, my little lass,” said Mr. Mason, “I dare say you will find something to do, though it is a wet day: beside don’t you know, that we should not complain when things are not just as we wish them to be?”
It was no wonder if poor Phebe felt rather low spirited at the prospect of a rainy day, with neither playfellows nor playthings to amuse her. It was really not much better than being at home. She followed Mrs. Mason into the dairy; but the wind and rain, beating in through the open wire-work of the window, made it so damp and chilly, that she was soon tired of standing there. Phebe thought that of all Mrs. Mason’s old-fashioned ways this was the oddest; to have a window without any glass in it! “How I wonder you do not have glass instead of wire in that window; it would be so much warmer,” said Phebe, holding her hand against her ear, that the wind might not blow into it.
“That’s the very reason why we’ve wire instead of glass, my dear,” said Mrs. Mason, laughing; “for, if we had not a great deal of air, the milk would not keep sweet.”
“O would not it, I did not know that,” said Phebe; who just now recollected what her Mamma had very often told her; that children should never attempt to teach grown people.
She returned to the kitchen again, and stood for sometime at the window, looking into the farm yard; but there was nothing to be seen but a few cows, standing as still as Phebe, and seeming not much happier.
“How I should like to have that to play with,” said Phebe, pointing to a large glass case which stood over the mantle-piece; “but I suppose I must not.”
This glass case was indeed enough to tempt any little girl, especially one who like Phebe had not any thing to do. It contained, among other things, two smiling wax dolls, drest in stiff silk frocks, with some gold lace at the bottom,—a number of shells,—a white mouse,—a peach,—and a cucumber; some in wax and some in stone, all nicely arranged, among large bunches of artificial flowers. But Mrs. Mason could not consent to have this taken down and pulled to pieces, and the mantle-piece being very high, poor Phebe’s neck ached long before she had looked at it as much as she wished.
“Dear me,” said Mrs. Mason, laying down her work, “I’ve just thought of something that will be the very thing for you. I’ve got a doll up stairs, if I’m not mistaken, that I’ve had ever since I was such another as you—how glad I am I happened to think of it.” So she went up stairs directly, in search of it; and Phebe followed close behind, wishing she would walk rather faster.
“O what a frightful looking thing!” exclaimed Phebe, as soon as she saw it; and perhaps most other little girls might have thought the same; though certainly Phebe should not have appeared so discontented, when Mrs. Mason was trying to please her. It was a large black doll, drest in a coarse white frock, which had grown very yellow and dusty with lying by. The waist was very long, with tight sleeves coming just below the elbows; and the doll had a row of pink beads round its black neck.
“I do not like it at all,” said Phebe: “I wonder you should have kept it so long; what ugly things old-fashioned people used to like!”
“Then I’ll put it away again, shall I, dear,” said Mrs. Mason; “’tis a pity I left off my work to fetch it.”
“No, I think I’ll take it, as there is nothing else,” said Phebe; “but I don’t know how I shall play with it.” “O stay though,” said she, “I know now what I’ll do. I’ll suppose that it is a Hottentot just come to England. It will do very well for that, will it not?” So she ran down stairs with it, feeling in rather better spirits than she had done all the morning.
Phebe amused herself the rest of the day with the Hottentot, the glass case, and the box of dominoes, and went to bed hoping most earnestly that the next morning would be fine.
To her great joy she saw the sun shining brightly into her room as soon as she opened her eyes; but Phebe could not run about in the meadow, because the grass was too wet; she therefore amused herself as well as she could in the garden, and watched the carriages that passed in the road.
In the afternoon she went with Susan to see the cows milked, and stood looking at them for a long time very comfortably, till she happened to turn round, and see the bull standing in the yard.
“O dear,” said she, catching hold of Susan’s apron, “I do think that’s the very bull that looked at me on Wednesday.”
“Aye, that it is, you may depend upon it, Miss,” said Susan; “and I shou’nt wonder but he is going to look at you again to-day, too; so be sure you keep fast hold of me.”
Phebe did not once let go her hold of Susan’s apron, and was very glad when she said that it was time to go in to tea.
Phebe staid two or three days longer at Mrs. Mason’s, and was surprised to find, every day, that some little thing happened to make her rather uncomfortable; or else, (as was often the case with Phebe,) she was discontented when there was no real occasion. So that she sometimes thought there were as many things to tease her at Mrs. Mason’s, as at home; only they were of a different sort.
At last the day came, on which Mrs. Mason had agreed to take her home. Every thing looked so cheerful and pretty that morning, that Phebe thought she should have been quite happy if she could only have staid one more day; but this was out of the question, for very soon after breakfast Mrs. Mason was ready to set off, and after what Phebe thought a very short ride, they reached the bustling town.
“Well, Ma’am, I’ve brought her home safe and sound you see,” said Mrs. Mason, when they went in. “She has been a very good girl, and we were delighted to hear her talk; but she is so timid, pretty dear, she’s afraid of every thing.”
To prove this, Mrs. Mason told the story of the bull, which Phebe had not intended to mention, because she knew that William would be sure to laugh at her for it, and so he did very much.
Mrs. Mason did not stay long, but kissing Phebe, left her to tell all the particulars of her visit; and her Mamma did not forget to ask if any thing had happened, “to make her in the least uncomfortable while she was there.”