CHAPTER IV.
A MOTHER’S DELIGHTS.
SEWING! how I hate sewing! I wonder what use there is in my learning to sew,” exclaimed Lily, in rather a fretful tone, as she took me out of the box.
“I wonder what’s the use of learning to spell!” yawned little Eddy over a dog’s-eared book, as he sat on a stool close by his mother.
Mrs. Ellerslie was busy at her desk, examining her monthly accounts, with a grave and anxious expression. She was interrupted, in the midst of summing up a long bill, by her little girl bringing her work to her.
“Mamma—”
“Yes, my dear,” said Mrs. Ellerslie, without raising her eyes, and continued murmuring half aloud, “Thirteen pounds and a half at seven-pence three-farthings—I thought there must be an error somewhere.”
“Mamma, please will you lay down the hem for me?”
“Really, my love, I am very busy at present. I think that, after all the trouble which I have taken to teach you, you might manage to do that for yourself;” and again she went on with her accounts; while Lily, looking rather discontented, slowly returned to her seat.
“Mamma,” said Eddy, rising, and laying his book on her knee, “I know my lesson.”
“Wait a minute, my boy; I will hear you almost directly.”
So Eddy waited cheerfully enough, and, to amuse himself in the meantime, began trying to mend his mother’s pen, to the no small damage of the pen, and the imminent risk of his own fingers.
“Oh, Eddy, put that knife down!” exclaimed the harassed lady, when she had raised her head for a moment to see the nature of his occupation. “Come, you had better say your lesson at once,” she continued, hopelessly laying down the bill, and taking up the spelling book. She was too gentle, too loving, to be irritable or peevish; but petty cares and petty troubles were wearing out her strength, and damping the spirits which had once been so light. I saw that though Mrs. Ellerslie fondly loved her children, she could not help feeling them a weariness to her; and though they had much affection for their mother, they had little consideration for her comfort.
“Now, Eddy,” said Mrs. Ellerslie, as the little gentleman stood with his arms pressed down to his sides before her, “how do you spell the word pan?”
“B-o-y,” replied Eddy, with emphasis.
“Oh, fie! that’s not knowing your lesson. You had better look it over again,” she continued, as a servant brought in a note with the words, “The messenger is waiting for an answer.”
In the meantime, I was making my first essay in sewing; and though, I assure you, it was from no fault of mine, a lamentably bungling essay it was. The hem laid down by my little mistress was in some parts twice as broad as in others, while in one place the edge was scarcely turned in at all. I was quite hurt at the crooked stitches which Lily forced me to make, and I wondered to myself whether she worked thus from stupidity or a wilful temper.
While the lady read and answered the note in haste, Eddy sat demurely on his stool, leaning his elbows on his knees, and his chin on the palm of his hands, as if buried in profound study. As soon as the servant had left the room, he came again to his mother with,—
“Mamma, I know my lesson now.”
“What do p-i-n make?” said the lady.
“Pin,” replied Eddy; for which correct answer he received a smile and a quiet “That’s right.”
“And what do p-i-n-e make?” continued his mother.
“Needle!” shouted out the child with decision. Mrs. Ellerslie laid the book down on her knee. “I’m afraid that I must turn you again, Eddy.”
Eddy pouted as he took back his lesson, and before Mrs. Ellerslie resumed her accounts, she said to Lily, “Let me see how you are getting on with your work.”
Lily brought it reluctantly to her mother.
“Oh fie! this will never do! Are you not ashamed of such hemming?”
“I couldn’t lay down the hem right,” said Lily very dolefully.
“Could not, or would not, Lily? I am sure that you can work more neatly than that. Just take it back and unpick it nicely.”
Lily coloured, and as she bent over me again, I saw a big tear fall close beside me.
“Three and eight, nine and four,” murmured Mrs. Ellerslie over her accounts. “Lily, hold up your head; you must not stoop so my child. Eddy, do not pull off your buttons.” She leaned her head upon her hand. I believe that it was aching, and so Lily would have suspected had she looked at that pale face; but the young lady was gloomily proceeding with her work, and perhaps grumbling in her heart at the little task which she might so easily have performed.
It was clear to me that the poor mother was to have no peace, for again she was interrupted to pay the washerwoman, and had scarcely finished that small piece of business, rendered troublesome by not having enough of change, when there was a sound of crying from the room above.
“Is not that baby’s voice?” exclaimed Mrs. Ellerslie, half rising from her seat. She glanced at Lily, probably intending to send her on a message—at least it appeared so from the movement of her head; but Lily had no idea of reading the wishes of her mother, and kept sullenly pricking me in and out, sitting as if fastened to her seat. Mrs. Ellerslie, therefore, took the shortest way of settling the matter, and herself ran upstairs to the baby.
Master Eddy took advantage of her absence to clamber up her vacant chair, and make himself acquainted with the contents of her desk. A very little care on the part of Lily might have prevented him from doing any mischief; but, whether from ill-temper or inattention, she took no notice whatever of his pranks. When Mrs. Ellerslie re-entered the room, she found her ink-bottle overturned on the table, and a black stream flowing down on the carpet, which her little boy was attempting to stop with a handful of bills.
“Oh, Eddy, Eddy, what have you done!” cried the poor lady. “Lily, run quickly and call down the housemaid. I cannot leave the room for a minute,” she added, provoked beyond even her powers of endurance, “but some mischief is sure to occur.”
“Mamma, I didn’t know there was ink in the bottle—I only turned it up to see if there was any; but I’m trying to wipe it all up.”
“Oh dear! the bills!—and your hands and pinafore; just see what a state they are in! You must run up to Sarah directly!”
“I’ll never do so any more!” cried Eddy, looking at his blackened fingers, and beginning to whimper.
When the housemaid had performed her office, and the children had been sent up to prepare for their walk—happily the weather was not rainy—the weary, delicate mother again took her place before the table, and pushing aside the blackened heaps of bills, which she had now hardly a hope of being able to make out, she leaned back upon her chair and sighed.
“The children are too much for me!” she murmured to herself; “I really have not the strength to do them justice. I must ask Edward to let me have a governess. But no; how could I think of such a thing, after the hint which he gave me about expense, after his parting with his own horse and gig, and giving up the trip into Wales? He spoke, too, of the expense of keeping George at school! I am sure that there is something weighing upon his mind; shall I add to it the burden of my petty cares? No, no; whatever my dear husband finds to annoy him in the busy, bustling world, he must find his own home a quiet haven of rest. I must manage as well as I can, and always have a cheerful smile for him! One comfort is, that George’s holidays are so near;—my own boy, what a welcome he shall have!” and her lips parted with a pleasant smile, and the lines upon her pale brow quite disappeared, as if smoothed down by an invisible hand.
“This is odd enough!” thought I, as I lay half out of the work-box, sticking in my unfortunate hem; “three children are more than this poor lady can manage. I should have thought that a fourth would have driven her wild!”