Mary: A Nursery Story for Very Little Children. Molesworth Mrs.
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.”
Mary was laughing by this time.
“Somebody,” she began in a queer little peepy tone, “somebody’s – ” but suddenly a voice from the other side of the door made them all jump.
“My dear three bears,” it said – it was papa, of course, “be so good as to shut your eyes tight till I tell you to open them, and then Mary can finish.” They did shut their eyes – they heard papa come into the room and cross over to the corner which they had not looked at. Then there was a little rustling – then he called out:
“All right. Open your eyes. Now, Mary, Tiny Bear, fire away. Somebody’s lying – ”
“In my bed,” said Mary, as she opened her eyes, thinking to herself how very funny papa was.
But when her eyes were quite open she did stare. For there he was beckoning to her from the corner where he was standing beside a dear little bed, all white lace or muslin – Mary called all sorts of stuff like that “lace” – and pink ribbons.
“Oh,” said Mary, running across the room, “that’s my bed. Mamma showed it me one day. It were my bed when I was a little girl.”
“Of course, it’s your bed,” said her father. “I told you to be Tiny Bear and say, ‘somebody’s lying in my bed.’ Somebody is lying in your bed. Look and see.”
Mary raised herself up on her tiptoes and peeped in. On the soft white pillow a little head was resting – a little head with dark fluffy curls all over it – Mary could not see all the curls, for there was a flannel shawl drawn round the little head, but she could see the face and the curls above the forehead. “It,” this wonderful new doll, seemed to be asleep – its eyes were shut, and its mouth was a tiny bit open, and it was breathing very softly. It had a dear little button of a nose, and it was rather pink all over. It looked very cosy and peaceful, and there seemed a sweet sort of lavendery scent all about the bed and the pretty new flannel blankets and the embroidered coverlet. That was pretty – white cashmere worked with tiny rosebuds. Mary remembered seeing her mamma working at it, and it was lined with pale pink silk. But just then, though Mary saw all these things and noticed them, yet, in another way, she did not see them. For all her real seeing and noticing went to the living thing in this dear little nest, the little, soft, sleeping, breathing face, that she gazed at as if she could never leave off. And behind her, gazing too, though Mary had the best place, of course, as it was her birthday and she was a girl – behind her stood her brothers. For a few seconds, which seemed longer to the children, there was perfect silence in the room. It was a strange wonderful silence. Mary never forgot it.
Her breath came fast, her heart seemed to beat in a different way, her little face, which was generally rather pale, grew flushed. And then at last she turned to her father who was waiting quietly. He did not want to interrupt them. “Like as if we were saying our prayers, wasn’t it?” Artie said afterwards. But when Mary turned she felt that he had been watching them all the time, and there was a very nice smile on his face.
“Papa,” she said. She seemed as if she could not get out another word, “papa – is it?”
“Yes, darling,” he replied, “it is. It’s a baby sister. Isn’t that the nicest present you ever had?”
Then there came back to Mary what she had often said about “not wanting a baby sister,” and she could scarcely believe she had ever felt like that. She was sorry to remember she had said it, only she knew she had not understood about it.
“I never thought her would be so pretty,” she said. “I never thought her would be so sweet. Oh papa, her is a lubly birfday present! When her wakes up, mayn’t I kiss her?”
“Of course you may, and hold her in your arms if you are very careful,” said her father, looking very pleased. He had been very anxious for Mary to love the baby a great deal, for sometimes “next-to-the-baby” children are rather jealous and cross at being no longer the pet and the youngest. It was a very good thing he and her mamma agreed that the baby had come as a birthday present to Mary.
The idea of holding her in her own arms was so delightful that again for a moment or two Mary felt as if she could not speak.
“And what do you two fellows think of your new sister?” said papa, turning to the boys. Leigh leant over the cradle and peered in very earnestly.
“She’s something like,” he said slowly, “something like those very tiny little ducklings,” and seeing a smile on his father’s face he went on to explain, though he grew rather red, “I don’t know what makes me think that. She looks so soft and cosy, I suppose. You know the little ducklings, papa? They’re like balls of fluffy down.”
“I don’t think she’s a bit like them,” said Artie, who in his turn had been having a good examination of the baby. “I think she’s more like a very little monkey. Do you remember that tiny monkey with a pink face, that sat on the organ in the street at grandmamma’s one day, Leigh? It was like her.”
He spoke