brownie on the ice
winter was a grand time with the six little children especially when they had frost and snow. this happened seldom enough for it to be the greatest possible treat when it did happen; and it never lasted very long, for the winters are warm in devonshire.
there was a little lake three fields off, which made the most splendid sliding-place imaginable. no skaters went near it—it was not large enough; and besides, there was nobody to skate, the neighborhood being lonely. the lake itself looked the loneliest place imaginable. it was not very deep—not deep enough to drown a man—but it had a gravelly bottom, and was always very clear. also, the trees round it grew so thick that they sheltered it completely from the wind, so, when it did freeze, it generally froze as smooth as a sheet of glass.
"the lake bears!" was such a grand event, and so rare, that when it did occur, the news came at once to the farm, and the children carried it as quickly to their mother. for she had promised them that, if such a thing did happen this year—it did not happen every year—lessons should be stopped entirely, and they should all go down to the lake and slide, if they liked, all day long.
so one morning, just before christmas, the eldest boy ran in with a countenance of great delight.
"mother, mother, the lake bears!" (it was rather a compliment to call it a lake, it being only about twenty yards across and forty long.) "the lake really bears!"
"who says so?"
"bill. bill has been on it for an hour this morning, and has made us two such beautiful slides, he says—an upslide and a down-slide. may we go directly?"
the mother hesitated.
"you promised, you know," pleaded the children.
"very well, then; only be careful."
"and may we slide all day long, and never come home for dinner or any thing?"
"yes, if you like. only gardener must go with you, and stay all day."
this they did not like at all; nor, when gardener was spoken to, did he.
"you bothering children! i wish you may all get a good ducking in the lake! serve you right for making me lose a day's work, just to look after you little monkeys. i've a great mind to tell your mother i won't do it."
but he did not, being fond of his mistress. he was also fond of his work, but he had no notion of play. i think the saying of, "all work and no play makes jack a dull boy," must have been applied[60] to him, for gardener, whatever he had been as a boy, was certainly a dull and melancholy man. the children used to say that if he and idle bill could have been kneaded into one, and baked in the oven—a very warm oven—they would have come out rather a pleasant person.
as it was, gardener was any thing but a pleasant person; above all, to spend a long day with, and on the ice, where one needs all one's cheerfulness and good-humor to bear pinched fingers and numbed toes, and trips and tumbles, and various uncomfortablenesses.
"he'll growl at us all day long—he'll be a regular spoil-sport!" lamented the children. "oh! mother, mightn't we go alone?"
"no!" said the mother; and her "no" meant no, though she was always very kind. they argued the point no more, but started off, rather downhearted. but soon they regained their spirits, for it was a bright, clear, frosty day—the sun shining, though not enough to melt the ice, and just sufficient to lie like a thin sprinkling over the grass, and turn the brown branches into white ones. the little people danced along to keep themselves warm, carrying between them a basket which held their lunch. a very harmless lunch it was—just a large brown loaf and a lump of cheese, and a knife to cut it with. tossing the basket about in their fun, they managed to tumble the knife out, and were having a search for it in the long grass, when gardener came up, grumpily enough.
"to think of trusting you children with one of the table-knives and a basket! what a fool cook must be! i'll tell her so; and if they're lost she'll blame me: give me the things."
he put the knife angrily in one pocket. "perhaps it will cut a hole in it," said one of the children, in rather a pleased tone than otherwise; then he turned the lunch all out on the grass and crammed it in the other pocket, hiding the basket behind a hedge.
"i'm sure i'll not be at the trouble of carrying it," said he, when the children cried out at this; "and you shan't carry it either, for you'll knock it about and spoil it. and as for your lunch getting warm in my pocket, why, so much the better this cold day."
it was not a lively joke, and they knew the pocket was very dirty; indeed, the little girls had seen him stuff a dead rat into it only the day before. they looked ready to cry; but there was no help for them, except going back and complaining to their mother, and they did not like to do that. besides, they knew that, though gardener was cross, he was trustworthy, and she would never let them go down to the lake without him.
so they followed him, trying to be as good as they could—though it was difficult work. one of them proposed pelting him with snowballs, as they pelted each other. but at the first—which fell in his neck—he turned round so furiously, that they never sent a second, but walked behind him as meek as mice.
as they went, they heard little steps pattering after them.
"perhaps it is the brownie to play with us—i wish he would," whispered the youngest girl to the eldest boy, whose hand she generally held; and then the little pattering steps sounded again, traveling through the snow, but they saw nobody—so they said nothing.
the children would have liked to go straight to the ice; but gardener insisted on taking them a mile round, to look at an extraordinary animal which a farmer there had just got—sent by his brother in australia. the two old men stood gossiping so long that the children wearied extremely. every minute seemed an hour till they got on the ice.
at last one of them pulled gardener's coat-tails, and whispered that they were quite ready to go.
"then i'm not," and he waited ever so much longer, and got a drink of hot cider, which made him quite lively for a little while.
but by the time they reached the lake, he was as cross as ever. he struck the ice with his stick, but made no attempt to see if it really did bear—though he would not allow the children to go one step upon it till he had tried.
"i know it doesn't bear, and you'll just have to go home again—a good thing too—saves me from losing a day's work."
"try, only try; bill said it bore," implored the boys, and looked wistfully at the two beautiful slides—just as bill said, one up and one down—stretching all across the lake; "of course it bears, or bill could not have made these slides."
"bill's an ass!" said the gardener, and put his heavy foot cautiously on the ice. just then there was seen jumping across it a creature which certainly had never been seen on ice before. it made the most extraordinary bounds on its long hind legs, with its little fore legs tucked up in front of it as if it wanted to carry a muff; and its long, stiff tail sticking out straight behind, to balance it itself with apparently. the children at first started with surprise, and then burst out laughing, for it was the funniest creature, and had the funniest way of getting along, that they had ever seen in their lives.
"it's the kangaroo!" said gardener, in great excitement. "it has got loose—and it's sure to be lost—and what a way mr. giles will be in! i must go and tell him. or stop, i'll try and catch it."
but in vain—it darted once or twice across the ice, dodging him, as it were; and once coming so close that he nearly caught it by the tail—to the children's great delight—then it vanished entirely.
"i must go and tell mr. giles directly," said gardener, and then stopped. for he had promised not to leave the children; and it was such a wild-goose chase, after an escaped kangaroo. but he might get half a crown as a reward, and he was sure of another glass of cider.
"you just stop quiet here, and i'll be back in five minutes," said he to the children. "you may go a little way on the ice—i think it's sound enough; only mind you don't tumble in, for there'll be nobody to pull you out."
"oh no," said the children, clapping their hands. they did not care for tumbling in, and were quite glad there was nobody there to pull them out. they hoped gardener would stop a very long time away—only, as some one suggested when he was seen hurrying across the snowy field, he had taken away their lunch in his pocket, too.
off they darted, the three elder boys, with a good run; the biggest of the girls followed after them; and soon the whole four were skimming one after the other, as fast as a railway train, across the slippery ice. and, like a railway train, they had a collision, and all came tumbling one over the other, with great screaming and laughing, to the high bank on the other side. the two younger ones stood mournfully watching the others from the opposite bank—when there stood beside them a small brown man.
"ho-ho! little people," said he, coming between them and taking hold of a hand of each. his was so warm and theirs so cold, that it was quite comfortable. and then, somehow, they found in their mouths a nice lozenge—i think it was peppermint, but am not sure; which comforted them still more.
"did you want me to play with you?" cried the brownie; "then here i am. what shall we do? have a turn on the ice together?"
no sooner said than done. the two children felt themselves floating along—it was more like floating than running—with brownie between them; up the lake, and down the lake, and across the lake, not at all interfering with the sliders—indeed, it was a great deal better than sliding. rosy and breathless, their toes so nice and warm, and their hands feeling like mince-pies just taken out of the oven—the little ones came to a standstill.
the elder ones stopped their sliding, and looked toward brownie with entreating eyes. he swung himself up to a willow bough, and then turned head over heels on to the ice.
"halloo! you don't mean to say you big ones want a race too! well, come along—if the two eldest will give a slide to the little ones."
he watched them take a tiny sister between them, and slide her up one slide and down another, screaming with delight. then he took the two middle children in either hand.
"one, two, three, and away!" off they started—scudding along as light as feathers and as fast as steam-engines, over the smooth, black ice, so clear that they could see the bits of stick and water-grasses frozen in it, and even the little fishes swimming far down below—if they had only looked long enough.
when all had had their fair turns, they began to be frightfully hungry.
the two little children felt themselves floating along—with brownie between them—page 64 the two little children felt themselves floating along—with brownie between them—page 64
"catch a fish for dinner, and i'll lend you a hook," said brownie. at which they all laughed, and then looked rather grave. pulling a cold, raw live fish from under the ice and eating it was not a pleasant idea of dinner. "well, what would you like to have? let the little one choose."
she said, after thinking a minute, that she should like a currant-cake.
"and i'd give all you a bit of it—a very large bit—i would indeed!" added she, almost with the tears in her eyes—she was so very hungry.
"do it, then!" said the brownie, in his little squeaking voice.
immediately the stone that the little girl was sitting on—a round, hard stone, and so cold!—turned into a nice hot cake—so hot that she jumped up directly. as soon as she saw what it was, she clapped her hands for joy.
"oh, what a beautiful, beautiful cake! only we haven't got a knife to cut it."
the boys felt in all their pockets, but somehow their knives never were there when they were wanted.
"look! you've got one in your hand!" said brownie to the little one; and that minute a bit of stick she held turned into a bread-knife—silver, with an ivory handle—big enough and sharp enough, without being too sharp. for the youngest girl was not allowed to use sharp knives, though she liked cutting things excessively, especially cakes.
"that will do. sit you down and carve the dinner. fair shares and don't let any body eat too much. now begin, ma'am," said the brownie, quite politely, as if she had been ever so old.
oh, how proud the little girl was. how bravely she set to work, and cut five of the biggest slices you ever saw, and gave them to her brothers and sisters, and was just going to take the sixth slice for herself, when she remembered the brownie.
"i beg your pardon," said she, as politely as he, though she was such a very little girl, and turned round to the wee brown man. but he was nowhere to be seen. the slices of cake in the children's hands remained cake, and uncommonly good it was, and such substantial eating that it did nearly the same as dinner; but the cake itself turned suddenly to a stone again, and the knife into a bit of stick.
for there was the gardener coming clumping along by the bank of the lake, and growling as he went.
"have you got the kangaroo?" shouted the children, determined to be civil, if possible.
"this place is bewitched, i think," said he, "the kangaroo was fast asleep in the cow-shed. what! how dare you laugh at me?"
but they hadn't laughed at all. and they found it no laughing matter, poor children, when gardener came on the ice, and began to scold them and order them about. he was perfectly savage with crossness; for the people at giles's farm had laughed at him very much, and he did not like to be laughed at—and at the top of the field he had by chance met his mistress, and she asked him severely how he could think of leaving the children alone.
altogether, his conscience pricked him a good deal, and when people's consciences prick them, sometimes they get angry with other people, which is very silly, and only makes matters worse.
"what have you been doing all this time?" said he.
"all this five minutes?" said the oldest boy, mischievously; for gardener was only to be away five minutes, and he had staid a full[69] hour. also, when he fumbled in his pocket for the children's lunch—to stop their tongues, perhaps—he found it was not there.
they set up a great outcry; for, in spite of the cake, they could have eaten a little more. indeed, the frost had such an effect upon all their appetites, that they felt not unlike that celebrated gentleman of whom it is told that
"he ate a cow, and ate a calf,
he ate an ox, and ate a half;
he ate a church, he ate the steeple,
he ate the priest, and all the people,
and said he hadn't had enough then."
"we're so hungry, so very hungry! couldn't you go back again and fetch us some dinner?" cried they, entreatingly.
"not i, indeed. you may go back to dinner yourselves. you shall, indeed, for i want my dinner too. two hours is plenty long enough to stop on the ice."
"it isn't two hours—it's only one."
"well, one will do better than more. you're all right now—and you might soon tumble in, or break your legs on the slide. so come away home."
it wasn't kind of gardener, and i don't wonder the children felt it hard; indeed, the eldest boy resisted stoutly.
"mother said we might stop all day, and we will stop all day. you may go home if you like."
"i won't, and you shall!" said gardener, smacking a whip that he carried in his hand. "stop till i catch you, and i'll give you this about your back, my fine gentleman."
and he tried to follow, but the little fellow darted across the ice, objecting to be either caught or whipped. it may have been rather naughty, but i am afraid it was great fun dodging the gardener up and down; he being too timid to go on the slippery ice, and sometimes getting so close that the whip nearly touched the lad.
"bless us! there's the kangaroo again!" said he, starting. just as he had caught the boy, and lifted the whip, the creature was seen hop-hopping from bank to bank. "i can't surely be mistaken this time; i must catch it."
which seemed quite easy, for it limped as if it was lame, or as if the frost had bitten its toes, poor beast! gardener went after it, walking cautiously on the slippery, crackling ice, and never minding whether or not he walked on the slides, though they called out to him that his nailed boots would spoil them.
but whether it was that ice which bears a boy will not bear a man, or whether at each lame step of the kangaroo there came a great crack, is more than i can tell. however, just as gardener reached the middle of the lake, the ice suddenly broke, and in he popped.—the kangaroo too, apparently, for it was not seen afterward.
what a hullaballoo the poor man made! not that he was drowning—the lake was too shallow to drown any body, but he got terribly wet, and the water was very cold. he soon scrambled out, the boys helping him; and then he hobbled home as fast as he could, not even saying thank you, or taking the least notice of them.
indeed, nobody took notice of them—nobody came to fetch them, and they might have staid sliding the whole afternoon. only somehow they did not feel quite easy in their minds. and though the hole in the ice closed up immediately, and it seemed as firm as ever, still they did not like to slide upon it again.
the ice suddenly broke, and in he popped. the ice suddenly broke, and in he popped.
"i think we had better go home and tell mother every thing," said one of them. "besides, we ought to see what has become of poor gardener. he was very wet."
"yes, but oh, how funny he looked!" and they all burst out laughing at the recollection of the figure he cut, scrambling out through the ice with his trowsers dripping up to the knees, and the water running out of his boots, making a little pool, wherever he stepped.
"and it freezes so hard, that by the time he gets home his clothes will be as stiff as a board. his wife will have to put him to the fire to thaw before he can get out of them."
again the little people burst into shouts of laughter. although they laughed, they were a little sorry for the poor old gardener, and hoped no great harm had come to him, but that he had got safe home and been dried by his own warm fire.
the frosty mist was beginning already to rise, and the sun, though still high up in the sky, looked like a ball of red-hot iron as the six children went homeward across the fields—merry enough still, but not quite so merry as they had been a few hours before.
"let's hope mother won't be vexed with us," said they, "but will let us come back again to-morrow. it wasn't our fault that gardener tumbled in."
as somebody said this, they all heard quite distinctly, "ha, ha, ha!" and "ho, ho, ho!" and a sound of little steps pattering behind.
but whatever they thought, nobody ventured to say that it was the fault of the brownie.
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