Read Ebook: The Princess Idleways: A Fairy Story by Hays Helen Ashe

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Ebook has 305 lines and 16931 words, and 7 pages

ving Laura alone.

The child was bewildered. What could she do alone? Never had she been alone at home; the nurses were always beside her, except when she purposely wandered away from them to frighten them.

She looked about her--at the hard but white little bed, at the few pegs on the wall, at the strip of scarlet wool by the bedside, at the bare boards of the floor, at the ebony cross over the head of the bed--and she wondered if this humble little apartment was to be hers. Then she heard the rushing voice of a brook, and she leaned out of the window to see it tumbling over the rocks in merry sport. Tired, homesick, and perplexed, she turned from the window and lay down upon the bed, still listening to the brook, till sleep came and put an end to her wonderings.

She slept heavily a long while, but was wakened by a rapping on the floor beneath.

"Come, child, come; it is time you were hungry. Wash your face outside in the brook, and we will have some dinner," called the Motherkin.

She did not dare disobey, but sullenly crept down the ladder and went out to the brook, as she had been told. The pure cold stream refreshed her, and she could have dabbled in it willingly a longer time, but again came the call:

"Come, come; it is late. Grim has to go on a journey, or I should have asked you to set the table and help me prepare the dinner; but he was in haste, and has done it all.

"What will you have, child?--brown bread and cheese, good sweet milk, curds, and cream?"

"Peasant fare," thought Laura; "such as our cowherds at home have. I will not eat;" and she drew disdainfully off; but the Motherkin took no notice of her disdain, and placed some food before her. She was too hungry long to refuse, but she almost choked over the coarse brown bread. It was good, however, and so was all the rest, and in spite of herself she ate abundantly.

The old lady smiled whimsically, and bade her, as soon as she had finished her meal, tie on a long apron and assist her in putting things in order. This was really unbearable.

"No, I will not do it," said Laura, firmly.

"Oh, my little damsel, do not be ungracious," said the Motherkin. "I shall have to ask your assistance in many things, for my good, faithful Grim has to be away; he has had to go in search of a wonderful herb which heals many ailments, and which is only found in a region far from here; and as it is to relieve poor sick people, I cannot refuse to allow him. His absence, however, obliges me to do his work, and I am sure you will not see an old friend of your mother making unnecessary exertions that a young pair of arms and legs can do so much better than old ones."

At this Laura opened her eyes in astonishment, and glancing down at her dress, murmured,

"I am not allowed at home to soil my clothes or my hands; they will get too coarse and rough, Nannette, my nurse, says."

"No matter for Nannette; you are too much of a lady not to assist me. Come, we will arrange about the clothes afterwards. I have some pretty little gingham gowns which will fit you, and we will lay aside these fine feathers."

Thus appealed to, though in a very novel manner, on the score of her ladyhood, Laura tied on the apron and obeyed the Motherkin with less reluctance. She was awkward, and made mistakes. She placed cups where plates should go, and turned things upside down and downside up. And when the old lady told her she had done enough, she sat down and cried for vexation, she had done so badly. Again came the whimsical little smile on the Motherkin's face, and, opening the door, she said,

"Come, Laura, and see my cow and my pig, and let me show you my garden."

Laura rose, but scorned the amusement, and soon found herself admiring both cow and pig, for both were white and clean as two roses; and when the Motherkin showed her a corner which was to be her own garden, to dig in as she pleased, she no longer felt contemptuously as she had done. But the novelty of having a garden and being allowed to dig in it did not make her less homesick and dreary when bedtime came, and she had to creep off alone to the clean but hard little bed. She slept, though, soundly and well.

The rushing of the brook wakened Laura, and she gazed about her; slowly and dimly the sense of where she was came upon her, and she resolved that she would stay in bed. There was no nurse to dress her, no elegant toilet arrangements such as she was always in the habit of using: a little earthenware bowl and jug in the place of her luxurious bath, a good coarse towel instead of the snowy damask linen, and over the foot of the bed a common print dress and a checked apron, both spotlessly clean, had been placed. She looked at them and buried her face in her pillow. The Motherkin called her in vain. After waiting a long while, she came up to her.

"Why are you not out of bed, my child?" she asked, most kindly. "It is a bright, clear morning. Are you not well?"

Laura said nothing; ashamed of her own sulkiness, she yet was not prepared to acknowledge it.

"Come, shall I help you dress? Do you need assistance?"

Still no reply.

"Ah, what a pity you are ill!" said the Motherkin. "I had some nice chocolate ready for your breakfast, but I will have to go make some gruel. Poor child! poor child!" And away she went, leaving Laura with her head still buried in her pillow. In a short time she returned, bearing a large cup of gruel and a slice of bread, which she placed beside Laura. Then she bathed the child's face and brushed her hair, Laura submitting in silence. When she had rearranged the bed and made it comfortable, she kissed her and left her.

After a while Laura tasted the gruel, making faces over it; but she emptied the cup. In the same way the bread disappeared; and then, getting very tired of lying in bed, she rose and went to the window.

What a day it was! so sunny and bright! And how merrily ran the brook, and how she longed to see its drops sparkle between her fingers as they had done the day before! How velvety and soft was the grass, how yellow the buttercups! and she was sure she saw a humming-bird dipping down into the flowers in the Motherkin's garden.

A new idea came to her. Why not dress and get out of the window, underneath which was a shed, and so drop down into the garden? The clothes were slipped on hurriedly; her little fingers were so eager that the buttons went in and out of their holes again. Then softly on tiptoe she scrambled out. Her skirts caught, her fingers were scratched, the skin was peeled from a spot on one little knee; but, ah! how delicious this liberty! Her feet no sooner touched the earth than she ran swiftly to the brook, and the shoes and stockings were left to themselves while she waded in the clear, cool water. It was such an unknown delight, such happiness, that Laura forgot she was Laura and might have been any little wood-bird. Out of the brook and on to the grass, off the grass and into the woods. Flowers were here, and she gathered her hands and apron full; berries, too--sweet, red, wild strawberries, with a perfume so rare, so aromatic. She stained her fingers and stained her lips. Hark! what was that? A rabbit, and down went flowers and berries for a hunt over the stones and briers. Heeding nothing, she went after Bunny, who suddenly popped into his burrow with a whisk of his little tail and a kick of his little legs for good-bye. Then a loud chattering made her aware of Mr. Squirrel's presence, and she watched him jumping from bough to bough. Wondering if he would come to her if she kept very still, she sat so motionless that by-and-by her little head began to nod, and, wearied with her unusual exercise, she fell fast asleep leaning against a tree.

When she awoke she was still in the same posture; but her knee smarted, her legs were stiff, and she was very hungry. Besides, she knew not which way to turn. She was lost--or thought herself so, which was nearly as bad.

After all, it would be nice to see the Motherkin's kind face and hear her pleasant voice. But how should she explain her naughtiness, her make-believe sickness; and how, above all, should she find her way back? A few tears of repentance and real sorrow rained down awhile, and then Laura, who was no coward, made up her mind that she would tell the Motherkin the truth, and that she was sorry and would try to do better.

A rustling in the bushes startled her, but she hoped it might be Grim. It was not, however; but it was one of the Motherkin's pigs; and, knowing that Monsieur Piggie had to go home some time or other, she thought the safest course would be to follow him.

Alas! Mr. Pig was no gallant; he had not even common courtesy. He did not so much as grunt agreeably, but squealed in the most piggish manner; for he, too, was hungry, and he led poor Laura right through a swamp, covering her with mud.

As they emerged from the swamp, Laura thought she saw the cottage far away under the hill before them; and as Piggie ran squealing on, she kept up the pursuit. Into the woods again and out through the bushes, till a nice hedge showed they were near home; and now Mr. Piggie ran off to his sty, and Laura, creeping through the hedge and up the garden-walk with downcast face, went up to the open door, longing to throw herself into the Motherkin's arms and ask her pardon for all her bad behavior.

No one was to be seen. Not a sound came from the cottage. The door stood open, and on the table was a loaf of brown bread and a pitcher of milk.

Laura knew not what to do. She was ravenously hungry, but she was in too dirty a condition to touch food. She looked in and out and around, but no one was there. She mounted the ladder in hopes yet of finding the Motherkin. Her room was as she had left it, with the exception of a note pinned on the muslin curtain of the window. It read thus:

"LITTLE LADY LAURA,--Necessary and urgent business compels me to leave home for a day or two. My good, kind, faithful Grim has fallen and lamed himself, and I must attend to various matters which he always has done for me. You are quite safe here--no one can molest you; but you will be obliged to prepare your own food, feed the chickens and pigs, milk the cow, and keep the cottage tidy. Do this bravely, little Laura, and you will be rewarded. Remember that a lady is none the less a lady for being able to take care of herself and others, and also remember that the faithful creatures who are dependent upon you will suffer if you neglect them. Animals they are, but God made them and requires us to be kind to them."

This was all the note said, except that "THE MOTHERKIN" was written underneath as signature.

If Laura had been astonished before, she was still more so now, and so much so that she really could not collect her thoughts. She felt like crying, but she could not; she felt angry, but there was no way of venting anger; so she just sat still on the floor awhile and counted the nails in the boards. This had the happiest effect, for, after she had gone over and over the nails, a few quiet thoughts came to her.

First she must make herself clean; so, dropping all her clothes, she gave herself, for the first time in her life, a good scrubbing. She made a great splashing, and succeeded in getting the floor very wet; but she also made herself very sweet and nice, and found plenty of clean clothes ready for her hanging on the pegs. Then she went down below and ate a whole loaf of bread and drank about a quart of milk. This also had a good effect, for she began to face the situation, and determined to do her best. As she sat meditating, she heard a great noise among the fowls, and it reminded her of what she had to do. Going to the cupboard in search of food for them, she found a slip of paper and a key; on the slip of paper was written:

"This key opens a door in the rock; there you will find food for the chickens and pigs; hay and straw for the cow are in the barn. The key-hole is just this side of the vine that hangs beside the cottage door."

Her doubts were now dispelled, and, doing as the paper directed, she opened the door into a large, cool, rock cellar, full of provisions of all kinds.

On the shelves were pots of butter and lard, pans of sweet milk and curds, empty pans shining, all ready for fresh milk, a milking-pail and stool. Hams and tongues hung from the roof, with bunches of sweet herbs. Barrels of flour and sugar, vinegar and molasses, were in another room off the large one. Opening a closet, she found jars of clear jellies and delicious preserves. Every fruit that one could think of was here, crystallized in the most inviting manner.

Nothing was wanting, not even cheeses or pickles, and on a shelf by itself was a chicken-pie as if for her immediate use when hungry.

Grain for the fowls stood ready in huge bags, and she knew, because Nannette had told her, that sour milk was good for the pigs. After surveying all these goodly stores, she went out to the chickens, just in time to drive away a great hawk which was creating much fear among them. Then Mr. Pig was attended to; but it was with much quaking that she carried the milking-stool into the barn where waited the patient cow. Never in all her life had she attempted this. Once or twice she had watched the cowherds at the castle, and she hardly dared to think of anything now in that dear home. Mooly was very quiet and good, and glad to be relieved; but poor little Laura's fingers ached when her duty was ended, and she was very tired by the time she had emptied the milk into the pans and locked the rock cellar. Then she sat herself down in the cottage doorway, and had a little homesick cry, and wondered if her mother was playing on her harp in the great parlor of the castle, and if she longed to see her little daughter.

The twilight lingered, the stars peeped out, and weary little Laura still sat, listening to the crickets, watching the fire-flies as they flashed their tiny lamps in her face, and half humming the refrain of a song of her mother's which seemed to be in tune to the falling waters of the cascade. Then to bed, and the sweetest slumber came to the lonely little maiden.

Thus passed two, three, four days. Laura all alone, busy as a bee, finding always something to do, gathering berries, arranging flowers, living like a wild bird on what she could find--for she did not dare try any cooking. But bread and milk, cheese, and cold chicken-pie, and a dip into the jelly jars occasionally were very good fare, and the roses had come into her cheeks and a healthful glitter in her eyes. She was lonely, but she was not unhappy, and when, to her great surprise, the Motherkin walked in one evening with Grim hobbling behind, she gave a great shout of joy, and sprang into the Motherkin's arms.

"Well done, little Laura! Think you I have not known how charmingly you have kept house for me?"

"How could you, dear Motherkin? and how can you ever forgive me for running off as I did?"

"Ah! we will let by-gones be by-gones; you have had all the punishment necessary; now we must see what we can do to entertain our little guest. Poor Grim has his herbs, but he has also a sprained ankle which we must nurse. How have you liked being my maid?"

Laura hung her head as she replied: "Truly, I have enjoyed it. Is it ladylike for me to have done so?"

"Surely it is, and, if you will have the patience to learn, I will make you proficient in many other homely duties, such as knitting and spinning."

"But the peasants do those things."

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