Aunt Judy

“ Of course, mamma asked what Aunt Judy’s story had been about, and heard; and heard, too, No. 6’s little trouble lest she should have been guilty of the sin of real ingratitude; and, of course, mamma applauded Aunt Judy’s explanation about the want of thought, very much indeed.
“But, mamma,” said No. 6 to her mother, “Aunt Judy said something about grown-up people having to learn to be thankful. Surely you and papa never cry for nonsense, and things you can’t have?” ”

“ No. 6 was comforted somewhat on hearing this, but still leant her head on Aunt Judy’s shoulder in a rather pensive state.
“I wonder what makes one so tiresome,” mused the meditative No. 5, trying to view the matter quite abstractedly, as if he himself was in no way concerned in it.
“Thoughtlessness only,” replied Aunt Judy, smiling. “I have often heard mamma say it is not ingratitude in children when they don’t think about the comforts they enjoy every day; because the comforts seem to them to come, like air and sunshine, as a mere matter of course.” ”

“ The question is, what do cooks and boys in buttons think?”
“But, Aunt Judy, ladies are never tiresome, and idle, and impertinent, like cooks and boys in buttons. Oh! if you had but heard the real Cook Stories those ladies told! I say, let me tell you one or two—I do think I can remember them, if I try.”
“Then don’t try on any account, dear No. 6,” exclaimed Aunt Judy. “I like make-believe Cook Stories much better than real ones.”
“So do I!” cried No. 7, “they’re so much the more entertaining.”
“And not a bit less useful,” subjoined Aunt Judy, with a sly smile. ”

“ From my earliest remembered observation, when I first began to "take notice," as nurses say of vague babies, with pinafore comparison and judgment, Aunt Judy was an old woman; I knew that, because she had explained to me why I had not wrinkles like hers, and why she could not read her precious Bible without spectacles, as I could, and why my back was not bent too, and how if I lived I would grow so. From such instructions I derived a blurred, bewildering notion that from me to her, suffering an Aunt-Judy change, was a long, slow, wearisome process of puckering and dimming and stiffening. ”

“ He was not sorry either to be relieved from the weight.
“You see, Aunt Judy,” continued No. 6 to her sister, who had now joined them, “it doesn’t so much matter about the oyster-shell trimming; but No. 8’s garden is always in such a mess, that I must have a wall or something between us!”
“You shall have a wall or a path decidedly,” replied Aunt Judy: “a road is the next best thing to a river for a boundary-line. But now, all of you, pick up the tools and come with me, and you shall do some regular work, and be paid for it at the rate of half-a-farthing for every half hour. ”

“ It’s much too fine to stay in doors, I feel; and I can give you all something real to do.”
“I’ll give way, I’m sure, Aunt Judy,” cried No. 6, quite glad to be rid of the dispute; “and so will you, won’t you, No. 8?” she added, appealing to that young gentleman, who stood with his pinafore full of dirty oyster-shells, not quite understanding the meaning of what was said.
“I’ll what?” inquired he.
“Oh, never mind! Only throw the oyster-shells down, and come with Aunt Judy. It will be much better fun than staying here.” ”

“ Aunt Judy paused, but no one spoke.
“What!” cried she suddenly, “will nobody groan? Then I must groan myself!” which she did, and a most unearthly noise she made; so much so, that two or three of the little ones turned round to look at the swelling red curtains, just to make sure the howl did not proceed from thence.
After which Aunt Judy continued her tale:—
“So much for night and going to bed, about which there is nothing more to relate, as the little Victims were uncommonly good sleepers, and seldom awoke till long after daylight. ”

“ No. 5 was silenced, but rubbed his hands nevertheless.
“Well,” continued Aunt Judy, “that ‘something’ ought surely to have been the most contented thing in the world. Its merits were acknowledged; its usefulness was undoubted; its beauty was the theme of constant admiration; what had it left to wish for? Really nothing; but by an unlucky accident it became dissatisfied with its situation in a meadow field, and wished to get into a higher position in life, which, it took for granted, would be more suited to its many exalted qualities. The ‘something’ of the field wanted to inhabit a garden. ”

“ It’s all very well for you girls—now, Miss Pert, mind your own affairs, and don’t stare at me!—to amuse yourself with all manner of—”
“Follies, of course,” cried Aunt Judy, laughing, “don’t be afraid of speaking out, No. 3. It’s all very well for us girls to amuse ourselves with all manner of follies, and nonsense, and rubbish;” here Aunt Judy chucked the drawing-book to the end of the table, tossed a dictionary after it, and threw another book or two into the air, catching them as they came down. ”

“ Aunt Judy glanced her eye round the group; but whatever her opinion as an artist might have been of its general beauty, she was by no means satisfied with the result of her inspection.
“No. 6 and No. 7,” cried she, “you are not fit to listen to a story at present. You have come with dirty hands.”
No. 6 frowned, and No. 7 broke out at once into a howl; he had washed his hands ever so short a time ago, and had done nothing since but play at knuckle-bones on the floor! Surely people needn’t wash their hands every ten minutes! ”

“ Aunt Judy, like most of those antiques, the old-fashioned house-servants of the South,—coachmen and waiters, nurses and lady's maids,—was a towering aristocrat: she believed in blood, and was a connoisseur in pedigrees. ”

“ Aunt Judy wanted to know what it was; the place or the people, (including herself,) or what?
No. 3 could explain it no other way than by declaring that everything was slow; there was nothing to do.
Aunt Judy maintained that there was plenty to do.
Whereupon No. 3 said:—
“But nothing worth doing.”
Whereupon Aunt Judy told No. 3 that he was just like Dr. Faustus. On which, of course, No. 3 wanted to know what Dr. Faustus was like, and Aunt Judy answered, that he was just like him, only a great deal older and very learned.
“Only quite different, then,” suggested No. 3. ”

“ This was consolation indeed; but No. 6 could not resist a remark.
“But, Aunt Judy, wasn’t that aunt—”
“Hush, hush,” interrupted Aunt Judy, “I apologized for both aunt and grandmamma before I told you what they did. They meant to do for the best, and
‘The best can do no more.’
They cured the evil too, though in what you and I think rather a rough manner. ”

“ One day in January, 1849, I called to see Aunt Judy for the last time. Superannuated, and rapidly failing, she had been installed by my father in a comfortable room in the house of a sort of cousin of hers, a worthy and "well-to-do" woman of color, where she might be cheered by the visits of the more respectable people of her own class,—darkies of substantial character and of the first families, among whom she was esteemed as a mother in Israel. ”

“ Ay, long before friends and strangers lead left off saying ‘Poor little things’ at sight of them, and long before the black frocks and crape-trimmed bonnets were laid aside, which, indeed, they wore double the usual length of time.”
“And how old were they?” asked No. 6, in a whisper.
“Four and five,” replied Aunt Judy; “old enough to know what they liked and disliked from hour to hour. Old enough to miss what had pleased them, till something else pleased them as well. But not old enough to look forward and know how much a mother is wanted in life ”

“ Aunt Judy comes down the hill, a woman of 50, in no way remarkable, lively and busy without energy or grip, placid without tranquillity, kindly without concern for others: indeed without much concern for herself: a contented product of a narrow, strainless life. She wears her hair parted in the middle and quite smooth, with a fattened bun at the back. Her dress is a plain brown frock, with a woollen pelerine of black and aniline mauve over her shoulders, all very trim in honor of the occasion. She looks round for Larry; is puzzled; then stares incredulously at Broadbent. ”

“ Had Aunt Judy been aware of her logical process and its conclusion she could have expressed it thus:
“Hm! a man in her mind.—Her man. Her duty to protest. ... We all know what that means. He’s only in her mind at present ... Hm!”
The whole day was spent on the road, for the beauty was such that the stoppages were endless. Joy, with the new-arisen soul which took her out of her own thoughts, found delight in every moment. She could hardly contain her rapture as fresh vistas of beauty burst upon her. ”

“ The little ones were amazed.
“Something,” at any rate, responded Aunt Judy; “and if you like to come in here, and sit down, I will tell you how.”
Away went hoes and weeding-knives at once, and into the alcove they rushed; and never had garden-seats felt so thoroughly comfortable before.
“If one begins to wish,” suggested No. 5, stretching his legs out to their full extent, “one may as well wish oneself a grand person with a lot of gardeners to clear away the weeds as fast as they come up, and save one the trouble.”
“Much better wish them away, and save everybody the trouble,” persisted No. 6. ”

“ Groundsel’s a vegetable, it’s the canary’s vegetable. I mean his kitchen-garden vegetable, and if he had a kitchen-garden of his own, he would grow it as we do peas. So I was right after all, No. 6!”
That twit at the end spoilt everything, otherwise this was really a bright idea of No. 5’s.
“Aunt Judy, do begin to talk yourself,” entreated No. 6. “I wish No. 5 would be quiet, and not teaze.”
“And he wishes the same of you,” replied Aunt Judy, “and I wish the same of you all. What is to be done? ”

“ Happily, however—nay, more than happily, mercifully—the grown-up man, if he do but put on the humility, may gain something of the peace of a “little one’s” heart!
Aunt Judy had twisted up a roll of muslin for a turban on her head by the time they came down, “for,” said she, “this is to be an eastern tale, and I shall not be inspired—that is to say, I shall not get on a bit—unless there is a costume and manners to correspond, so you three little ones squat yourselves down Turkish-fashion on the floor, with your legs tucked under you. ”

“ Hamlet.
“What a horrid nuisance you are, No. 8, brushing everything down as you go by! Why can’t you keep out of the way?”
“Oh, you mustn’t come here, No. 8. Aunt Judy, look! he’s sitting on my doll’s best cloak. Do tell him to go away.”
“I can’t have you bothering me, No. 8; don’t you see how busy I am, packing? Get away somewhere else.”
“You should squeeze yourself into less than nothing, and be nowhere, No. 8.” ”

“ There is not a more charming sight in the domestic world, than that of an elder girl in a large family, amusing what are called the little ones.
How could mamma have ventured upon that cosy nap in the arm-chair by the fire, if she had been harassed by wondering what the children were about? Whereas, as it was, she had overheard No. 8 begging the one they all called “Aunt Judy,” to come and tell them a story, and she had beheld Aunt Judy’s nod of consent ”

“ And so Aunt Judy prayed and praised, sitting upon the landing to rest herself, as she descended from the garret side-wise, the same foot always advanced, as is the way of weak old folks in coming down stairs; and so she prayed and praised between the splitting spells of her forty years' asthmatic cough, rocking backward and forward, with her hands upon her knees. And sometimes she preached to me, the ironing-table being her pulpit; for oh! she was an excellent divine, that had the Bible at her fingers' ends, and many a moving sermon did she deliver, "how God doth make his enemies his friends." ”

“ The little ones stared.
“Well,” resumed Aunt Judy, “for my part, I think it’s a very nice thing to learn the ins and outs of one’s own life; to consider how one’s bed is made, and the why and wherefore of its shape and position. It is a great pity to get so accustomed to things as not to know their value till we lose them! ”

“ But Aunt Judy had by no means done.
“Impossible about conjuring and actually talking to evil spirits, certainly,” said she; “but spiritual influences, both bad and good, come to us all, No. 3, without bodily communion; so for those who are inclined to feel like Dr. Faustus, there is both a moral and a warning in his fate.”
“I don’t know what about,” cried No. 3. “I think he was uncommonly stupid, after all he had learnt, to get into such a mess. Why, you yourself are always trying to make out that the more people labour and learn, the more sure they are to keep out of mischief. ”

“ What could the little ones be thinking about to make them grave?
It was evidently quite a relief when Aunt Judy went on:—
“You will be very much surprised, I dare say,” said she, “to hear of the next misery I am going to tell you about. It may be called the dinner misery, and the little Victims underwent it every day.”
“Did they give them nasty things to eat, Aunt Judy?” murmured No. 8, very anxiously.
“More likely not half enough,” suggested No. 5. ”

“ She looked at him gravely, and moved a step towards him.
“Aunt Judy is dead!” she explained; “and Aunt Hester is very ill. Mother is upstairs with them—her—now. I have just come from the room, where I have been since midnight.”
She stopped, raised her hand to her hair as if recollecting something, and stood looking sideways out of the window.
“There is something about you this morning,” he said, with a concentrated deliberation, “that brings back the old Prague days. I suppose it is that I have not seen your hair as you have it to-day—since then.” ”