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Page 54
Amelia's meals were another source of trouble. She would not wear a
pinafore; if it had been put on, she would burst the strings, and
perhaps in throwing it away knock her plate of mutton broth over the
tablecloth and her own dress. Then she fancied first one thing and then
another; she did not like this or that; she wanted a bit cut here or
there. Her mamma used to begin by saying, "My dear-r-Ramelia, you must
not be so wasteful," and she used to end by saying, "The dear child has
positively no appetite;" which seemed to be a good reason for not
wasting any more food upon her; but with Amelia's mamma it only meant
that she might try a little cutlet and tomato sauce when she had half
finished her roast beef, and that most of the cutlet and all the mashed
potato might be exchanged for plum tart and custard; and that when she
had spooned up the custard and played with the paste, and put the plum
stones on the tablecloth, she might be tempted with a little Stilton
cheese and celery, and exchange that for anything that caught her fancy
in the dessert dishes.
The Nurse used to say, "Many a poor child would thank GOD for what you
waste every meal-time, Miss Amelia," and to quote a certain good old
saying, "Waste not, want not." But Amelia's mamma allowed her to send
away on her plates what would have fed another child, day after day.
UNDER THE HAYCOCKS.
It was summer, and haytime. Amelia had been constantly in the hayfield,
and the haymakers had constantly wished that she had been anywhere
else. She mislaid the rakes, nearly killed herself and several other
persons with a fork, and overturned one haycock after another as fast
as they were made. At tea-time it was hoped that she would depart, but
she teased her mamma to have the tea brought into the field, and her
mamma said, "The poor child must have a treat sometimes," and so it was
brought out.
After this she fell off the haycart, and was a good deal shaken, but
not hurt. So she was taken indoors, and the haymakers worked hard and
cleared the field, all but a few cocks which were left till the
morning.
The sun set, the dew fell, the moon rose. It was a lovely night. Amelia
peeped from behind the blinds of the drawing-room windows, and saw four
haycocks, each with a deep shadow reposing at its side. The rest of the
field was swept clean, and looked pale in the moonshine. It was a
lovely night.
"I want to go out," said Amelia. "They will take away those cocks
before I can get at them in the morning, and there will be no more
jumping and tumbling, I shall go out and have some fun now."
"My dear Amelia, you must not," said her mamma; and her papa added, "I
won't hear of it." So Amelia went up-stairs to grumble to Nurse; but
Nurse only said, "Now, my dear Miss Amelia, do go quietly to bed, like
a dear love. The field is all wet with dew. Besides, it's a moonlight
night, and who knows what's abroad? You might see the fairies--bless us
and sain us!--and what not. There's been a magpie hopping up and
down near the house all day, and that's a sign of ill-luck."
"I don't care for magpies," said Amelia; "I threw a stone at that one
to-day."
And she left the nursery, and swung down-stairs on the rail of the
banisters. But she did not go into the drawing-room; she opened the
front door and went out into the moonshine.
It was a lovely night. But there was something strange about it.
Everything looked asleep, and yet seemed not only awake but watching.
There was not a sound, and yet the air seemed full of half-sounds. The
child was quite alone, and yet at every step she fancied some one
behind her, on one side of her, somewhere, and found it only a rustling
leaf or a passing shadow. She was soon in the hayfield, where it was
just the same; so that when she fancied that something green was moving
near the first haycock she thought very little of it, till, coming
closer, she plainly perceived by the moonlight a tiny man dressed in
green, with a tall, pointed hat, and very, very long tips to his shoes,
tying his shoestring with his foot on a stubble stalk. He had the most
wizened of faces, and when he got angry with his shoe, he pulled so wry
a grimace that it was quite laughable. At last he stood up, stepping
carefully over the stubble, went up to the first haycock, and drawing
out a hollow grass stalk blew upon it till his cheeks were puffed like
footballs. And yet there was no sound, only a half-sound, as of a horn
blown in the far distance, or in a dream. Presently the point of a tall
hat, and finally just such another little wizened face, poked out
through the side of the haycock.
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