THE ILL WIND.
“IT’S an ill wind that blaws naebody good, Master Harry—we maun say that,” observed old Ailsie, Mrs. Delmar’s Scotch nurse, as she went to close the window, through which rushed in the furious blast; “but I hae a dear laddie at sea, and when I hear the wind howl like that, I think”—
“Oh, shut the window, nurse! Quick, quick! or we’ll have the casement blown in!” cried Nina. “Did you ever hear such a gust!”
Ailsie shut the window, but not in time to prevent some pictures, which the little lady had been sorting, from being scattered in every direction over the room.
“Our fine larch has been blown down on the lawn,” cried Harry, who had sauntered up to the window.
“Oh, what a pity!” exclaimed his sister, as she went down on her knees to pick up the pictures. “Our beauty larch, that was planted only this spring, and that looked so lovely with its tassels of green! To think of the dreadful wind rooting up that! I’m sure that this at least is an ill wind, that blows nobody good.”
“You should see the mischief it has done in the wood,” observed Harry; “snapping off great branches as if they were twigs. The whole path through the wood is strewn with the boughs and the leaves.”
“I can’t bear the fierce wind,” exclaimed Nina. “When I was out half an hour ago I thought it would have blown me away. I really could scarcely keep my feet.”
“I could not keep my cap,” laughed Harry. “Off it scudded, whirling round and round right into the river, where I could watch it floating for ever so long. I shall never get it again.”
“Mischievous, horrid wind!” cried Nina, who had just picked up the last of her pictures.
“Oh, missie, ye maunna speak against the wind—for ye ken who sends it,” observed the old nurse. “It has its work to do as we hae ours. Depend on’t, the proverb is true, ‘It’s an ill wind that blaws naebody good.’”
“There’s no sense in that proverb,” said Harry, bluntly. “This wind does nothing but harm. It has snapped off the head of mamma’s beautiful favorite flower”—
“And smashed panes in her greenhouse,” added Nina.
It was indeed a furious wind that was blowing that evening, and as the night came on it seemed to increase. It rattled the shutters, it shrieked in the chimneys, it tore off some of the slates, and kept the children awake with its howling. The storm lulled, however, before the morning broke; and when the sun had risen, all was bright, calm, and serene.
“What a lovely morning after such a stormy night!” cried Nina, as with her brother Harry she rambled in the green wood, while old Ailsie followed behind them. “I never felt the air more sweet and fresh, and it seemed so heavy yesterday morning.”
“Ay, ay, the wind cleared the air,” observed Ailsie. “It’s an ill wind that blaws naebody good.”
“But think of your poor son at sea,” observed Harry.
“I was just thinking o’ him when I spake, Master Harry. I was thinking that maybe that verra wind was filling the sails o’ his ship, and blawing him hame all the faster, to cheer the eyes o’ his mither. It is sure to be in the right quarter for some one, let it blaw from north, south, east, or west.”
“Why, there’s little Ruth Laurie just before us,” cried Harry, as he turned a bend in the woodland path. “What a great bundle of fagots she is bravely carrying!”
“Let’s ask after her sick mother,” said Nina, running up to the orphan child, who was well known to the Delmars. Ruth dwelt with her mother in a very small cottage near the wood; and the children were allowed to visit the widow in her poor but respectful home.
“Blessings on the wee barefooted lassie!” exclaimed Ailsie; “I’ll be bound she’s been up with the lark, to gather up the broken branches which the wind has stripped from the trees.”
“That’s a heavy bundle for you to carry, Ruth!” said Harry; “it is almost as big as yourself.”
“I shouldn’t mind carrying it were it twice as heavy and big,” cried the peasant child, looking up with a bright, happy smile. “Coals be terrible dear, and we’ve not a stick of wood left in the shed; and mother, she gets so chilly of an evening. There’s nothing she likes so well as a hot cup of tea and a good warm fire; your dear mamma gives us the tea, and you see I’ve the wood for boiling the water. Won’t mother be glad when she sees my big fagots; and wasn’t I pleased when I heard the wind blowing last night, for I knew I should find branches strewn about in the morning!”
“Ah,” cried Harry, “that reminds me of the proverb, ‘’Tis an ill wind that blows nobody good.’”
“Harry,” whispered Nina to her brother, “don’t you think that you and I might help Ruth to fill her poor mother’s little wood-shed?”
“What! pick up sticks, and carry them in fagots on our backs? How funny that would look!” exclaimed Harry.
“We should be doing some good,” replied Nina. “Don’t you remember that nurse said that the wind has its work to do, as we have ours? If it’s an ill wind that does nobody good, it must be an ill child that does good to no one.”
Merrily and heartily Harry and Nina set about their labor of kindness. And cheerfully, as the children tripped along with their burdens to the poor woman’s cottage, Nina repeated her old nurse’s proverb, “’Tis an ill wind that blows nobody good.”
Transcriber’s Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
Page 199, “grow” changed to “grew” (Dora grew uneasy)
Page 227, originally, footnote, right side of text missing, original read:
[B] A. L. O. E. remembers attending, many
ago, exactly snch an exhibition at the house
friend, of a model of the Tabernacle made by a
and her children for some charitable purpose.
This has been changed to:
[B] A. L. O. E. remembers attending, many years
ago, exactly such an exhibition at the house of a
friend, of a model of the Tabernacle made by a lady
and her children for some charitable purpose.