“Getting down-stairs,” said Great-grandmother Day, “doesn’t come so natural to a child as getting up-stairs does. And there is more danger about it. Mary Ellen ought to be taught how to do it, and then be watched. And the sooner the better, for evidently she is coming up here when she pleases.”
The venerable lady stood her cane up in a corner, took Mary Ellen from Old Lady Lois’s lap, gave her a finger and toddled her along to the staircase, and placed her on the floor, her little back to the stairs. Then she stepped down. “Come,” said she, “let’s go down-y, down-y, down-y!”
“See, she is going,” said Mrs. Persis.
But not exactly going was Mary Ellen. Great-grandmother Day had taken hold of her ankle, and was seeking to draw the little red-slippered foot down to the first stair. Feeling herself going, she knew not where, Mary Ellen began to scream, then threw herself flat on the landing.
“Mercy! I hope Nan doesn’t hear this!” said Mrs. Camp.
“She doesn’t,” said Mrs. Lee. “Dick and she have just driven out of the yard.”
Mrs. Day straightened herself up, with a red face. “She will do it all right in a minute or so,” she said. “Babies are born with instincts to do these needful things, just the same as cats and colts.”
After a long breath or two, Mrs. Day bent down and tried again. But Mary Ellen was really terrified, and screamed louder than before. This time she kicked too, and so hard that her poor Great-grandmother had to let go.
“Notty Gum-um!” cried the child.
“Turn her round,” said Mrs. Camp. “Perhaps her ‘instinct’ is to go frontwards. Nan’s was.”