My mother smiles an assent.
'I am glad you asked your uncle to come and live with us,' she says, as she wishes me good-night.
[CHAPTER L.]
JOSEY WEST DISTURBS US IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.
'Well, Master Chris,' said Josey West, as my mother and I entered the kitchen on the following night, here are the old times come over again. Now, children, bustle about! Florry, take mother's shawl and bonnet.' (They all called her mother.) 'Ah, you're looking about you, my dear; they're a queer lot of things; but they belong to a queer lot of people. The first night Chris came here he bumped his head. I heard some one tumbling about in the passage, and I called out to know who was there. "It's Me," Master Chris answered, as if all the world knew who Me was. "Come downstairs, Mr. Me," I called; and down he came head over heels, and fell sprawling right in the middle of the kitchen. Ah, that was a night! Do you remember the scene from As You Like It, Master Chris, and how mad you were when Jessie said, "Ask me what you will, I will grant it;" and Gus said, "Then love me, Rosalind?" You thought no one knew what was going on inside that head of yours, but I saw it all as clear as clear can be. I'm a witch, my dear. Did you ever hear'--(she was addressing my mother now)--'that I played an old witch for an entire season? I did, and played it well; I could show you the notices I got in the papers on the day they contained all about the pantomimes, but you would think me vain if I did. What a big little woman I thought myself, to be sure! I thought all the world must know me as I walked along, and I cocked up my head, I can tell you. How we do puff ourselves out, we frogs! That's what I asked you that night, Master Chris, the name of that thing in the fable that puffed itself out and came to grief; and I remember saying that of all the conceited creatures in this topsy-turvy world actors and actresses are the worst; though I think I know some who are almost as bad. But to come back about Gus, my dear. You've no cause to be jealous of him; he's engaged, my dear--engaged! Here's her picture--a pretty little thing, isn't she? But Gus never would make love to a girl unless she was pretty, and he was always a bit of a flirt. He'll have to settle down now; his ogling days are over; this little bit of a thing has got hold of him as tight as a fish. They'll all be getting married directly--all of them except me and Turk perhaps--and he's the one I want to see married most of all. There's Florry there--what are you listening to, Florry?--you should see how the men are beginning to stare at her! and that sets a girl thinking, you know. As for Chris, he must be blind; I only know if I was a young man--But there! I'll say no more, or you'll be calling me as bad a gossip as Mrs. Simpson. Perhaps some one else would like to say a word or two?'
And here Josey paused to take breath. I knew that she had only chattered on in this way for the purpose of giving me time to recover myself upon entering the kitchen; for as I looked around upon the old familiar walls, a flood of tender reminiscences had rushed upon my mind, and my eyes had filled with tears. Whether by design or accident, the kitchen presented exactly the same appearance as on the first night I had seen it. The old theatrical dresses and properties were on the walls; the dummy man in chain armour that had once played a famous part in a famous drama was lurking in a corner; the curtain of patchwork was hung on its line, dividing the stage from the auditorium; and Matty and Rosy and Nelly and Sophy were busy at work on stage dresses and adornments. My mother was delighted with all she saw, and caressed the children, who all doted on her, and pulled out of her pocket a packet of sweetmeats for them. Her brain could never have been idle; when she went on the simplest errand, she must have thought of it beforehand, and her affectionate thoughtful nature invariably made that errand pleasant to some one. Her wonderful thoughtfulness, wedded as it was to affection and unselfishness, was one of her greatest charms; it strewed her course through life with flowers which sprang up in barren places, and gladdened many a sad heart. I know that, between ourselves, every wish I formed was anticipated before I expressed it, and while the words explaining it were on my lips, she was scheming how it could be gratified. This charming and most beautiful quality--which in a home breeds love, and keeps it always sweet and fresh--was exhibited even on such an occasion as our present visit to Josey, in the pleasantest of ways. As my mother chatted with Josey, she handed one child the thread, another the wax, another something which the little one's eyes were seeking for; and all these things were done in the most natural manner, and without in the least disturbing her conversation with Josey. Trivial as these matters are, they are deserving of mention; happy must be that home which has such a spirit moving in its midst.
'The youngsters are all at work, I see,' I said to Josey, when I had mastered my agitation; 'to fill up the time, I suppose.'
'Not a bit of it, Master Chris,' replied Josey. 'Sophy and Rosy and Matty have an engagement to play in a new burlesque; they play the Three Graces--very little ones they will be, but it's a burlesque, you know--and very well they'll look. Now then, up with you, and go through the first scene.'
The children jumped from their chairs, and went through the scene, speaking with pretty emphasis the few words intrusted to them, and dancing with infinite grace. It was amusing to witness the gravity with which they tucked up their dresses so as to show their petticoats, which looked more like ballet clothes than their brown frocks. We all applauded heartily.
'Bravo! bravo!' cried Turk, who had entered during the scene. 'If the author isn't satisfied with that performance, then nothing will satisfy him. But nothing less than a hundred nights' run ever does satisfy an author--How are you, mother? How do you do, Chris, my boy? Well, Josey, old girl! No, nothing less than that ever does satisfy an author, who invariably says, when a piece is a failure, that the actors are muffs and don't know their business. But they get as good as they give; let actors alone for reckoning up an author. They know how much of the credit belongs to them, and how much to him.'