Little Sunshine's holiday

by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

“Hush!” said mamma, also in a whisper. “They are not ours, so we can’t have them,”—an answer which always satisfies this little girl. She said no more. But perhaps the young lady who was eating the grapes saw the silent, wistful eyes, for she picked off the most beautiful half of the bunch and handed it over. “Thank you,” said Sunny, in the politest way. “Look, mamma! grapes!—shall I give you one?” And the delight of eating them, and feeding mamma with them, “like a little bird,” altogether comforted her for the troubles with which she began her journey.

Then she grew conversational, and informed everybody that Sunny was going to Scotland, to a place where she had never been before, and that she was to row in a boat and catch big salmon,—which no doubt interested them much. She herself was so interested in everything she saw, that it was impossible not to share her enjoyment. She sat or stood at the carriage window and watched the view. It was quite different from anything she had been used to. Sunny lives in a very pretty but rather level country, full of woods and lanes, and hedges and fields; but she had never seen a hill or a river, or indeed (except the Thames) any sort of water bigger than a horse-pond. Mamma had sometimes shown her pictures of mountains and lakes, but doubted if the child had taken it in, and was therefore quite surprised when she called out, all of a sudden, “There’s a mountain!”

And a mountain it really was,—one of those Westmoreland hills, bleak and bare, which gradually rise up before travellers’ eyes on the North journey, a foretaste of all the beautiful things that are coming. Mamma, delighted, held up her little girl to look at it,—the first mountain Sunny ever saw,—with its long, smooth slopes, and the sheep feeding on them, dotted here and there like white stones, or moving about like walking daisies.

Little Sunshine was greatly charmed with the “baa-lambs.” She had seen plenty this spring,—white baa-lambs and black baa-lambs, and white baa-lambs with black faces,—but never so many at a time. And they skipped about in such a lively way, and stood so funnily in steep places, with their four little legs all screwed up together, looking at the train as it passed, that she grew quite excited, and wanted to jump out and play with them.

To quiet her, mamma told her a story about the mountains, how curious they looked in winter, all covered with snow; and how the lambs were sometimes lost in the snow, and the shepherds went out to find them, and carried them home in their arms, and warmed them by the fireside and fed them, until they opened their eyes, and stretched their little frozen legs, and began to run about the floor.

Little Sunshine listened, with her wide blue eyes fixed on the mountain, and then upon her mamma’s face, never saying a word, till at length she burst out quite breathless, for she does not yet know words enough to get out her thoughts, with:

“I want a little baa-lamb. No,”—she stopped and corrected herself,—“I want two little baa-lambs. I would go and fetch them in out of the snow, and carry them in my little arms, and lay them on Maymie’s apron by my nursery fire, and warm them, and make them quite well again. And the two dear little baa-lambs would play about together—so pretty.”

It was a long speech,—the longest she had ever made all at once,—and the little girl’s eyes sparkled and her cheeks grew hot, with the difficulty she had in getting it out, so that mamma might understand. But mamma understands a good deal. Only it was less easy to explain to Sunny that she could neither have a lamb to play with, nor go out on the mountain to fetch it. However, mamma promised that if ever a little lamb were lost in the snow near her own house, and her gardener were to find it, he should be allowed to bring it in, and Sunny should make it warm by the fire and be kind to it, until it was quite well again.

But still the child went back now and then to the matter in a melancholy voice. “I don’t like a dear little baa-lamb to be lost in the snow. I want a little baa-lamb in my nursery. I would cuddle it and take such care of it” (for the strongest instinct of this little woman is to “take care” of people). “Mamma, some day may Sunny have a little baa-lamb to take care of?”

Mamma promised; for she knew well that if Sunny grows up to be a woman, with the same instinct of protection that she has now, God may send her many of His forlorn “lambs” to take care of.