Old Wonder-Eyes, and Other Stories for Children

by L. K. Lippincott; Grace Greenwood

When I was a little girl I was very backward in all my studies. I should not like to be obliged to tell how old I was before I was able to read without stopping to spell out the long words.

We had then living near us an aunt, my father's only sister, a kind, good woman, whom God took home to himself only a few months ago. Well, this aunt felt great concern about my backwardness, as her own children, who were all grown men and women then, had been remarkably forward and clever, and her grandchildren were wonderfully learned little creatures. Once, while on a visit to us, when I was about eight years of age, she called me up to her, and put me through a short reading lesson.

I can remember, even now, how shocked she looked when she found that I could not read so well, nor half so fast as her five-year-old-grandson—a conceited little gentleman, who seemed very well pleased to surpass me. As for my aunt, she regarded me curiously through her round-eyed spectacles, as though I had been some wild girl of the woods. I looked down, and began twisting and biting my apron-string, while I tried to excuse myself by laying the blame on my unfortunate lisp, and my poor eye-sight. But my sensible, straight-forward aunt replied that the fault all lay in my idle, romping habits, and my love of pets and play.

I was deeply mortified, as I had a great respect for my aunt W——, for I knew that she was good and clever, though sometimes a little too dignified and stern, I then thought. I grew very red in the face, very hot in the throat, and finally burst into tears. This touched my aunt's kind heart at once, and drawing me toward her, and parting the thick, dark hair from my forehead, she spoke gentle, encouraging words to me, all in her own short, quick way though, which startled, almost as much as it soothed me. She said that if I would apply myself diligently to my books, play less and study more, so as to be able to read to her on her next visit, a chapter in the Testament, without making a single blunder, she would bring me a nice, new story-book, from the city of New York, where she was about to spend a few weeks. I laughed through my tears with joy and gratitude. I gladly promised all she asked, and thanked her heartily; for in those days, and in the country village where we lived, a new story-book, or indeed a new book of any kind, was a very rare treat. If I could only hope that this little volume would be thought half as much of, as I used to think of my books, I should be very proud and happy to-night.

My aunt seemed pleased with my pleasure; her handsome eyes did not look severe or reprovingly any longer, but smiled softly through her spectacles. She patted my head quite tenderly, and inquired kindly after the health of my pet dog, Fido. I brought him to see her, and I wanted much to bring also my pretty kitten, Katurah, for this was in her day—but my aunt, with all her kind-heartedness and piety, had one peculiarity which always grieved me—she never could abide cats.

My dear uncle was different in this important respect. He was very friendly with kittens, or perhaps made believe so, because of my great liking for them, and not wishing to hurt my feelings, in this or any other matter. He was the most beautiful, as well as the most lovable old man I have ever seen. He was tall, erect, broad-chested, with silver-white hair, smiling mouth, and pleasant brown eyes. He was never known to speak, or look harshly at any one; and though he was a minister, and a very learned man, I never was afraid of him in the least.

I remember that one winter, I spent a whole fortnight at the parsonage. It was the longest time I had ever been away from home, and when I went back, I was a little mortified that they did not make a great ado over me, and that my brothers and sisters did not notice how much I had grown.

During this visit, my good uncle used every evening at twilight, to set me up on his shoulder, and walk slowly up and down the drawing-room. I was light and slender, and sat very securely on his broad shoulder, with one arm around his neck and the other clasping my kitten. It was not a frolic—we were quite still and quiet. My uncle repeated Scripture softly, and studied out his sermons, while I thought about my home, and kitty purred. But we all enjoyed ourselves amazingly. On Sundays, when I sat in the minister's pew, listening to my uncle's solemn preaching, I felt a sort of pride in the sermon, as though I had helped to make it,—which was very foolish certainly, as after all, kitty had done quite as much as I toward it.

The parsonage was about five miles from our house, and my uncle and aunt used to drive over to see us in an old-fashioned, two-wheeled chaise, which they had brought with them all the way from Connecticut.

This vehicle, which I suppose was nothing extraordinary, seemed to me then something almost awfully grand. It was varnished very bright, and there was a good deal of brass about it, so whenever I saw it coming up the street, flashing in the sunlight, it appeared to me like a splendid golden chariot, fit for a king. Indeed, when, last summer, I saw the gorgeous state-carriage of the Queen of England, I hardly thought it as magnificent as that same old chaise of my uncle's had once seemed to my childish eyes.