And, sure enough, there was no look of hard times there. The room was clean and warm. Mrs. Selby was busy over her mending basket, putting a darn here, a button in this place, and a hook and a eye there, to have all in order for Christmas morning. Her only son, Charles, was very busy with some of his father’s tools in one corner; not too busy, though, to make his bow to me, and draw forward the rocking-chair. I wish I could find as good manners among our drawing-room children, as I see at Mrs. Selby’s. Sarah and Lucy, the two girls, one eleven, the other ten years old, were working away by the light of a single lamp, so deeply engaged that they did not at first notice my entrance. “Where is little Nannie?” I asked. “She is gone to bed—put out of the way,” replied Mrs. Selby. “Oh, mother!” exclaimed the girls. “Well, then—have not you banished her?” “Banished? No, mother—Oh! mother is only teasing us;” and they blushed and smiled.
“Here is some mystery,” said I; “what is it, Sarah?” “Mother may tell if she pleases, ma’am,” said Sarah. Mother was very happy to tell, for all mothers like to tell good of their children.
“You know, ma’am, the children all doat on little Nannie, she is so much younger than they—only five years old—and they had a desire to have some very pretty Christmas gift for her; but how could they, they said, with so little money as they had to spend? They have, to be sure, a little store. I make it a rule to give each a penny at the end of the week, if I see them improving in their weak point.” “Weak point! what is that, Mrs. Selby?” “Why, ma’am, Charles is not always punctual at school; so I promised him that if he will not be one half minute behindhand for a week, he shall have a penny. Sarah, who is a little head over heels, gets one for making the beds and dusting neatly. And Lucy—Lucy is a careless child—for not getting a spot on her apron. On counting up Charles had fifty-one pennies Sarah forty-eight, and Lucy forty-nine.”
“No, mother,” said Lucy; “Sarah had forty-eight, and I forty-seven.” “Ah, so it was; thank you, dear, for correcting me.” “But Lucy would have had just the same as I, only she lost one penny by breaking a tea-cup, and it was such cold weather it almost broke itself.”
I looked with delight at these little girls, so just and generous to one another. The mother proceeded: “Father makes it a rule, if they have been good children, to give them two shillings each, for holidays; so they had seventy-five pennies a-piece.”
“Enough,” said I, “to make little Miss Nannie a pretty respectable present.”
“Ah, indeed, if it were all for Nannie? but they gave a Christmas present to their father and to me, and to each other, and to the poor little lame child, next door; so that Nannie only comes in for a sixth part. They set their wits to work to contrive something more than their money would buy, and they determined on making a baby-house, which they were sure would please her and give her many a pleasant hour when they were gone to school. So there it stands in the corner of the room. Take away the shawl, girls, and show it to Miss ——. The shawl has been carefully kept over it, to hide it from Nanny, that she may have the pleasure of surprise to-morrow morning.” The shawl was removed, and if my little readers have ever been to the theatre, and remember their pleasure when the curtain was first drawn up, they can imagine mine. The baby-house was three stories high—that is, there were three rooms, one above the other, made by placing three old wooden boxes one on the other. Old, I call them, but so they did not appear: their outsides had been well scoured, then pasted over with paper, and the gum arabic was put on the paper, and over that was nicely scattered a coating of granite-coloured smalt. The inside wall of the lower room, or kitchen, was covered with white paper, to look like fresh white wash; the parlour and chamber walls were covered with very pretty hanging-paper, given to the children by their friend, Miss Laverty, the upholsterer. The kitchen floor was spread with straw matting. Charles had made a very nice dresser for one side, and a table and a seat resembling a settee, for the other. The girls had created something in the likeness of a woman, whom they called a cook; the broom she held in one hand,—they had made it admirably,—and the pail in the other was Charles’ handy-work. A stove, shovel and tongs, tea-kettle and skillet, and dishes for the dresser they had spent money for. They were determined, first, to get their necessaries, Sarah said, (a wise little house-wife,) if they went without everything else. The kitchen furniture, smalt and gum arabic, had cost them eighteen-pence—just half their joint stock. “Then how could you possibly furnish your parlour and chamber so beautifully?”
“Oh, that is almost all our own work, ma’am. Charlie made the frames of the chairs and sofas, and we stuffed and covered them.” “But where did you get this very pretty crimson cloth to cover them, and the materials for your carpet and curtains?” The parlour carpet was made of dark cloth, with a centre piece of flowers and birds, very neatly fashioned, and sewed on. The chamber carpet was made of squares of divers coloured cloth.