Woodside Part 1

Woodside.

by Caroline Hadley.

I.

_GRANDPAPA'S HOUSE._

"Now for the dear, dear country, Its trees and meadows fair, Its roses, cowslips, violets, Whose sweetness fills the air.

"'Tis there we hear the music Of lark's and blackbird's song, And merry little finches, Singing the whole day long."--C. H.

One bright spring day, not so very long ago, three little children arrived at their grandfather's house. They had come to pay a long visit, as their parents were travelling abroad for two or three months.

Now grandpapa lived less than twenty miles from London, yet his house was quite in the country,--indeed you might have thought that it was a hundred miles away from any town,--and it was called Woodside.

You may be sure that Jack, Mary, and Annie--for those were the names of the children--thought the change from London most delightful.

Jack was the eldest--that is why I have put his name before those of his sisters--and he was ten years old. Mary was the next in age, and she was nearly nine; while Annie, the youngest, was seven.

On the day they arrived they felt very quiet, all was so strange after London; besides, they were busy unpacking their toys and picture-books, and in finding places for all their treasures in the rooms grandmamma had set apart for them.

They went to bed early too, and never once woke till their nurse called them in the morning. At first they felt sorry it was time to get up, but when Jane drew up the blinds, and they saw the bright suns.h.i.+ne and the clear blue sky, they made haste to dress, so that after breakfast was over they might go out of doors.

Each of them had visited at Woodside several times before, but they had not been all together there at the same time. They knew very well how many interesting things there were to see out of doors, and they hoped that there would be something new. There was sure to be a difference among the animals and flowers.

The old house looked the same as they drove up to it, with its twenty oak trees in a semi-circle and the gates in the middle. There was the same watch-dog, Lion; and on the parlour hearth-rug, lying curled up in the suns.h.i.+ne, lay s.m.u.t, grandmamma's large black cat.

A very respectable old gentleman was s.m.u.t, with his sleek, glossy coat; but he stood too much on his dignity ever to play. The children coaxed him and patted him; yet he took no notice, he just curled himself round and went to sleep again.

A proud old cat was s.m.u.t; he would never touch food or milk in the kitchen. His food was put on a plate for him out of doors, and he had his milk in a saucer in the parlour. When he was out of doors, he always came in again by the front door, never at the back.

The children soon spied something new in the shape of a long-haired kitten, whose fur was gray and soft. She was bright and lively, and was very pleased to play with the children; for s.m.u.t would never take any notice of her, or play with her one bit: so she and the children became very good friends, and had many a game together.

After breakfast was over, grandmamma told the children they might put on their hats and go out of doors. They did not need to be spoken to twice.

First of all they had a run round the garden, peeped into the greenhouse, and said "How do you do?" to the gardener. But they did not stop long among the lovely spring flowers, for they were in such haste to see the animals.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE VISIT TO THE PONY.

_Page 13._]

Jack said, "We must pay our first visit to the pony;" so away they went to the stable.

The pony was very sober and steady, and, I am sorry to add, rather lazy; so the children did not get much fun out of him. He lifted up his head and gave a little neigh to Jack, for he seemed to remember him; and then he went on eating his hay in the most unconcerned manner.

They then went to see the large dog in the yard. Lion was very glad to see them. He harked with delight, wagged his tail, rattled his chain; in fact he seemed as if he would break away from it, in his eagerness to meet the children.

"Lion is ever so much nicer than the pony," they said.

The fact was, the pony had not much work to do, and his chief thoughts were about his hay and his corn and his nice warm stable. Now Lion, although he was generally chained to his kennel, had to watch for others. He was always listening to hear if any one came upon the premises who had no business there; and he barked so loudly that tramps and idle people thought it best to go away. He always welcomed the gardener and the servants, and especially his master, whenever they came to see him; so that every one about the place would give a pat or a word to the friendly dog whenever they pa.s.sed that way.

"Now let us go and see the fowls," said Mary.

On the right hand side of the drive up to the house was a wide strip of gra.s.s planted with shrubs. Here, standing back, were some wire enclosures inside of which were some choice broods of chickens.

The girls could have stopped here "for hours," they said, watching the little chickens, that looked like b.a.l.l.s of white or yellow or gray down running about or hiding under their mothers' wings.

However, most of the fowls were in the orchard, close by which was the hen-house. Fancy what a pretty sight that orchard was this suns.h.i.+ny spring morning! How alive with different sorts of fowls running hither and thither--black, and gray, and speckled; old motherly hens, and pert, lively young ones; while the c.o.c.ks strutted about and crowed one against another. Then a hen would come out of the hen-house, where the nests were, telling all the world, by her loud, proud cackling, that she had laid an egg. What noise there was then, for c.o.c.ks and hens would all join in chorus. Some of the hens seemed to get together to have a quiet chat, as if they were talking over their family affairs; about which they did not always seem to agree, if you might judge by their noise.

By this time grandpapa had finished reading his newspaper and came to the children. He took them to the cow-house to see the new calf, and he lifted Annie up to let her stroke it; but the mother looked so fierce that they did not care to stay long there. Then they went into the yard to see the pigs. The little pigs looked so funny running about the large, clean sty, as if they loved the bright suns.h.i.+ne and liked to play about in it. But when they fed they would put their feet in the trough, and this was not very mannerly of them.

By the time the children had paid a visit to all the old places they were getting rather tired, and then they went back to the house.

II.

_LISTENING IN THE WOODS._

"I hear the blackbird telling His love-tale to his mate; And the merry skylark swelling The choir at 'heaven's gate.'

The cuckoo away in the thicket Is giving his two old notes; And the pet doves hung by the wicket Are talking with ruffled throats.

The honey-bee hums as he lingers Where shadows on clover heads fall; And the wind with leaf-tipped fingers, Is playing in concert with all."

ELIZA COOK.

Now grandpapa's house, Woodside, stood on the side of a wood; in fact there was only a gra.s.sy road between the gates and the wood itself.

Such a wood! with large old elms and oaks and other trees. In the more open s.p.a.ces were trees and bushes of hawthorn, now completely covered with white blossom, the pretty May-bloom. There too grew primroses, violets, wild hyacinths, besides a long list of other wild flowers, ferns, and feathery green moss.

One fine day grandmamma took the children herself across the road into the wood. She sat down in one of the open s.p.a.ces upon the trunk of a fallen tree, while the children played at hide-and-seek among the bushes or picked the wild flowers.

By-and-by they came back to grandmamma, who was reading while they were playing about, and said, "Grandmamma, will you tell us about papa when he was a little boy?"

Grandmamma took off her spectacles, shut her book, and the children sat down quite close to her, on the gra.s.s at her feet.

Then she began:--"When your father and your uncle and aunts, were about as old as you are now, they came with me into this very place one summer day.

"After they had played awhile they came to me, and I said to them, 'Children, what do you hear?'

"'Hear, mother?' they said; 'why, nothing in particular. What _is_ there to hear?'

"'Well,' I said, 'now all of you shut your eyes and listen, and don't speak till I tell you.'

"After a short time I told them to open their eyes; and I asked John, who was the eldest, what he had heard.

"'First of all I heard the birds singing, then I noticed that there were different sorts of birds singing: I heard the blackbird, the thrush, the little finches, and the warblers--I could not tell you how many; some of them singing as if they could not make sound enough, and others sung a low song, with twitterings and chatterings all to themselves. Some seemed calling to birds a long way off; then I heard those other birds answer, but the sound was so faint that I should not have heard it at all if we had not been so still. I was trying to catch a faint sound of a bird some distance down the wood, which sounded like the coo of the wood-pigeon, when you said, "Open your eyes."'