VI.
The Tableaux.
“A mournful thing is love which grows to one so mild as thou,
With that bright restlessness of eye—that tameless fire of brow
Mournful! but dearer far I call its mingled fear and pride,
And the trouble of its happiness than aught on earth beside.”
—MRS. HEMANS.
Lewie recovered rapidly; and by the time that “the singing of birds had come,” the roses bloomed as brightly as ever in his cheeks; and, with his hand in that of Agnes, he roamed about the woods and groves which surrounded their home, gathering wild flowers, and watching with delight the nimble squirrel and the brilliant wild birds, as they hopped from limb to limb. The children were always happy together; Lewie was more yielding and less passionate when with his gentle sister than at other times; and it was only when again in the presence of his mother that his wilful, fretful manner returned, and he was again capricious and hard to please.
Thus, while he was still almost in his infancy, his mother began to reap the fruit of her sowing; for, while to others he could be gentle and pleasant, with her he was always fretful and capricious. Already her wishes had no weight with him, if they ran counter to his own, and commands she never ventured to lay upon him; already the little twig was taking its own bent.
The birth-days were all rigidly kept in Mr. Wharton’s family, and some little pleasant entertainment provided on every such occasion. Thus, while Mr. and Mrs. Wharton failed not to make every proper and serious use of these way-marks on the journey of life, they loved to show their children how pleasant to themselves was the remembrance of the day when one more little bright face had come to cheer and brighten their earthly pilgrimage. Miss Effie was the important character in commemoration of whose “first appearance on any stage” a pleasant party had collected in Mr. Wharton’s parlor, one evening in May. Mrs. Elwyn and her children were spending a few days at Brook Farm; and the family of Dr. Rodney, and a few other little folks from the village, were invited, on Effie’s birth-day, to pass the afternoon and evening.
Great had been the preparations, for they were, for the first time, to have an exhibition of the “tableaux vivants” in the evening. Mr. Wharton had constructed a large frame, which, covered with gilt paper, and having a black lace spread over it, made the illusion more perfect. Many pretty scenes had been selected by cousin Emily, who was mistress of ceremonies; and that no child’s feelings might be hurt, a character was assigned for each one, in one or other of the pictures. A temporary curtain was hung across the room, which was to be drawn whenever the pictures were ready for exhibition.
Agnes had been as busy as anybody in bringing down from a certain closet devoted to that purpose old finery, and other things which belonged to days long gone by, and her anticipations of pleasure for the evening were raised to the highest pitch. But just when all were assembled in the darkened parlor, the lights all being arranged behind the curtain so as to fall upon the pictures, Master Lewie, who was up beyond his usual bed time, and who was hardly old enough to take much interest in what was going on, declared that he was sleepy, and would go to bed. Neither Mammy nor Anne were with them at Brook Farm; and as Mrs. Elwyn seemed as much interested as any one in seeing the tableaux, Agnes knew what the result would be, if Lewie insisted upon going to bed; so she endeavored to amuse him and keep him awake till she had seen at least one tableau.
“Oh, Lewie, wait one moment!” said she; “Lewie will see a beautiful picture.”
“Lewie don’t want to see pictures; Lewie wants to go to bed. Sister, come! sing to Lewie.”
“In one moment, then, little brother. Let Agnes see one picture. Won’t you let sister see one picture?”
“No; Lewie must go to bed. Mamma, tell sister to come with Lewie.”
The result was, of course, in accordance with Master Lewie’s wishes, and Agnes was directed to take him up to bed. “He will very soon be asleep,” her mother added, “and then you can come down.”
This Master Lewie heard, and it put quite a new idea into his head, it never having occurred to him before that the person who sang him to sleep left him alone, after her task was accomplished. That was a thing he was not going to submit to, and he was so determined to watch Agnes, lest she should slip away from him, that all sleep seemed to have deserted his eyes, which were wider open, and more bright and wide awake, than ever.
Agnes laid down beside him, and, patting him gently on the cheek, she sang in a sleepy sort of way, hoping the tone of her voice would have a somniferous effect.
“Sing louder!” shouted Master Lewie.
Agnes obeyed, and sang many nursery songs suggested by Master Lewie, hoping, at the end of each one, that there would be some signs of drowsiness manifested on the part of the little tyrant; but the moment it was finished, brightly and quickly he would speak up:
“Sing that over again!—sing another!—sing ‘Old Woman!’—sing ‘Jack Horner,’” &c., &c.
And Agnes’ heart died within her as question upon question would follow each other in quick succession, suggested by the lively imagination of Master Lewie, as to the name and parentage of “the little boy who lived by himself;” and the childless condition of the man whose “old wife wasn’t at home;” and where the dogs actually did take the “wheel-barrow, wife and all;” he feeling perfectly satisfied of the accurate information of Agnes on all these important topics.
Several times the little bright eyes slowly closed, and Agnes thought he was fairly conquered. Slowly drawing her arm from under his head, she began cautiously to rise; but before she had stolen a foot from the bed, he would start up and stare at her in amazement, exclaiming, “Where going, sister?” and then he seemed to learn by experience, and to determine that he wouldn’t be “caught napping” again that evening.
In the meantime, the fun was going on below, and several beautiful pictures had been exhibited and admired before Agnes was missed from the darkened parlor. But now came the cry, “Agnes! Come, Agnes! Where’s Agnes? She is to be in this picture.” To which Mrs. Elwyn replied, that “Agnes was putting Lewie to sleep.”
“And hasn’t she been here at all, Aunt Harriet?”
“No,” answered Mrs. Elwyn, “Lewie takes a long time to get to sleep to-night.”
“That is too bad, I declare!” said little Grace, her cheeks reddening with vexation, “Agnes did want to see these pictures so; can’t I go up and see if Lewie is asleep, Aunt Harriet.”
“Better not,” said Mrs. Elwyn; “you may disturb him just as he is dropping asleep, and then Agnes will have to stay much longer.”
The exclamations of indignation were loud and furious from the whole party of little folks, when it was found that Agnes had been all the evening banished from the room, and they were ready to go up to Lewie’s room in a body and take possession of Agnes, and bring her down in triumph. But Emily said, “stop children, and I will go.”
Very quietly Emily stole into the room and up to the bedside. The children were lying with their arms about each other, Agnes’ little hand was on her brother’s cheek, and both were soundly sleeping. Emily touched Agnes gently and whispered in her ear, but her slumber was so very sound that she could not arouse her. “Better to let her sleep on now,” said Emily, “and if Agnes only knew it, she has helped to make the prettiest tableaux we have had this evening.”
Thus early was little Agnes learning to give up her own gratification for the sake of others, while the strong will of her little brother was strengthened by constant exercise and indulgence, for this was but one of many instances daily occurring, in which Agnes was obliged to relinquish her own pleasure in order to gratify the whims and caprices of her little brother. Lewie had so often heard such expressions from his mother, that almost as soon as he could speak a connected sentence, he would say, “Lewie must have his own way; Lewie must not be crossed,” and in this way did his mother prepare him for the jostling and conflicts of life.