Part 1 (2/2)

It was wonderful how trusty she was. And ”as handy,” said nurse, ”indeed far more handy than many a girl of five times her age.” ”I have been thinking,” she said one day to Floss's mother, ”I have been thinking, ma'am, that even if you had been going to keep an under-nurse to help with baby, there would have been nothing for her to do. For the help I get from Miss Flossie is really astonis.h.i.+ng, and Master Baby is that fond of her already, you'd hardly believe it.”

And Floss's mother kissed her, and told her she was a good little soul, and Floss felt, oh, so proud! Then a second thought struck her, ”Baby dood too, mamma,” she said, staring up into her mother's face with her bright searching grey-green eyes.

”Yes,” said her mother with a little sigh, ”poor baby is good too, dear,” and then she had to hurry off to a great overhauling of Jack's s.h.i.+rts, which were, if possible, to be made to last him another half-year at school.

So it came to pa.s.s that a great deal of Floss's life was spent in the nursery with Carrots. He was better than twenty dolls, for after a while he actually learnt, first to stand alone, and then to walk, and after a longer while he learnt to talk, and to understand all that Floss said to him, and by-and-by to play games with her in his baby way. And how patient Floss was with him! It was no wonder he loved her.

This chapter has seemed almost more about Floss than Carrots you will say, perhaps, but I couldn't tell you anything of Carrots' history without telling you a great deal about Floss too, so I daresay you won't mind. I daresay too you will not care to hear much more about Carrots when he was a baby, for, after all, babies are all very like each other, and a baby that wasn't like others would not _be_ a baby! To Floss I fancy he seemed a remarkable baby, but that may have been because he was her very own, and the only baby she had ever known. He was certainly very good, in so far as he gave nurse exceedingly little trouble, but why children should give trouble when they are perfectly well, and have everything they can possibly want, I have never been able to decide. On the whole, I think it must have something to do with the people who take care of them, as well as with themselves.

Now we will say good-bye to Carrots, as a baby.

CHAPTER II.

SIX YEARS OLD.

”As for me, I love the sea, The dear old sea!

Don't you?”

_Song._

I think I said there was nothing very remarkable about the place where Carrots lived, but considering it over, I am not quite sure that you would agree with me. It was near the sea for one thing, and _that_ is always remarkable, is it not? _How_ remarkable, how wonderful and changeful the sea is, I doubt if any one can tell who has not really lived by it, not merely visited it for a few weeks in the fine summer time, when it looks so bright and sunny and inviting, but lived by it through autumn and winter too, through days when it looks so dull and leaden, that one can hardly believe it will ever be smiling and playful again, through fierce, rough days, when it lashes itself with fury, and the wind wails as if it were trying to tell the reason.

Carrots' nursery window looked straight out upon the sea, and many and many an hour Floss and he spent at this window, watching their strange fickle neighbour at his gambols. I do not know that they thought the sea at all wonderful. I think they were too much accustomed to it for that, but they certainly found it very _interesting_. Floss had names for the different kinds of waves; some she called ”ribs of beef,” when they showed up sideways in layers as it were, of white and brown, and some she called ”ponies.” That was the kind that came prancing in, with a sort of dance, the white foam curling and rearing, and tossing itself, just exactly like a frisky pony's mane. Those were the prettiest waves of all, I think.

It was not at all a dangerous coast, where the Cove House, that was Carrots' home, stood. It was not what is called ”picturesque.” It was a long flat stretch of sandy sh.o.r.e, going on and on for miles just the same. There were very few trees and no mountains, not even hills.

In summer, a few, just a very few visitors used to come to Sandysh.o.r.e for bathing; they were always visitors with children, for every one said it was such a nice safe place for little people.

But, safe as it was, it wasn't till Carrots was growing quite a big boy, nearly six, I should think, that Floss and he got leave to go out and play on the sh.o.r.e by themselves, the thing they had been longing for ever since they could remember.

This was how they did get leave at last. Nurse was very, very busy, one day; really quite extra busy, for she was arranging and helping to pack Jack's things to go to a new school. Jack was so big now, about sixteen, that he was going to a kind of college, or grown-up school, the last he would go to, before entering the army. And there was quite a fuss in the house. Jack thought himself almost as grand as if he was an officer already, and Mott was overpowered with envy. Everybody was fussing about Jack, and no one had much time to think of the two little ones.

They stood at the nursery window, poor little souls, when Floss came up from her lessons, gazing out wistfully. It was a nice spring day, not exactly sunny, but looking as if the sun were only hiding himself to tease you, and might come out any minute.

”If we _might_ go down to the sh.o.r.e,” said Floss, half to herself, half to Carrots, and half to nurse. I shouldn't have said it so, for there can't be three halves of anything, but no doubt you will understand.

”Go down to the sh.o.r.e, my dear?” repeated nurse, ”I wish you could, I'm sure, but it will be afternoon, at least, before I have a minute to spare to take you. And there's no one else to-day, for cook and Esther are both as busy as busy. Perhaps Miss Cecil and Miss Louise will take you when they have done their lessons.”

”We don't care to go with them, much,” said Floss, ”they don't understand our plays. We like best to go with you, nursie, and you to sit down with your sewing near--that's the nicest way. Oh, nurse,” she exclaimed, with sudden eagerness, ”wouldn't you let us go alone? You can peep out of the window and see us every few minutes, and we'll be so good.”

Nurse looked out of the window doubtfully.

”Couldn't you play in the garden at the back, instead?” she said. ”Your papa and mamma won't be home till late, and I am always in a terror of any harm happening while they are away.”

”We won't let any harm happen,” said Floss, ”and we are _so_ tired of the garden, nurse. There is nothing to play at there. The little waves are so pretty this morning.”

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