Aunt Kitty's Tales

by Madame Guizot

  CHAPTER VIII.

  VISIT TO FLOWERHILL.

  Mr. Dickinson was an elderly gentleman, who had had his own way prettymuch all his life. In the first place, when he was a child, having hadno brothers or sisters, and being of course a great pet with hisfather--his mother died when he was too young to remember her--he wasseldom contradicted or opposed in any thing. When he was about fifteenhis father brought home another mother for him, but as he was then atschool, he was little under her control. In about a year she too died,leaving a little girl who was his half-sister. As he loved this sistervery much, and was not a selfish boy, he would, I doubt not, sometimeshave given up his will to her, but she was taken away by an aunt, whotook care of her, and with whom she always lived till she married. Thissister is Mrs. Temple, and a very pleasant woman she is, and dearly doesshe love her brother William, as she showed by naming her first sonafter him. When Mr. Dickinson's father died, he was still a very youngman. As he was rich, had nothing to keep him at home, and was desirousof seeing other countries, he went to England, and was for several yearstravelling in Great Britain and on the continent of Europe. He couldtell very pleasant stories of what he had seen and heard abroad, but healways ended by saying he had never seen any place which he liked halfso well as Flowerhill. This was the name he had given to his home.

  And well might he like it, for it was indeed a beautiful place. Thehouse was built on the side of a hill. It had no up-stairs, being onlyone story high, yet it was so large that a dozen children might haveplayed in one part of it without disturbing Mr. Dickinson in the other.Then it was shaded by such beautiful large old elm-trees. And thegarden--there was not such another garden in the country, for Mr.Dickinson had employed a very skilful English gardener, who had laid itout with great taste, and he was constantly buying for it choice andbeautiful flowers. People must have something to pet. Now Mr. Dickinsonbeing a single man, with no children to pet, had learned to make pets ofhis flowers. You will probably think, from all I have said, that Mr.Dickinson, with no one ever to oppose him, and plenty of money to dowhat he liked with, must have been a very happy man. When you are alittle older you will learn that those are not the happiest people whoalways have their own way. There were very few people who seemed morefretful and discontented than this Mr. Dickinson. Children, likeHarriet, called him cross, and ran away from him, while older peopleoften thought him proud and ill-tempered, and were rather distant withhim. Yet those who knew him well, liked him much, for he was a veryupright and honest and kind-hearted man. You will be a little surprisedperhaps at my calling him kind-hearted, but could you have heard fromsome poor old people near him, how often he sent them food and fuel inthe winter season when they could not go out to work, and must have beenboth cold and hungry but for him, you would not think it strange. To besure, they said, he would scold a little when he came to see them, if itwas only because they did not make better fires or boil their soup more;but they did not mind this, for they had found out that the more hescolded, the more he gave. Then, though Mr. Dickinson was never quitesatisfied with children, who either talked so loud that they made hishead ache, or so low that he could not hear them, and if they walked outwith him were certain to tread either on his feet or his flowers, he wasalways very careful that they should not get hurt when near him, andwould often spend his money and give himself some trouble to gratifytheir wishes, if they were not unreasonable. Mrs. Temple and her twochildren, William, who was about six years old, and Flora, who wasnearly four years younger, had been spending the summer with Mr.Dickinson; and William, who was a fine, spirited boy, was a great dealwith his uncle, and took more liberties with him than I believeanybody--boy or man--had ever done before.

  In driving to Mr. Dickinson's from my house, the road wound around hisgarden, and passed, on the other side, the house which had been builtfor his gardener. This was a very pretty cottage, with another garden atthe back of it, which, though much smaller than Mr. Dickinson's, andvery simply laid out, looked scarcely less pleasing,--with its raspberryand strawberry vines--its currant and gooseberry bushes--its roses andpinks, and its little arbor of grapes, over the entrance to which hungthe fragrant honeysuckle and bright red woodbine. The house was shut up,but looked as if it might have quite room enough for Mr. Graham'sfamily. Harriet was sure it was just the thing, and even managed, in theminute we were passing, to get a peep into the poultry-yard, and toascertain that there was good accommodation for all Jessie's ducks andchickens.

  We found Mr. Dickinson at home. He was reading to his sister, Mrs.Temple, as she sat at work in a room with sashed doors opening into thegarden. One of these doors was open, and William Temple soon appeared atit, calling out, "Uncle, do come here and tell me what this beautifulflower is named?"

  "Not now, sir, not now," said Mr. Dickinson; and then, before Williamcould speak, added, "Pray, sir, do you not see the ladies, that you takeno notice of them?"

  William came in, and having spoken to me and to Harriet, who was a greatfavorite with him, he waited patiently till there was a pause in theconversation, when he edged up to his uncle, and taking his hand said,"Come, now uncle,--do come--it will not take you two minutes, and I mustknow the name of that flower,--it is the handsomest thing I ever saw inmy life."

  "You are very persevering, sir," said Mr. Dickinson, but at the sametime rose and suffered the little boy to lead him off.

  Mrs. Temple asked if I would not follow them and see this wonderfulflower; to which I readily agreed, as I thought while in the garden Imight find a very good opportunity to speak to Mr. Dickinson about hisgardener. We soon came up with William and his uncle. They were standingby a large tub, in which was the flower William had so much admired. Itwas indeed a splendid plant. When near enough, I heard Mr. Dickinsonpronouncing its name very slowly, while William carefully repeated itafter him. It was so long that I fear poor William with all his troubledid not remember it long; yet, as you may like to know it I will tellit to you. It was a Cactus Grandiflora. The flower was not yet fullyopen, and on my saying I had never seen one before, Mr. Dickinson beggedthat I would drive over the next day and look at it in greaterperfection, which I promised to do, if the weather remained pleasant. Aswe returned to the house William drew Harriet off into another walk. Mr.Dickinson looked after them for a moment, and then said, turning to me,"William is the only child I ever saw who at six years old might betrusted in a garden without fear. He will not pluck a leaf withoutpermission."

  "Well taught children never do," said I.

  "Then, ma'am," he replied, "there are very few well taught children. Ihave just had to part with a most admirable gardener, because hischildren were in this respect so ill taught, that they did my flowersmore harm than he, with all his skill, could do them good."

  "Have you supplied his place yet?" I inquired.

  "No, ma'am, I have not. I am determined to engage no one who haschildren, and I have not yet heard of one who has none."

  "Would it not be as well if you could find one whose children were inthis respect as well taught as William Temple?"

  "That, ma'am, I think would be even more difficult."

  "It is perhaps not common, but I know a man who would, I think, suit youin all respects."

  "Not if he have children, ma'am," said Mr. Dickinson, with a verydetermined air.

  "You have seen his children, and I think must acknowledge them to bewell behaved, for it is of Mr. Graham, my brother's gardener, that Ispeak."

  "I never saw his children in a garden, ma'am," said Mr. Dickinson.

  "Suppose I give you an opportunity of doing so," said I, "by bringinghis eldest daughter over with me to-morrow. She is, I assure you, agreat favorite both with Harriet and with me."

  Before Mr. Dickinson could reply to me, Mrs. Temple asked if my brotherwas going to give up his gardener, that I was seeking other employmentfor him. I replied that my brother would part with him very unwillingly,but that Mr. Graham had met with great losses, and unless he couldobtain a more profitable situation,
would have to move away to somedistant part of the country where living was cheaper, and where hislarge family might therefore be more easily supported. I saw that Mr.Dickinson was listening to me, though he said nothing; so, stillspeaking to Mrs. Temple, I explained the cause of Mr. Graham'sdifficulties, and then added, "It is for the aged mother of Mr. Grahamthat I feel this change most. Your brother and I were children when shecame to this country with her husband, who soon died, leaving her withthis son to support, and nothing but her own labor with which to do it.Your father and some other friends offered her the means of going backto her own family in Scotland. She thanked them, but said, there was nohome so dear to her as that where she had lived with her husband, andthat she could not leave him, even in his grave, alone with strangers.And now--"

  "I will tell you what I will do, ma'am," said Mr. Dickinson, "I willlend Mr. Graham the money to pay for his house."

  "Ah! but, Mr. Dickinson, how is he to make the money to pay you again?"

  "I will give it to him, ma'am, I will give it to him."

  "That will not do," said I, "for Mr. Graham is a proud man, and asdetermined in his way as Mr. Dickinson is in his. He will not receivealms while he can earn a living."

  Mr. Dickinson was silent a little while, then said, "I do not see what Ican do, for I cannot have children here, that is certain."

  "May I bring little Jessie with me to-morrow, and show you that she,like William Temple, can walk through a garden without plucking a leaf?"

  "If she be cautioned beforehand," said Mr. Dickinson.

  "No," said I, "I will give her no cautions."

  The children were now again beside us, and William, who had heard thelast part of our conversation, called out, "Oh yes, Uncle, let Jessiecome--do--she is the greatest gardener in the country, and taught me agreat deal,--now I will see if she ever heard of Cac-tus Grand-iflo-ra,"pronouncing every syllable with great emphasis.

  "For once," said Mrs. Temple, smiling, "I will second William'srequest,--let the little girl come."

  "Oh, certainly, certainly, ladies, let her come. I have no objection toher coming--but, remember, I make no promise to employ her father as mygardener."

  "And, uncle, Mary Mackay too, I love Mary Mackay--pray, ask Aunt Kittyto bring her."

  William's influence seemed irresistible, and I left Mr. Dickinson's withpermission to bring both Mary and Jessie with me the next day.