A Little, Aloud

by Angela Macmillan

  ‘The boy neglects his music now, and I’m glad of it, for he was getting too fond of it. But the piano suffers for want of use. Wouldn’t some of your girls like to run over, and practice on it now and then, just to keep it in tune, you know, ma’am?’

  Beth took a step forward, and pressed her hands tightly together to keep from clapping them, for this was an irresistible temptation, and the thought of practicing on that splendid instrument quite took her breath away. Before Mrs March could reply, Mr Laurence went on with an odd little nod and smile . . .

  ‘They needn’t see or speak to anyone, but run in at any time. For I’m shut up in my study at the other end of the house, Laurie is out a great deal, and the servants are never near the drawing room after nine o’clock.’

  Here he rose, as if going, and Beth made up her mind to speak, for that last arrangement left nothing to be desired. ‘Please, tell the young ladies what I say, and if they don’t care to come, why, never mind.’ Here a little hand slipped into his, and Beth looked up at him with a face full of gratitude, as she said, in her earnest yet timid way . . .

  ‘Oh sir, they do care, very very much!’

  ‘Are you the musical girl?’ he asked, without any startling ‘Hey!’ as he looked down at her very kindly.

  ‘I’m Beth. I love it dearly, and I’ll come, if you are quite sure nobody will hear me, and be disturbed,’ she added, fearing to be rude, and trembling at her own boldness as she spoke.

  ‘Not a soul, my dear. The house is empty half the day, so come and drum away as much as you like, and I shall be obliged to you.’

  ‘How kind you are, sir!’

  Beth blushed like a rose under the friendly look he wore, but she was not frightened now, and gave the hand a grateful squeeze because she had no words to thank him for the precious gift he had given her. The old gentleman softly stroked the hair off her forehead, and, stooping down, he kissed her, saying, in a tone few people ever heard . . .

  ‘I had a little girl once, with eyes like these. God bless you, my dear! Good day, madam.’ And away he went, in a great hurry.

  Beth had a rapture with her mother, and then rushed up to impart the glorious news to her family of invalids, as the girls were not home. How blithely she sang that evening, and how they all laughed at her because she woke Amy in the night by playing the piano on her face in her sleep. Next day, having seen both the old and young gentleman out of the house, Beth, after two or three retreats, fairly got in at the side door, and made her way as noiselessly as any mouse to the drawing room where her idol stood. Quite by accident, of course, some pretty, easy music lay on the piano, and with trembling fingers and frequent stops to listen and look about, Beth at last touched the great instrument, and straightway forgot her fear, herself, and everything else but the unspeakable delight which the music gave her, for it was like the voice of a beloved friend.

  She stayed till Hannah came to take her home to dinner, but she had no appetite, and could only sit and smile upon everyone in a general state of beatitude.

  After that, the little brown hood slipped through the hedge nearly every day, and the great drawing room was haunted by a tuneful spirit that came and went unseen. She never knew that Mr Laurence opened his study door to hear the old-fashioned airs he liked. She never saw Laurie mount guard in the hall to warn the servants away. She never suspected that the exercise books and new songs which she found in the rack were put there for her especial benefit, and when he talked to her about music at home, she only thought how kind he was to tell things that helped her so much. So she enjoyed herself heartily, and found, what isn’t always the case, that her granted wish was all she had hoped. Perhaps it was because she was so grateful for this blessing that a greater was given her. At any rate she deserved both. ‘Mother, I’m going to work Mr Laurence a pair of slippers. He is so kind to me, I must thank him, and I don’t know any other way. Can I do it?’ asked Beth, a few weeks after that eventful call of his.

  ‘Yes, dear. It will please him very much, and be a nice way of thanking him. The girls will help you about them, and I will pay for the making up,’ replied Mrs March, who took peculiar pleasure in granting Beth’s requests because she so seldom asked anything for herself.

  After many serious discussions with Meg and Jo, the pattern was chosen, the materials bought, and the slippers begun. A cluster of grave yet cheerful pansies on a deeper purple ground was pronounced very appropriate and pretty, and Beth worked away early and late, with occasional lifts over hard parts. She was a nimble little needlewoman, and they were finished before anyone got tired of them. Then she wrote a short, simple note, and with Laurie’s help, got them smuggled onto the study table one morning before the old gentleman was up.

  When this excitement was over, Beth waited to see what would happen. All day passed and a part of the next before any acknowledgement arrived, and she was beginning to fear she had offended her crochety friend. On the afternoon of the second day, she went out to do an errand, and give poor Joanna, the invalid doll, her daily exercise. As she came up the street, on her return, she saw three, yes, four heads popping in and out of the parlor windows, and the moment they saw her, several hands were waved, and several joyful voices screamed . . .

  ‘Here’s a letter from the old gentleman! Come quick, and read it!’

  ‘Oh, Beth, he’s sent you . . .’ began Amy, gesticulating with unseemly energy, but she got no further, for Jo quenched her by slamming down the window.

  Beth hurried on in a flutter of suspense. At the door her sisters seized and bore her to the parlor in a triumphal procession, all pointing and all saying at once, ‘Look there! Look there!’ Beth did look, and turned pale with delight and surprise, for there stood a little cabinet piano, with a letter lying on the glossy lid, directed like a sign board to ‘Miss Elizabeth March.’

  ‘For me?’ gasped Beth, holding onto Jo and feeling as if she should tumble down, it was such an overwhelming thing altogether.

  ‘Yes, all for you, my precious! Isn’t it splendid of him? Don’t you think he’s the dearest old man in the world? Here’s the key in the letter. We didn’t open it, but we are dying to know what he says,’ cried Jo, hugging her sister and offering the note.

  ‘You read it! I can’t, I feel so queer! Oh, it is too lovely!’ and Beth hid her face in Jo’s apron, quite upset by her present.

  Jo opened the paper and began to laugh, for the first words she saw were . . .

  ‘Miss March: Dear Madam –’

  ‘How nice it sounds! I wish someone would write to me so!’ said Amy, who thought the old-fashioned address very elegant.

  ‘“I have had many pairs of slippers in my life, but I never had any that suited me so well as yours,”’ continues Jo. ‘“Heartsease is my favorite flower, and these will always remind me of the gentle giver. I like to pay my debts, so I know you will allow ‘the old gentleman’ to send you something which once belonged to the little grand-daughter he lost. With hearty thanks and best wishes, I remain Your grateful friend and humble servant, James Laurence.”’

  ‘There, Beth, that’s an honor to be proud of, I’m sure! Laurie told me how fond Mr Laurence used to be of the child who died, and how he kept all her little things carefully. Just think, he’s given you her piano. That comes of having big blue eyes and loving music,’ said Jo, trying to soothe Beth, who trembled and looked more excited than she had ever been before.

  ‘See the cunning brackets to hold candles, and the nice green silk, puckered up, with a gold rose in the middle, and the pretty rack and stool, all complete,’ added Meg, opening the instrument and displaying its beauties.

  ‘“Your humble servant, James Laurence”’. Only think of his writing that to you. I’ll tell the girls. They’ll think it’s splendid,’ said Amy, much impressed by the note.

  ‘Try it, honey. Let’s hear the sound of the baby pianny,’ said Hannah, who always took a share in the family joys and sorrows.

  So Beth tried it, and everyone pron
ounced it the most remarkable piano ever heard. It had evidently been newly tuned and put in apple-pie order, but, perfect as it was, I think the real charm lay in the happiest of all happy faces which leaned over it, as Beth lovingly touched the beautiful black and white keys and pressed the bright pedals.

  ‘You’ll have to go and thank him,’ said Jo, by way of a joke, for the idea of the child’s really going never entered her head.

  ‘Yes, I mean to. I guess I’ll go now, before I get frightened thinking about it.’ And, to the utter amazement of the assembled family, Beth walked deliberately down the garden, through the hedge, and in at the Laurences’ door.

  ‘Well, I wish I may die if it ain’t the queerest thing I ever see! The pianny has turned her head! She’d never have gone in her right mind,’ cried Hannah, staring after her, while the girls were rendered quite speechless by the miracle.

  They would have been still more amazed if they had seen what Beth did afterward. If you will believe me, she went and knocked at the study door before she gave herself time to think, and when a gruff voice called out, ‘come in!’ she did go in, right up to Mr Laurence, who looked quite taken aback, and held out her hand, saying, with only a small quaver in her voice, ‘I came to thank you, sir, for . . .’ But she didn’t finish, for he looked so friendly that she forgot her speech and, only remembering that he had lost the little girl he loved, she put both arms round his neck and kissed him.

  If the roof of the house had suddenly flown off, the old gentleman wouldn’t have been more astonished. But he liked it. Oh, dear, yes, he liked it amazingly! And was so touched and pleased by that confiding little kiss that all his crustiness vanished, and he just set her on his knee, and laid his wrinkled cheek against her rosy one, feeling as if he had got his own little grand-daughter back again. Beth ceased to fear him from that moment, and sat there talking to him as cozily as if she had known him all her life, for love casts out fear, and gratitude can conquer pride. When she went home, he walked with her to her own gate, shook hands cordially, and touched his hat as he marched back again, looking very stately and erect, like a handsome, soldierly old gentleman, as he was.

  When the girls saw that performance, Jo began to dance a jig, by way of expressing her satisfaction, Amy nearly fell out of the window in her surprise, and Meg exclaimed, with uplifted hands, ‘Well, I do believe the world is coming to an end.’

  ‘AMONG ALL LOVELY THINGS MY LOVE HAD BEEN’ [THE GLOW-WORM]

  William Wordsworth

  Among all lovely things my Love had been;

  Had noted well the stars, all flowers that grew

  About her home; but she had never seen

  A Glow-worm, never one, and this I knew.

  While riding near her home one stormy night

  A single Glow-worm did I chance to espy;

  I gave a fervent welcome to the sight,

  And from my Horse I leapt; great joy had I.

  Upon a leaf the Glow-worm did I lay,

  To bear it with me through the stormy night:

  And, as before, it shone without dismay;

  Albeit putting forth a fainter light.

  When to the Dwelling of my Love I came,

  I went into the Orchard quietly;

  And left the Glow-worm, blessing it by name,

  Laid safely by itself, beneath a Tree.

  The whole next day, I hoped, and hoped with fear;

  At night the Glow-worm shone beneath the Tree;

  I led my Lucy to the spot, ‘Look here!’

  Oh! joy it was for her, and joy for me!

  READING NOTES

  The chapter from Little Women brought back memories of childhood reading for some members of an afternoon reading group. John said he had enjoyed the chapter but had never read the novel which he’d considered a girl’s book. There was much thought given to the line from the story: ‘the fact that they were poor and Laurie rich, [for this] made them shy of accepting favors which they could not return.’ Why is it that giving and receiving is not always straightforward?

  Joyce said the chapter had made her cry as she remembered how much she had loved her grandfather. Grandfathers then became the topic of conversation before the group moved on to other books and films that might be described as weepies. Finally, there was talk of best presents ever received; playing the piano; and how families used to sing round the piano.

  The group then had a long talk about kindness and how much we depend on it and the importance of acting kindly towards others; how easy it is to be kind and to be thoughtlessly unkind and the difference between charity and kindness. Bill regretted never having seen a glow-worm but thought the poem was saying that being kind to others was the best way of achieving happiness for yourself: ‘joy it was for her, and joy for me!’ And joy for Beth and the old man too.

  Faces of Friendship

  THE RAILWAY CHILDREN

  (THE PRIDE OF PERKS, CHAPTER 9)

  Edith Nesbit

  (approximate reading time 22 minutes)

  Roberta (Bobbie), Peter and Phyllis have come to live in the country where, in much-reduced circumstances, their mother must write stories in order to make a living for them. Unbeknown to the children, their father has been falsely imprisoned on spying charges. The three Edwardian children become caught up in the world of the local railway and among their new friends is Perks, the station porter . . .

  It was breakfast-time. Mother’s face was very bright as she poured the milk and ladled out the porridge.

  ‘I’ve sold another story, Chickies,’ she said; ‘the one about the King of the Mussels, so there’ll be buns for tea. You can go and get them as soon as they’re baked. About eleven, isn’t it?’

  Peter, Phyllis, and Bobbie exchanged glances with each other. Then Bobbie said: ‘Mother, would you mind if we didn’t have the buns for tea to-night, but on the fifteenth? That’s next Thursday.’

  ‘I don’t mind when you have them, dear,’ said Mother, ‘but why?’

  ‘Because it’s Perks’s birthday,’ said Bobbie; ‘he’s thirty-two, and he says he doesn’t keep his birthday any more, because he’s got other things to keep – not rabbits or secrets – but the kids and the missus.’

  ‘You mean his wife and children,’ said Mother.

  ‘Yes,’ said Phyllis; ‘it’s the same thing, isn’t it?’

  ‘And we thought we’d make a nice birthday for him. He’s been so awfully jolly decent to us, you know, Mother,’ said Peter.

  ‘I see,’ said Mother. ‘Certainly. It would be nice to put his name on the buns with pink sugar, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Perks,’ said Peter, ‘it’s not a pretty name.’

  ‘His other name’s Albert,’ said Phyllis; ‘I asked him once.’

  ‘We might put A. P.,’ said Mother; ‘I’ll show you how when the day comes.’

  This was all very well as far as it went. But even fourteen halfpenny buns with A. P. on them in pink sugar do not of themselves make a very grand celebration.

  ‘But there must be something to trim besides buns,’ said Bobbie.

  ‘Let’s all be quiet and think,’ said Phyllis; ‘no one’s to speak until it’s thought of something.’

  ‘Hooray!’ cried Peter, suddenly, ‘I’ve got it. Perks is so nice to everybody. There must be lots of people in the village who’d like to help to make him a birthday. Let’s go round and ask everybody.’

  ‘Mother said we weren’t to ask people for things,’ said Bobbie, doubtfully.

  ‘For ourselves, she meant, silly, not for other people.’

  ‘Let’s ask Mother first,’ said Bobbie.

  ‘Oh, what’s the use of bothering Mother about every little thing?’ said Peter, especially when she’s busy. Come on. Let’s go down to the village now and begin.’

  So they went. The old lady at the Post-office said she didn’t see why Perks should have a birthday any more than anyone else.

  ‘No,’ said Bobbie, ‘I should like everyone to have one. Only we kn
ow when his is.’

  ‘Mine’s to-morrow,’ said the old lady, ‘and much notice anyone will take of it. Go along with you.’

  So they went.

  And some people were kind, and some were crusty. And some would give and some would not. It is rather difficult work asking for things.

  When the children got home and counted up what had been given and what had been promised, they felt that for the first day it was not so bad. Peter wrote down the lists of the things in the little pocket-book where he kept the numbers of his engines. These were the lists:

  GIVEN. A tobacco pipe from the sweet shop. Half a pound of tea from the grocer’s. A woollen scarf slightly faded from the draper’s, which was the other side of the grocer’s. A stuffed squirrel from the Doctor.

  PROMISED. A piece of meat from the butcher. Six fresh eggs from the woman who lived in the old turn-pike cottage. A piece of honeycomb and six bootlaces from the cobbler, and an iron shovel from the black-smith’s.

  Very early next morning Bobbie got up and woke Phyllis. This had been agreed on between them.

  They cut a big bunch of roses, and put it in a basket with the needle-book that Phyllis had made for Bobbie on her birthday, and a very pretty blue necktie of Phyllis’s. Then they wrote on a paper: ‘For Mrs Ransome, with our best love, because it is her birthday,’ and they put the paper in the basket, and they took it to the Post Office, and went in and put it on the counter and ran away before the old woman at the Post-office had time to get into her shop.

  When they got home Peter had grown confidential over helping Mother to get the breakfast and had told her their plans.

  ‘There’s no harm in it,’ said Mother, ‘but it depends how you do it. I only hope he won’t be offended and think it’s charity. Poor people are very proud, you know.’