Pansy's Pansy

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Title:     Pansy's Pansy
Author: Mary Louisa Molesworth [More Titles by Molesworth]

THE FLOWER MARKET

PART I.

There was a flower-market once a week in the town of Northclough.

It was every Thursday, the regular market-day, when the country people came in to sell and to buy. But Northclough was not a pretty, old-fashioned country town, such as you would very likely fancy from the mention of markets and country folk. Once, long ago, it had been a village, a rather lonely and out-of-the-way village, though never a pretty one. For it was up in the north, as its name tells, in a bare and cold part of the world, where the grass is never very brightly green, and the skies much more often grey than blue.

And now, as far as looks go, any way, it had changed from bad to worse. The village had grown into a smoky town, where there were lots of high chimneys, and constant sounds of machinery booming away, and railway trains shrieking and whistling in and out of the stations. There was no longer any ivy on the old church, which the oldest people could remember almost buried in it. And the new churches which had been built since, already looked old themselves--no stones could keep clean or fresh in such smoky grimy air.

But some of the old customs still lingered on, and one was the weekly market, which was held just outside the old church walls--the walls of the church-yard, I should say--every Thursday, just as it had been since the village first grew into a small market town, more than a hundred years ago. And what some people would have done without the pleasure and amusement of this market, I should be afraid to say. I mean some little people, the children of the vicar, who lived with their parents in a grey old house, as grey and old as the church itself, which stood at one side of the market place.

It was grey and grim outside, but inside the father and mother made it as bright and cheery as they could. In winter I think they managed this better than in summer, for good blazing fires do a great deal, especially of an evening when the curtains are drawn and the cold north wind, howling and blustering outside as if in a rage at not being able to get in, only makes the house seem still cosier. And one of the good things about the north is that coals are cheap and plentiful, so that though the vicar was not rich, there was no need to go without comfortable fires.

But in summer it was sometimes not easy to make the old house look cheerful. Very little sunshine could get in, for on two sides the neighbouring houses almost shut out the light. And the sun had hard work, persevering though he is, to get through the murky air--murky even in summer--that hangs like a curtain over what is called a "manufacturing town." Then there was no garden of any kind, as the new schools had been built on what was once the vicarage lawn, though after all I hardly think a garden would have been much good, and perhaps the children's nurse was right when she said:

"Better without it, 'twould only have been a trap for more soots and smuts, and it's hard enough to keep the pinafores clean for half-an-hour together as it is."

Nurse had come with their mother from the south, and she didn't take kindly to the greyness, and the smokiness, and the grimness at all. But she took very kindly to the babies, which was after all of more consequence.

There were four of them--they were "leaving off being babies" now, as little Ruth, the youngest but one, said indignantly, when some one spoke of her and Charlie in that disrespectful way. "Charlie's three and I'm four, and Pansy's nearly six, and Bob's seven past."

That was Ruth's description of the family, and I think it will do very well, though some people might say it began at the wrong end.

And these were the little people who would have been badly off without the weekly market, which they looked forward to as the "next best" treat to having tea in the dining-room on Saturday evenings with mamma.

Their nursery windows overlooked the market place. The nurseries were the brightest rooms in the house, and as it was a large house, whatever its faults in other ways, there were three of them. The day nursery in the middle and a large bedroom on one side, and on the other a small one which was beginning to be called "Miss Pansy's room." And on Thursdays Pansy's room was in great request, as from its window one had the best view of all of the market, especially of the corner where the flowers were.

There was always something to be seen on the flower-stalls, even in winter, when there was nothing else there were evergreens, holly and mistletoe of course, in plenty, as Christmas came on. And though some other parts of the market might be more amusing and exciting, where the cocks and hens, and geese and ducks, were all to be heard gabbling, and quacking and clucking and crowing, for instance; or the railed-in place where there were generally a few calves or poor little frightened sheep bleating and baa-ing, yet the little girl's first thought was always the flower corner. First thing on Thursday morning, sometimes before it was light, she would lie wondering what sort of dear little plants there would be this week, and hoping it would be a fine day, so that nurse would let her poke her head out through the bars a tiny bit, so as to see better, without calling to her that she would catch cold.

Pansy's birthday was in May--she was going to be six. She liked having a birthday because mamma always invited herself to tea in the nursery, and if it happened to be one of papa's not very busiest days, he would sometimes join them too. That was delightful.

Generally she got two or three simple presents, and always one very good and valuable one from her godmother. But strange to say this handsome present never pleased her half so much as the little trifling ones. Her godmother was kind, but she was old and unused to children, and she had not seen Pansy since she was very tiny, so her thought was more perhaps about helping Pansy's mother than pleasing Pansy herself. And so the present was sure to be a new frock--or stuff to make one with, or a nice jacket, or even once--that was rather a funny present for a little girl, I think--a new set of china tea-cups and saucers and plates and milk jugs and everything complete for a nursery tea-service.

But "to make up" for godmother's presents being so very "useful," Pansy's mother always gave her something pretty and pleasant, a doll, or some doll's furniture, or picture books or some nice ornament for her room. Any little girl of six or seven can easily fancy the kind of presents I mean.

This sixth birthday, however, was going to be rather different. For on this day the godmother thought it was time to give Pansy a present of another kind. What that was, I will tell you in the next part.

 

 

PANSY'S PRESENTS.

PART II.

The birthday was on a Wednesday. And though it was only May the weather for a wonder was mild and sunny. Northclough for once was looking almost bright.

"It is nice for you to have such a fine day to be six years old on, Miss Pansy dear," said nurse, when she came in to wake up the two little sisters and to give her own birthday present of a neat little pincushion for Pansy's toilet table. And the boys had something for her too, at least it was called "the boys'," to please Charley, though in reality it was Bob who had bought it, or the things to make "it" with. For the "it" was a little blotting-book covered outside with thick cardboard on which pretty pictures were pasted. It was very cleverly made, for Bob was wonderfully neat-handed for such a little boy, and it had taken quite a lot of contrivance to get it done without his sister's finding out about it. And Ruth's present was a pen-wiper.

Pansy was pleased.

"I can write to godmother now without having to ask mamma to lend me her writing-case," she said. "I suppose," she went on, "I shall have to write to her to-day; there's sure to be a useful present come from her," and Pansy sighed a little, for the writing to godmother was the one part of her birthday she did not enjoy.

Nurse could not help smiling at what she would have called Miss Pansy's "old-fashioned" way of speaking. She always talked of godmother's "useful presents," because she had so often been told that frocks and jackets and so on were such nice, useful gifts. And perhaps I should have mentioned before, that godmother did not forget the little people at Northclough Vicarage at Christmas, something useful was sure to come then, for she was great aunt to them all as well as godmother to one.

But before nurse had time to speak, the door opened and the children's mother came in. They were at breakfast in the day nursery by this time. She had a bright smile on her face and a small parcel in her hand.

"Good morning, darlings, to you all," she said, "and many, many happy returns to my Pansy. Papa told me to kiss you for him too, he won't be in till dinner-time I'm afraid. There now, a kiss for him and one for myself," Pansy was in her mother's arms long before this, "and a present from godmother."

Mamma sat down on the nursery rocking-chair as she spoke, and laid the parcel on her knee, and Pansy, stooping down beside her, began to undo the string which fastened it.

"Is it not a useful present this time, mamma?" she asked, for certainly it did not look like a hat or a frock, or a hamper of china.

"I hope you will think it so," said her mother smiling, "and pretty too."

"A book," exclaimed the little girl, "and oh, yes, it is a very pretty one. And oh, mamma, it's two books, in a 'loverly'"--Pansy still said some words rather funnily--"case, all red leather, and, oh! my own name, 'Pansy,' how nice! What can they be? A prayer-book and a hymn-book, with such beautiful big letters, and 'reds' in the prayer-book. How I wish it was Sunday, for me to take them to church."

She was truly delighted--her little face all rosy with pleasure. Mamma could not resist giving her another kiss.

"You will take the greatest care of them, I know, dear," she said. "And now I have only a very tiny present from papa and me," and she held out a bright new shilling. "You may buy anything you like with it, dear."

This was delightful news. What between her pride in her beautiful "church books," as she called them, and thinking over what her shilling would buy, the little girl had hard work to eat her breakfast that morning, even though, in honour of the birthday, it was an extra nice one.

You will think I am a very long time getting to the "pansy," which gives its name to this little story, but we are coming to it now.

There was a great consultation held in Pansy's room, and this was what the children decided; sixpence should be spent on a pair of ducks to float in a basin of water attracted by a magnet, a toy which they had seen in a shop window with the price marked in plain figures. And sixpence should be spent, for Pansy's own special pleasure, in a flower growing in a pot, such as they had often seen on the flower-stall below their windows. The ducks could be bought that very morning, which Pansy was glad of, as she knew that Bob and Ruth were even more anxious to have them than she was herself. But for the flower she would have to wait till the next day.

However, the birthday passed very happily, and it was very nice to wake in the morning with the feeling that part of its pleasures were still to come, and mamma promised to go with her herself to the stall to choose the flower.

It was to be a pansy. Not a quite fully blown one, her mother advised her, for then it would be the sooner over, but one nearly so. There had been quite a good choice of them for the last week or two; the only difficulty would be what colour to have.

"Yellow ones are very pretty," said the little girl as she skipped along by her mother's side that Thursday morning on their way to the market, for though it was just below the vicarage windows, you had to make quite a round to get to it from the front door, "yellow ones, and those browny ones too are very nice, but I think I like the purple ones best--I mean the violet-coloured ones--don't you mamma?"

"I think I do," her mother agreed. "They remind one of the dear little wild pansies, or dog violets, too."

And by good luck, the old woman who kept the flower-stall, had some beautiful purple pansies, none of the paler ones were half so pretty that day, so the choice was not so difficult after all. Mamma picked out a beauty, with two flowers on it, one almost full blown, and the other not far behind, and a proud little girl was Pansy, as, after having paid her sixpence she trotted home again, her precious namesake tightly clasped in her arms.

"I don't think I've ever had such nice birthday presents, have I, mamma?" she said, as she lifted up her own soft little face, as sweet and as soft as the flower, for a kiss, before hurrying upstairs to the nursery to show her treasure.

And it made her mother very happy to see that her little daughter had that best of all fairy gifts, a grateful and contented heart.

But Pansy had her troubles like other people, as you will hear.

 

 

PANSY'S PANSY · PART · III--

The pansy was installed in state on its little owner's window-sill. For there were deep old-fashioned window-sills in the vicarage that served in turn both as tables and seats for the children. So Pansy warned her brother and sister that they must be very careful now not to climb up on to her window-sill without asking her first, so that she could move the flower-pot out of the way.

Bob and Ruth both promised. And indeed they were very nearly quite as much taken up with the pretty flower as Pansy herself. If she could have forgotten to water it, she would have been well reminded to do so. I don't think there was ever a plant more watched, and cared for. It was Pansy's first thought in the morning and last at night. Every little speck of dust was tenderly wiped off its leaves, it was moved from one part of the room to another to get the sunshine, of which, as I have told you, there was seldom more than a scanty amount at Northclough, and the window-sill, its own particular home, was kept as clean as if the pansy was a fairy princess who got out of her flower-pot at night to take a little exercise on her terrace.

And very soon the two flowers were at their perfection; they were very fine ones really, and I think Pansy knew every mark on their faces as well as a mother knows the dimples in her darling's cheeks, even the freckles on her darling's forehead. Truly the little girl had got a good sixpenceworth of pleasure out of her purchase.

The weather grew warmer, early in June it was really sultry for a few days. Pansy began to be careful in a new way for her pet. It must not be allowed to get too hot, or to be broiled up by the sun, so a shady corner was chosen for the flower-pot during the middle of the day. And it really seemed grateful for the care bestowed upon it. Never did a pansy prosper better, or lift itself up in fresher beauty to greet its little gardeners.

But one day, unfortunately, Bob had an inspiration, if you know what that is.

"Pansy," he said to his sister, "I've been thinking if you want the flowers to last as long as they possibly can, you must really give them a little more fresh air. It's all very well in the daytime when your window's open, but at night I'm sure the pansy feels choky and stuffy. You see flowers aren't like us, except hot-house ones of course, they're used to live out-of-doors."

Pansy looked very anxious.

"I wonder if it's that," she said. "I noticed, though I tried to think it was fancy, that one of the biggest flower-leaves," (she meant "petals," but she was too little to know the right word), "not the leaf-leaves you know, was a tiny atom of a bit crushed up, almost like," and here Pansy dropped her voice, as if what she was going to say was almost too dreadful to put in words, "almost like as if it was beginning to--to wither a little."

Bob nodded his head.

"That's it," he said, "I bet you anything that's it. It's want of fresh air. Well, Pansy, I've measured the ledge outside, it's quite wide enough to hold the flower-pot and the saucer, and though it slopes downwards a very little, it's nothing to make it stand unsteady. Now suppose, last thing at night, we put it outside, I'm sure it would freshen it up, and flowers are just as used to night air as to day air."

Pansy agreed; she examined the outer sill with Bob, it seemed all right. So that evening when the children's bedtime came, pansy flower was told by Pansy little girl what her kind mamma and uncle had planned for her benefit, and with what Pansy called a kiss, a very butterfly kiss it was, for the little girl was as afraid of hurting the pansy as if it had been a sensitive plant, the flower-pot was placed on the ledge outside.

First thing next morning Pansy flew to look at the flower.

"Have you had a good night, my darling? oh, yes, I think so. You look very fresh and well, though a little wet." For a gentle shower had fallen in the night. "Perhaps the rain will have done you good."

Bob was quite sure it had, certainly the crumply look on the purple petal was no worse, so the plan was kept to, and every night the pot was carefully settled on the ledge.

I think it was on the third morning that the dreadful thing happened which I must now tell you of.

When Pansy opened the window to draw in her dear flower and bid it good morning, there was no pansy, no flower-pot, nothing to be seen!

With a sort of shriek Pansy flew across the day nursery to the bedroom where nurse was dressing baby Charley, while Bob, all ready, was giving the last touch up to his curly hair.

"Nurse, Bob," she cried, "have you possibly brought the pansy in while I was asleep?"

But nurse and Bob shook their heads. Then they all hurried back to Pansy's room, and nurse, bidding the children stand back, peered out of the window. There was a tiny strip of ground railed in between the house and the street. Nurse drew her head in again.

"Master Bob," she said, "run down and ask cook to let you out by the back-door. I think I see the poor flower down there. It must have fallen over."

Yes, knocked over by a stray cat, most likely. The children had never thought of cats. There it lay! Bob and the cook did their best, but there was little to do. It was a poor little clump of green "leaf-leaves" only that remained, when the sad procession from the nursery tapped at their mother's door, Pansy's face so disfigured by crying that you would scarcely have known her.

Mamma was very sorry for her, very, very sorry. She knew that to Pansy it was a real big sorrow, trifling as some people might think it. But, still, as she told the little girl, sorrows and troubles have to come, and till we learn to bear them and find the sweet in the bitter we are not good for much. So she encouraged Pansy to be brave and unselfish and not to make the nursery life sad and miserable on account of this misfortune. And Pansy did her best. Only she begged her mother to take the flower-pot away.

"I think I would like it to be buried," she said with a sob. "It's like when Bob's canary died."

But two or three days after that, it may have been a week even, one morning mamma came into the nursery looking very happy and carrying something in her hand over which she had thrown a handkerchief.

"Pansy dear," she said, "I waited to tell you till I was quite sure. I did not 'bury' your pansy root, and I have been watching it. And do you know there is another bud just about to burst, and a still tinier one, all green as yet, but which will come on in time. In a week or two you will have two new flowers quite as pretty, I hope, as the other ones."

"Oh mamma," said Pansy, clasping her hands together. Her heart was too full to say more.

And the buds did blossom into lovely flowers, even lovelier, the children thought, than the first ones. For there was the intense delight of watching them growing day by day, the gardener's delight which no one can really understand who has not felt it.

No accident happened this time, and when the season was over, the pansy root was planted in a corner of the little strip of flower border at the side of the house, where it managed to get on very well, and perhaps will have more buds and flowers for several springs to come.

There is one thing more to tell. Pansy's godmother was so touched by the story of the pansy, that she sent an "extra" present to the vicarage children that summer, though it wasn't any "birthday" at all. The present was a beautiful case of ferns, with a glass cover, so that it could stand in the house all the year round. It was placed in the window of the landing on to which the nursery opened, and there, I hope, it stands still. For it would be impossible to tell the delight this indoors forest gives to the children, who have grown so clever at managing it, that Bob really thinks they should try for a prize at the next "window gardening" exhibition.

For there are such cheerful things as that, one is glad to know, even at smoky Northclough!

[The end]
Mary Louisa Molesworth's short story: Pansy's Pansy

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