The Adventures of Herr Baby

"Where is him?" he said. "Is him in the 'normous boat?"

"Not so, Herr Baby," said Lisa. "He shall first be undressed and have a nice sleep all night in bed, to rest him well. Lie still, mine child, and Lisa will keep you warm."

"Him likes the wind," said Baby. "It blowed his eyes open; him is quite awake now," and he tried to sit straight up in Lisa's arms.

"Oh, Herr Baby, I cannot hold you so," said Lisa.

"There is such a little way to go," said his mother, who was just behind, "lie still, dear, as Lisa tells you."

"Him would like to walk, him's legs is so 'tiff," said Baby. "P'ease let him walk if it's such a little way!"

His voice was so piteous that mother told Lisa to let him walk; they were going from the station to the hotel, a very little way, as mother had said. Lisa put Baby down on the ground; at first he really tumbled over, his legs felt so funny, but with Lisa's hand he soon got his balance again. It was a very dark night; they could not have seen their way but for the lights of the station and the town.

"What a dark countly zit is!" said Herr Baby. "Is there no moon in zit countly? Denny says in her hymn 'the moon to shine by night,' is there no moon 'cept in him's own countly?"

"What are you chattering about, little man?" said auntie.

"He's asking about the moon, auntie; he wants to know if there isn't any moon here. He thinks we've left it behind at home," said Denny.

A sort of roar from poor Baby interrupted her.

"Oh, Denny, don't, don't say that," he cried, "it makes him sink of the labbits, and Thomas, and Jones, and the trees, and the flowers, and him's dear little bed, and all the sings we'se leaved behind. Him doesn't like you to speak of leaved behind."

"Poor Baby," said Denny, "I'm so sorry." She stooped down to kiss him, but it was so dark it wasn't easy to find his mouth, and she only managed to kiss the tip of his nose, which was as cold as a little dog's. This made Herr Baby begin laughing, which was a good thing, wasn't it? And he was so taken up in explaining to Lisa how funny it felt when Denny kissed his nose, that he had not time to think of his sorrows again till they were at the foot of the large flight of steps leading up to the big hotel where they were to sleep.

"Nice big house," said Baby, looking round; and as he caught sight of some of the waiters running about, he asked Lisa if "them was new servants instead of Thomas and Jones."

"Him likes Thomas and Jones best," he went on, the corners of his mouth going down again, so that Lisa was obliged to assure him the servants were not going to be instead of Thomas and Jones, they were all only just going to stay one night at this big house, and to-morrow they would set off in the great ship to cross the sea.

The mention of the ship fortunately gave a new turn to Baby's thoughts; and he allowed Lisa to take him upstairs and warm him well before a good fire before she undressed him and put him to bed. The other children thought it great fun to sleep in strange rooms, in beds quite unlike those they had at home, and to have to hunt for their nightgowns and brushes and sponges in two or three wrong carpet bags before they came to the right one; but Baby's spirits were rather depressed, and it was not easy to keep him from crying in the sad little way he had when his feelings were touched.

"He is tired, poor little chap," said auntie, as she kissed him for good-night. "It is ever so much later than he has ever been up before. It is nearly ten."

"Him were up till ten o'clock on Kissmass," said Herr Baby, brightening up. "Him were up dedful late, till, till, p'raps till near twenty o'clock."

Auntie would have liked to laugh, but she took care not, for when Baby was in this sort of humour there was no telling whether other people's laughing might not make him take to crying, so she just said,

"Indeed! That must have been very late; well, go to sleep now, and sleep till twenty o'clock to-morrow morning, if you like. We don't need to start early," she added, turning to Lisa; and I think poor Lisa was not sorry to hear it!

If I were to go on telling you, bit by bit, all about the journey, and everything that happened big and little, it would take a good while, and I don't know that you would find it very interesting. Perhaps it is better to take a jump, as people do in real big story books, and to go on with Herr Baby's adventures a few days later, when he, and Denny, and Fritz, and Celia, and Lisa, and mother, and auntie, and grandfather, and the "bully," and the "calanies," and Tim, and Peepy-Snoozle, and Linley, mother's maid, and Peters, grandfather's man, and I forget if there was any one else, but I think not; and all the boxes and carpet-bags, and railway-rugs, were safely arrived at Santino, the pretty little town with mountains on one side and the sea on the other, where they were all going to spend the winter. I must not forget to tell you one thing, however, which, I daresay, some of you who may have crossed "over the sea," and not found it very delightful, may be anxious to know about. I mean about the voyage in the 'normous boat, which Baby had been so looking forward to, poor little fellow.

Well, wasn't it lucky, he was not at all disappointed? They had the loveliest day that ever was seen, and Baby thought 'normous boats far the nicest way of travelling, and he couldn't understand why grandfather couldn't make them go all the way to Santino in the nice boat, and when they explained to him that it couldn't be, because there was no sea for boats to go on all the way, he thought there must have been some great mistake in the way the world was made. And when they got to Santino, and the first thing he saw was the sea, blue and beautiful like a fairy dream, Baby was quite startled.

"Mother, auntie!" he said, reproachfully, "you toldened him there weren't no sea."

"We didn't mean that, Baby, dear," said mother; "we meant that there was no sea to come the shortest way; we would have had to come all round the land, and it would have been much longer. Look, it is like this," and mother traced with her parasol a sort of map on the sand, to show Baby that they had come a much nearer way. For they were standing by the sea-shore at the time.

"Yes," said Herr Baby, after looking on without speaking for a minute or two, "him under'tands now."

"So you've had your first lesson in geography," said auntie.

Baby stared up at her.

"Are that jography?" he said. "Him thought jography were awful, dedful difficult. Denny is so werry c'oss when her has jography to learn."

"Oh, because, of course, you know," said Denny, getting rather red, "my jography is real jography, with books and maps and ever so long rows of names to learn. Baby's so stupid – he always takes up things so; he'll be thinking now that if he makes marks on the sand, he'll be learning jography."

Denny turned away with a very superior air. Baby looked much hurt.

"Him's not stupid, are him?" he said; and in a moment Celia and Fritz were hugging him and calling Denny a naughty, unkind girl to tease him. Mother and auntie had walked on a little, so things might have gone on to a quarrel if Lisa hadn't stopped it.

"Mine children," she said, "it is too pity to be not friendly together. See what one beautifullest place this is – sky so blue and sea so blue, and all so bright and sunny. One should be nothing but happy here."

"Yes," said Celia, looking round, "it is an awfully pretty place."

Celia, you see, was just beginning to be old enough to notice really beautiful things in a way that when children are very little, they cannot quite understand, though some do much more than others.

"It is a very pretty place," she said again, as if she were speaking to herself, for Fritz and Denny had taken it into their heads to run races, of which Lisa was very glad, and Celia stood still by herself, looking round at the lovely sea and sky, and the little white town perched up above, with the mountains rising behind. Suddenly a little hand was slipped into hers.

"Him would like to live here everways," said Baby's voice; "it are so pitty – somefin like Heaven, p'raps."

"I don't know," said Celia, "I suppose Heaven must be prettier than anything we could fancy."

"There's gold streets in Heaven, Lisa says," said Baby; "him sinks blue sky streets would be much pittier."

"So do I," said Celia.

Then they walked on a little, watching Fritz and Denny, already like two black specks in front – they had run on so far – and, somehow, in the very bright sunshine, one seemed to see less clearly. Mother and auntie were in front too, and when Fritz and Denny raced back again, quite hot and out of breath, mother said it was time for them all to go in; it was still rather too hot to be out much near the middle of the day, though it was already some way on in November, and next month would be the month that Christmas comes in!

"How funny it seems," said Celia. "Why, when we left home it was quite winter. Just think how we were wrapped up when we started on the journey, and now we're quite warm enough with nothing at all over our frocks."

"It may be cold enough before long," said mother, who was more accustomed to hot climates than the children; "sometimes the cold hereabouts comes quite suddenly, and it even seems colder from having been so warm before. I daresay you will be glad of your thick clothes before Christmas. But we must get on a little quicker, or else grandfather will be in a hurry for his breakfast."

"Ganfather's werry lazy not to have had him's breakfast yet," said Baby. "Him's had him's breakfast ever so long ago, hundreds of years ago."

"Oh, Baby," said Denny, "how you do 'saggerate! It couldn't have been hundreds of years ago, because, you know, you weren't born then."

"Stupid girl!" said Baby, "how does you know? you wasn't there."

"Well, you weren't there," said Denny again.

"Children, don't contradict each other. It's not nice," said auntie.

"Him didn't begin," said Baby, "t'were Denny beginned."

"I didn't. I only said once that Baby wasn't born hundreds of years ago," said Denny, "and then he – "

"Onst is as wurst as twicet," said Baby.

Mother turned round at this. There was a funny look on her face, but still she spoke rather gravely.

"Baby, I don't know what's coming over you," she said. "It isn't like you to speak like that."

Baby's face grew red, and he turned his head away.

"Him didn't mean zeally that ganfather were lazy," he said, in a low voice.

"It wasn't that I was vexed with you for," said mother. "I know you were joking when you said that. I meant what you said to Denny."

"Him's werry sorry," said Baby, on the point of tears.

"Never mind. Don't cry about it," said mother, who really wanted the children to be very good and happy this first day. And she was a little afraid of Baby's beginning to cry, for, sometimes, once he had begun, it was not very easy to stop him.

"You don't understand about grandfather and his breakfast," said auntie. "Here nobody has big breakfast when they first get up except you children, who have the same that you have at home."

"No we don't," said Denny. "At home we have bread and milk every day except Sunday – on Sunday we have bacon or heggs, because that's the nothing-for-breakfast day."

Auntie stared at Denny.

"Really, Denny," she said, "it is sometimes a little difficult to be sure that you have got all your senses. How can you have 'nothing for breakfast' when you have bacon, and – who in the world ever taught you to say 'heggs'?"

"I meant to say 'neggs,'" said Denny very humbly. "Grandfather laughed at me because I didn't say 'hippotamus' right – I called it a 'nippotamus,' and he made me say 'hi-hi-hip,' and that's got me into the way of saying it to everything, like calling a negg, a hegg."

"A negg," repeated auntie slowly. "Can't you hear any difference between 'a negg,' and 'an egg'? Spell, a-n an, e-g-g egg."

Denny repeated it.

"What dedful jography Denny's having," observed Baby; "I can say a negg, quite right."

"And so you too call 'a negg' nothing for breakfast?" said auntie.

"Neggs and bacon is nothing for breakfast," answered Baby.

"Auntie," said Fritz, "you don't understand. We call it nothing for breakfast when there's not bread-and-milk, you know, for on bread-and-milk days we have just one little cup of tea and a bit of bread-and-butter after the bread-and-milk. But on Sundays, and birthdays, there's nothing for the first, and so we get better things, more like big people, and tea, and whatever there is, as soon as we begin. That's why we like 'nothing for breakfast,' do you see, auntie?"

"I see," said auntie, "but I certainly couldn't have guessed. I hope there's something for breakfast to-day for us, for I'm very hungry, and look, there's grandfather coming out to meet us, which looks as if he were hungry too. And what have you to say to it, old man?" she added, as Herr Baby came up the steps, one foot at a time, of course, "aren't you hungry after your walk?"

"Him's hungry for him's dinner, but not for him's breakfast; in course not," said Baby, with great dignity.