"Will it look very pitty?" asked Baby.

"Not so pretty as at _home_," said Lisa, who, now that she was away from it, of course looked upon The Manor--that was the name of "home"--as the most lovely place in the world; "there's no nice gla.s.s, no nice pretty dishes here. And Francois, he is so dumm--how you say 'dumm,' Herr Baby?"

"Dumm," repeated Baby, exactly copying Lisa's voice, staring up in her face.

"No, mine child, how you say it of English? Ah--I knows--_stupid_.

Francois, he is too stupid. Peters and I, we will make the table so pretty as might be. Lisa will command some bon-bons."

"Mother will want the shiny jugs," thought poor Baby. "Him _s'ould_ have brought him's pennies. Him would like to know if him has 'nuff pennies; perhaps him could go to the little girl's shop when Lisa is at the pattyser's."

But he said nothing aloud. How it was that he kept his thoughts to himself, why he had such a dislike to any one knowing what was in his mind, I cannot exactly tell; but so it was, and so it often is with very little children, even though quite frank and open by nature. Baby had, I think, a fear that mother might not like him to spend all his pennies on the shiny jugs, perhaps she might say she would pay them herself, and that would not have pleased him at all. Deep down in his honest little heart was the feeling that _he_ had broken the gla.s.ses and _he_ should pay for the new ones. But he said nothing to Lisa--he had never spoken of the jugs to her--mother had been "so kind," never to tell any one about what a silly little boy he had been, for mother knew that he didn't like being laughed at. _Perhaps_ "they" would laugh at him now if he told about wanting to buy the shiny jugs--he wouldn't mind so much if he _had_ bought them, but "'appose they wouldn't let him go to the shop to get them?" Poor little mother! She wouldn't have her pitty gla.s.ses then for the party--no, it was much best to settle it all his own self.

Whom he meant by "they" I don't think Baby quite knew, he had a sort of picture in his mind of grandfather and auntie and mother all talking together, and Celia and Fritz and Denny all joining in, and saying that "Baby was far too little to go to shops to buy things." And by the time he had thought this all over, Herr Baby glancing up--for till now he had been walking along with Lisa's hand, seeing and noticing nothing--found that they were already in the street of the town where the biggest shops were, and that Lisa was looking about to find the shop where she was to give the orders for his mother.

It was a very pretty shop indeed--Baby had never seen such a pretty shop. The cakes and bon-bons were laid out so nicely on the tables round the wall, and they were all of such pretty colours. Baby walked round and round admiring, and, I think, considering he was such a very little boy, that it was very good of him not to think of touching any of the tempting dainties. In a few minutes Lisa had ordered all she wanted--then she chose some nice biscuits and a very few little chocolate bon-bons, which she had put up in two paper parcels, and when they came out of the shop she told Herr Baby that they were for him, his mother had told her to get him something nice. Baby looked pleased, but still he seemed very grave, and Lisa began wondering what he was thinking of.

"Are you tired, mine child?" she said.

No, Herr Baby was not at all tired. He wanted to walk down the street to the other end to see all the shops, he wanted to see _all_ the streets and _all_ the shops before they went home. Lisa was rather amused. She had not known Herr Baby was so _very_ fond of shops, she said, and it would take far too long to see them _all_. But she went to the end of that street with him, and then back again down the opposite side, and then he begged her to turn down the other street they had crossed on their way to the confectioner's, and they had gone quite to the end of _it_, Baby staring in at all the shop windows in a way that really made Lisa smile, for he looked so grave and solemn, when all of a sudden, just as Lisa was thinking of saying they must go home, Baby gave a sort of little scream and almost jumped across the street.

"Him sees it, him sees it," he cried, and when Lisa asked him what he meant, all he would say was,

"That's the little street we went down with auntie the 'nother day," and Lisa, who had forgotten all about the old shop window with the shiny gla.s.s and the blue-eyed picture, wondered why he was so eager about it.

"Is that the way we came?" she said, "I am not sure. I not quite remember."

But "him wants to go home that way," persisted Baby, and he tugged Lisa along. They pa.s.sed at the other side, but Baby did not mind that. He could see across quite plainly, for the street was narrow, and there were still the gla.s.ses in the corner and the sweet baby-girl face up on the wall, looking down on them.

And after that he was quite satisfied to go quietly home; he did not speak much on the way, but Lisa was accustomed to his grave fits, and did not pay much attention to them. He only asked her one question--just as they were getting close to the Villa.

"Is it to-morrow mother's going to have all the pitty things for dinner?" he said.

"Yes, Herr Baby, and Lisa will be busy, to show Francois how Miladi likes everything. Herr Baby and Fraulein Denny will be goot and play peacefully in the garden to-morrow, so she can be busy," said Lisa, who was very proud of being of so much consequence.

"Yes," said Herr Baby, "him won't want you to take care of him."

After tea he got out his money-box. This he often did. He was such a careful little boy that mother let him keep his money himself, and it was a great pleasure to him to count over the different kinds of "pennies;" he called them all "pennies," brown, white, and even yellow pennies, for Baby had a pound and a ten shilling piece that had been given him on his last birthday, and that he had never been able to make up his mind how to spend. He looked at them now with great satisfaction.

"See, Denny," he said, "him has two yellow pennies, a big and a little, and free white pennies, a big and a little and a littler, and five brown pennies. Him knows there's five, for him can count up to five, 'cos five's just as old as him is going to be. See, Denny, isn't there a lot?

And the yellow pennies could be turned into lots and lots of white pennies Lisa says, and the white pennies could be turned into lots of brown pennies, isn't it funny? Isn't him werry rich, Denny?"

"Yes, I suppose so," said Denny, "I really don't know. I wish you wouldn't chatter so, Baby. I can't learn my lessons."

Poor Baby! It was not often he was to blame for "chattering so." But he looked with great respect at Denny for having lessons to do, and was not at all offended. Denny was proud of being with Celia and the new governess, but I think her pleasure was a little spoilt by finding that the new governess had no idea of taking care of a little girl who didn't do any lessons, and this evening she was rather cross at a row of French words which she had to learn to say the next morning. Baby went quietly off into the corner with his money-box, but finding it rather dull to have no one to show his pennies to, he went out of the room, which you remember was downstairs, and, opening a door which led to the kitchen, peeped about in hopes of seeing his friend Minet. He had not long to wait--Minet had a corner of her own by the kitchen wall, on the other side of which was the stove, and where she found herself almost as warm as in the kitchen, when Monsieur Jean-Georges objected to her company.

She was curled up in this corner when she heard Baby's soft voice calling her--"Minet, Minet, p.u.s.s.y, p.u.s.s.y," and up she got, slowly and lazily, as cats do when they are half asleep, but still willingly enough, for she dearly loved Herr Baby.

"Minet," said Baby, when she appeared, and coming up to him rubbed her furry coat against his little bare legs, "Minet, dear, come and sit wif him on the 'teps going down to the garden, and him'll tell you about his money."

But Lisa, coming by just then, said it was too cold now to sit on stone steps; for warm as it was in the day at Santino the evenings got quickly chilly.

"Us can't go back to the 'coolroom," said Baby; "Denny won't let dear Minet come there, and him must stay wif Minet, 'cos her waked up when him called her."

"Miss Denny must let you stay in the school-room," said Lisa. "There is no little birds there for Minet to touch."

She opened the door, and Denny was too busy with her lessons to scold.

"You will be very quiet, Herr Baby," said Lisa. So Baby and Minet went off into a corner with the money-box.

"Minet, dear," said Baby, in a low voice, "see what lots of pennies him has. Yellow pennies, and white pennies, and brown pennies."

Minet purred, naturally, for Baby was stroking her softly with one hand all the time he was holding up his pennies with the other.

"Dear Minet," said Baby, much gratified, "you is pleased that him has so many pennies. Now, Minet, him will tell you a secret, a _gate, gate_ secret, about what him's going to do wif all him's pennies."

Here Minet purred again. Baby looked round. There was no one listening.

Lisa was going backwards and forwards, putting away the tea-things; Denny was still groaning and grumbling over her row of words; Baby might safely tell Minet his secret. Still he lowered his voice _so_ low that certainly no one but Minet could hear. And when he left off speaking, Minet purred more than ever. Only Baby thought it just as well to say to her, before Lisa took him away up to bed, "Minet, dear, you'll be _sure_ not to tell n.o.body;" and I suppose Minet promised, for Baby seemed quite pleased.

He woke in the morning with his head quite full of his great idea. They were not to go a regular walk that day, Lisa told him, for in the afternoon she would be busy, and Herr Baby would be good and play quietly in the garden, would he not?

"All alone?" asked Baby.

"Perhaps Miss Denny will stay, too, if Herr Baby wishes," said Lisa; "she was going again with Miss Celia, but----"

"Oh no," said Baby, "him would rather be alone, kite alone, 'cept Minet.

Fritz is very good to him, but Fritz will be at school. Fritz is never at home now 'cept Thursdays."

"No," said Lisa; "but Herr Fritz is very happy at school, and when Herr Baby is big he will go too."

"Yes," said Baby; but he didn't seem to think much what he was saying.

Lisa thought he was dull about Fritz being at school--I forgot to tell you that Fritz went every day now to a very nice school in the town, where there were a few boys about his own age--but Lisa was mistaken.

That afternoon, any one pa.s.sing the low hedge which at one side was all that divided the Villa garden from the road, would have seen a pretty little picture. There was Baby, seated on the gra.s.s, one arm fondly clasping Minet's neck, while with the other he firmly held the famous money-box. He was dressed in his garden blouse only, but for some reason he had his best hat on. And he kept looking about him, first towards the house and then towards the garden gate, in a funny considering sort of way.

At last he seemed to have made up his mind.

"Minet," he said to the cat, "him thinks we'll go now. 'Amember, Minet, you've _p'omised_ to go wif him. If you get werry tired, Minet, him'll try to carry you. If you could carry the money-box, and him could carry you, then it would be _kite_ easy. What a pity you haven't got two more paws, that would do for hands, Minet!"

Minet purred.

"Yes, poor Minet. Nebber mind, dear; but we must be going." And closely followed by the cat, who had no idea, poor thing, of what was before her, Baby made his way down the path to the garden gate. It was open, at least not latched. Baby easily pushed it wide enough for his little self to go through, and stood, with Minet and the money-box, triumphant on the highroad.

"It were the best way, thit way," he said to himself. For there was another gate to the Villa, leading out to the upper road. But this gate was guarded by a lodge, and the "concierge," as they called the lodge-keeper, came out to open it for every one who went in and out. And "p'raps," thought Baby, "the concierge mightn't have let him through, 'cos, of course, her didn't know why him was going out alone with Minet."

So Minet and he and the money-box found themselves out on the road on their own account.

All the family was scattered that afternoon. Celia and Denny had gone a long walk with their governess, Fritz was at school, mother and auntie had driven to see some friends a good way off, meaning to call for Fritz at his school on their way home. The servants, too, were all more busy than usual on account of the ladies and gentlemen coming to dinner. Lisa and Linley and Peters were all trying to make the strange servants understand just how they were used to have the table at home, and giving themselves a great deal more trouble than grandfather or mother would have wished had they known about it. Lisa was very clever at arranging flowers prettily, and she was so sure of Baby's quiet ways when he was left to himself, that she never gave a thought to him once she saw him safely settled in the garden with Minet. It was such a safe garden.

There really was no part of it where a child could get into any trouble, for though there was a little water in the basin from which rose the fountain, it was so little, that not even Minet could have wetted much more than her paws in it. So Lisa went on quite comfortably doing the flowers and arranging the dessert in the pantry, by way of giving Francois a lesson, and now and then she would glance out of the window which looked on to the garden, and, seeing Baby there with Minet, she felt quite easy. She did once say to herself,

"I wonder why Herr Baby begged so to have his best hat to-day--but he is one good child, one should please him sometimes."