Then he stood right up in bed and clambered over the edge of the cot the way he had to do to get out of it by himself. He did not make much noise--not enough to waken Denny, and indeed he would not much have minded if she _had_ awakened, only that perhaps she would have wanted to go too, and Baby wished just to go down to the pantry this quiet time of the morning before any one was there and take a good look by himself.

It was cold on the stair--just at the edge, that is to say, where the carpet did not cover, and where he had stepped without thinking, not being used to trotting about on bare feet, you see. But in the middle, on the carpet, it was nice and soft and warm.

"It would be dedful to be poor boys wif no shoes and stockings," he said to himself, "'cept on the carpet. Him would like to buy lots of lubly soft carpets for zem poor boys."

And he pitied the poor boys still more when he got to the back pa.s.sage leading to the pantry, where there was no carpet at all, only oilcloth.

He pattered along as fast as he could; there was no sound to be heard but the ticking of the clock, and Baby wondered that he had never noticed before what a loud ticking clock it was; it did not come into his head that it was very late for none of the servants to be down, for such matters were not his concern, and if he had known the truth that Denny had made a mistake of an hour, and that it was only half-past five instead of half-past six, he would not have thought much about it.

He got to the pantry at last. It was darker in here than in the pa.s.sage outside, which was a disappointment. The shutters were shut, that was the reason, and when Baby looked up at them and saw how strong and barred they were, even _he_ felt that it would be no use to try to open them. He climbed up on to the dresser that ran round one side of the wall to see better. Yes, there it was--the tiny, sweet, little t'unk--just as he had been fancying it. Not so very high up either. If he could but give it a little poke out he could almost reach it down--it could not be heavy, it was _such_ a tiny t'unk; and, oh, if he could carry it out to the pa.s.sage, where it was light, how beautifully he could look at it! He stood up on tiptoe, and found he could almost reach it. A brush with a sticking-out handle was lying beside him. Baby took it, and found that by poking it in a little behind the box he could make it move out, and if it were moved out a very little way he could reach to lift it down. He moved it out enough, then he stretched up his two hands to lift it down--it was not very heavy, but still rather heavier than he had thought. But with the help of his curly head, which he partly rested it on, he got it out safely enough, and was just slipping it gently downwards to the dresser when _somehow_ the brush handle, which he had left on the shelf, caught him or the box, he could not tell which, and, startled by the feeling of something pushing against him, Baby lost his balance and fell! Off the dresser right down on to the hard floor, which had no carpet even to make it softer, he tumbled, and the little t'unk on the top of him. What a noise it made--even in the middle of his fright Baby could not help thinking what a tremendous noise he and the box seemed to make. He lay still for a minute; luckily the box, though it had come straight after him, had fallen a little to one side, and had not hit him. He was bruised enough by the floor already--any more b.u.mps would have been _too_ much, would they not? But the poor box itself was to be pitied; it had come open in the fall, and all that was in it had naturally tumbled out. _That_ explained the noise and clatter. The box had held--indeed it had been made on purpose to hold them--two beautiful gla.s.s jugs, which had been sent to mother all the way from Italy! Baby had never seen them, because they were only used when mother and auntie wanted the dinner-table to look very nice, and of course Baby was too little ever to come down to dinner. And, alas, the beautiful jugs, so fine and thin that one could almost have thought the fairies had made them, were both broken, one of them, indeed, crushed and shivered into mere bits of gla.s.s lying about the pantry floor, and the box itself had lost its lid, for the hinges had been broken, too, in the fall.

[Ill.u.s.tration: For a minute or two Baby could not make out what had happened.--P. 50.]

For a minute or two Baby could not make out what had happened. He felt a little stupid with the fall, and sore too. But he never was ready to cry for b.u.mps or knocks; he would cry much more quickly if any one spoke sharply to him than if he hurt himself. So at first he lay still, wondering what was the matter. Then he sat up and looked about him, and _then_, seeing the broken box and the broken gla.s.s, he understood that he had done some harm, and he burst into piteous sobbing.

"Him didn't mean," he cried; "him didn't know there was nuffin in the tiny t'unk. Oh, what shall him do?"

He cried and sobbed, and, being now very frightened, he cried the more when he saw that there was blood on his little white nightgown, and that the blood came from one of his little cold feet, which had been cut by a piece of the broken gla.s.s. Baby was much more frightened by the sight of blood than by anything else--when he climbed up on the nursery chest of drawers, and Denny told him he'd be killed if he fell down, he didn't mind a bit, but when Lisa said that he might hurt his face if he fell, and make it _bleed_, he came down at once--and now the sight of the blood was too much.

"Oh, him's hurt hisself, him's all bleeding!" he cried. "Oh, _what_ shall him do?"

He dared not move, for he was afraid of lifting the cut foot--he really did not know what to do--when he heard steps coming along the pa.s.sage, pattering steps something like his own, and before he had time to think who it could be, a second little white-night-gowned figure trotted into the room.

"Baby, poor Baby, what's the matter?" and, looking up, Baby saw it was Fritz.

"Him's hurt hisself, him's tumbled, and the tiny t'unk is brokened, and somesing else is brokened. Him didn't mean," he sobbed; and Fritz sat down on the floor beside him, having the good sense to keep out of the way of the broken gla.s.s, and lifted the little bleeding foot gently.

"Must have some sticking-plaster," said Fritz. "There's some in mother's pocket-book in her room. We must go to mother, Baby."

"But him can't walk," said Baby piteously. "Him's foot bleedens dedful when him moves it."

"Then I must carry you," said Fritz, importantly.

With some difficulty he got Baby on to his back and set off with him.

Baby had often ridden on Fritz's back before, in the nursery, for fun, and it seemed very nice and easy. But now, though he had only his nightgown on, Fritz was surprised to find how heavy he seemed after going a little way. He was obliged to rest after he had gone up a few steps, and Baby began to cry worse than before when he saw how tired poor Fritz was. I really don't know how they ever got to the door of mother's room, and, when their knocking brought her out, it was rather a frightening sight for her--Baby perched on Fritz's back, both little boys looking white and miserable, and the wounded foot covered with blood.

But mother knew better than to ask what was the matter till she had done something to put things to rights again.

"Him's foot" was the first thing Baby said, stretching out his poor little toes.

And the foot looked so bad that mother felt quite thankful when she had bathed it and found that the cut was not really a very deep one after all. And when it was nicely plastered up, and both little boys were tucked into mother's bed to get warm again, then mother had to hear all about it. It was not much Fritz could tell. He, too, had wakened early, and had heard Denny and Baby talking, for he slept in a little room near theirs. He had fallen half asleep again, and started up, fancying he heard a noise and a cry, and, getting out of bed, had found his way to the pantry, guided by Baby's sobs. But what Baby was doing in the pantry, or why he had wandered off there all alone so early in the morning, Fritz did not know.

So Baby had to tell his own story, which he did straight on in his own way. He never thought of _not_ telling it straight on; he was afraid mother would be sorry when she heard about the "somesing" that was broken, but it had never entered his little head that one could help telling mother "ezackly" all about anything. And so he told the whole--how he had been "sinking" about trunks and packing, and "d'eaming" about them too, how Denny had been "razer c'oss" and wouldn't talk, and how the thought of the tiny sweet t'unk had come into his head all of itself, and he had fancied how nice it would be to go downstairs and look at it on the pantry shelf, and then how all the misfortunes had come. At the end he burst into tears again when he had to tell of the "somesing brokened," now lying about in shiny fragments on the pantry floor.

Poor mother! She knew in a minute what it was that was broken, and I cannot say but that she was very sorry, more sorry perhaps than Baby could understand, for she had had the pretty jugs many years, and the thoughts of happy days were mingled with the shining of the rainbow gla.s.s. Baby saw the sorry look on her face, and stretched up his two arms to clasp her neck.

"Him is so sorry, so werry sorry," he said. "Him will take all the money of him's money-box to buy more shiny jugs for mother."

Mother kissed him, but told him that could not be.

"The jugs came from a far-away country, Baby dear," she said, "and you could not get them here. Besides, I cared for them in a way you can't understand. I had had them a long time, and one gets to care for things, even if they are not very pretty in themselves, when one has had them so long."

"Oh ses, him does understand," said Baby. "Him cares for old 'sings, far best."

"Yes," said Fritz, "he really does, mother. He cries when Lisa says she must put away his old shoes, and his old woolly lamb is dreadful--really dreadful, but he _won't_ give it away."

"It _has_ such a sweet face," said Baby.

"Well I don't care; I wish it was burnt up. He mustn't take it in the railway with us when we go away; must he, mother?"

"Couldn't it be washed?" said mother.

"I don't think so, and I don't believe Baby would like it as much if it was. Would you, Baby?" said Fritz.

Baby would not answer directly. He seemed rather in a hurry to change the subject.

"Mother," he said, "when we go away in the 'normous boat, won't we p'raps go to the country where the shiny jugs is made? And if him takes all the money in him's money-box, couldn't him buy some for you?"

"They wouldn't be the same ones," said Fritz.

Baby's face fell. Mother tried to comfort him.

"Never mind about the jugs any more just now," she said. "Some day, perhaps, when you are a big man you will get me some others quite as pretty, that I shall like for your sake. What will please me more than new jugs just now, Baby, is for you to promise me not to try to do things like that without telling any one. Just think how very badly hurt you might have been. If only you had waited to ask me about the little box all would have been right, and my pretty jugs would not have been broken."

"And mother told us that last night, you know, dear," said Fritz, in his proper big brother tone. "Don't you remember in the story about her when she was little? It all came of her not waiting for her big sister to see about the trunk."

Baby gave a deep sigh.

"If G.o.d hadn't put so much 'sinking into him's head, it would have been much better," he said. "Him 'sinks and 'sinks, and zen him can't help wanting to do 'sings zat moment minute."

"Then 'him' must learn what _patience_ means," said mother with a little smile. "But I'll tell you what _I've_ been thinking--that if we don't take care somebody else may be hurting themselves with the broken gla.s.s on the pantry floor."

"P'raps the cat," said Baby, starting up, "oh _poor_ p.u.s.s.y, if her was to cut her dear little foots. Shall him go downstairs again, mother, to shut the door? Why, him's foot's still _zather_ bleedy," he added, drawing out the wounded foot, which had a handkerchief wrapped round it above the plaster.

"No," said his mother, "it will be better for me to tell the servants myself," so she rang the bell, and as it was now about the time that Denny had thought it when Baby first woke up, in a few minutes her maid appeared, looking rather astonished. She looked still more astonished, and a little afraid too, when she caught sight of the two curly heads, one dark and one light, on mother's pillow.

"Is there anything wrong with the young gentlemen?" she said. "Shall I call Lisa, my lady?"

"No, not quite yet," said mother. "I rang to tell you to warn James and the others that there is some broken gla.s.s on the pantry floor, and they must be careful not to tread on it, and it must be swept up."

"Broken gla.s.s, ma'am," repeated the maid, who was rather what Denny called "'quisitive." "Was it the cat? I did think I heard a noise early this morning."

"No, it wasn't the cat," said mother. "It was an accident. James will see what is broken."

The light curly head had disappeared by this time under the clothes, for Baby had ducked out of sight, feeling ashamed of its being known that _he_ had been the cat. But as soon as the maid had left the room he came up again to the surface like a little fish, and a warm feeling of thanks to his mother went through his heart.

"You won't tell the servants it were him, will you?" he whispered, stretching up for another kiss.

"No, not if 'him' promises never to try to do things like reaching down boxes for himself. Herr Baby must ask mother about things like that, mustn't he?" she said.