The Little Old Portrait Read online

the heavy old brass fender, behind which werethe iron bars for the logs of wood which, on very rare occasions, suchas New Year's Day, or a marriage or christening feast, should it fall inwinter, made a cheerful blaze up the old chimney. But the stiff hardsofa backed up against the wall, and the stiff hard chairs andarm-chairs standing round in a row, were no longer white as in the daysof their long past youth, and the old-fashioned tapestry with whichtheir seats and backs were covered had little colour left, and here andthere a careful darning was plainly to be seen.

  The children stood still and looked round them, as they always somehowdid on first entering the room, as if they expected to discoversomething they had never seen before. Then said Pierre:

  "How shall we do it? The same as last year--a wreath on thechimney-piece, and two smaller ones round the mirror and the little oldportrait? Yes, I think that is the best."

  For there was a small, queerly-shaped mirror in a heavy, now dull, giltframe on one side of the fire-place, and on the other, matching it, theobject which the children regarded with more interest than anything inthe room, "the little old portrait," they called it among themselves,and "some day," their father had promised them, they should be told itshistory. But all they knew at present was that it had been many, manyyears--not far off a hundred--in the best room of the old farmhouse.

  It was the portrait of a little girl--a very little girl. She did notseem more than four or five years old: one dimpled shoulder had escapedfrom the little white frock, the fair hair brushed back from theforehead was tied with a plain white ribbon--nothing could be simpler.But there was a great charm about it: the eyes were so bright andhappy-looking, the rosy mouth seemed so ready to kiss you--it lookedwhat it was, the picture of a creature who had never known sorrow orfear.

  "How pretty she is!" said Edmee, as she twisted the ivy-leaves round theframe, and a ray of sunshine fell on the little face. "I think she getsprettier and prettier--don't you, Marie? I wonder when father andmother will tell us the story about her."

  Pierre stopped short in his part of the business, which was that ofarranging the garland over the mantelpiece, to listen to what hissisters were saying.

  "Suppose we ask to hear it to-morrow," he said, "for a treat? Mother isalways ready to give us a treat on her birthday."

  "Not instead of the creams and the cake," put in Joseph, who was rathera greedy little boy. "I wouldn't like that. Stories aren't as nice ascake."

  "Little glutton!" exclaimed Pierre: "you deserve to have none. All thesame I know what I know. One has but to step inside the kitchen and tosniff a little to see that mother forgets nothing."

  "Indeed!" said Joseph, with satisfaction. "Yes, truly, I could almostfancy I smelt it even in here. That comes of having an oven of one'sown. There is no other house at Valmont with an oven like ours. When Iam a man, if I cannot afford an oven of my own in my kitchen, I shall--"

  "What?" asked Marie.

  "I shall be a baker," said Joseph, solemnly. "I always stop before thedoor of Bernard, the baker, to smell the bread, especially on Saturdays,when he is baking the Sunday cakes and his Reverence's pie. Ah, how itsmells!"

  "A baker!" said Pierre with disdain. "Not for worlds! To see Bernardstewing away in his bakehouse till he can scarcely breathe is enough tomake one hate the thoughts of cakes. A baker indeed! Ah, no--the openair and the fields for me! I shall be a farmer, like my father and mygrandfathers and my great-grandfathers. We have always been plain,honest farmers, we Marcels--and my mother's people, the Laurents, too!"

  "Some one told me once," said Edmee, who, her work finished, wasstanding thoughtfully contemplating the effect of the pretty wreathround the little face, "some one told me once, or I dreamt it, that thelittle old portrait was that of a great-grandmother of ours. I wonderif it is true? If all our people have always been farmers I don't seehow it can be, for that little girl doesn't look like a farmer'sdaughter--and besides, they wouldn't have made a grand picture of her inthat case."

  "Mother must know," said Marie.

  "I asked her once if it was true," said Edmee, "but she said I was towait till I was older, and she would tell us the story. I would _so_like to hear it. She is so sweet, that dear little girl. I wonder ifshe lived to grow old. How strange to think of _her_, that littlebaby-face, growing into an old woman, with grey hair."

  "And little wrinkles all over her face, and her eyes screwed up, and redpatches on her cheeks, like old Mother Mathurine, down in the village,"said Joseph. "They do say, you know, that old Mathurine is nearly athousand years old," and Joseph nodded his head sagaciously.

  "Joseph!" exclaimed Marie, "how can you tell such stories? _Nobody_ isa thousand!"

  "Well, then, it is a hundred,--I meant to say a hundred," said Joseph."I always forget which is the most--a thousand or a hundred," for poorJoseph was only seven.

  "What things she must remember!" said Edmee. "Fancy, Pierre, a hundredyears ago! Perhaps she remembers the little girl. Oh, Pierre, do letus ask mother to tell us the story to-morrow!"

  "Yes," Pierre agreed, "I should very much like to hear it. We'll askher to-night, Edmee."

  And just then the sound of their father's voice, as he crossed thefarmyard on his way into the house, made them hasten to pick up thestray leaves and flowers which had fallen from the wreaths, and to putthe chairs and all back in their places, so as to leave the room inperfect order for to-morrow.

  That evening, when the little ones were in bed, Pierre, Edmee, and Marielingered a moment when they were going to say good-night to theirparents.

  "What is it, my dears?" said their mother, for she saw there wassomething they wanted to ask.

  "Mother," said Pierre, "you know you are always very good to us on yourbirthday; we want to ask you a favour. Will you to-morrow tell us thestory of the little picture in the parlour?"

  "You said you would when we were older," said Edmee, persuasively.

  "What do you think?" said Madame Marcel, turning to her husband.

  The farmer shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly.

  "I have no objection," he said. "They are sensible children, and notlikely to get foolish notions in their heads. On the contrary, they areold enough to learn good lessons from the story of these troubles oflong ago. I am quite pleased that they should hear it, and I shouldlike to hear it again myself, for I am not so good a scholar as you. Ihave sometimes looked into the papers, but I find the writingdifficult."

  "I think I almost know it by heart," said his wife. "My mother liked meto read it to her. Well, then, my children, to-morrow evening, when thelittle ones are asleep, you shall hear the story of the little oldportrait."

  CHAPTER TWO.

  The Marcel children were up betimes the next morning--not that they wereever late, in summer especially, for, young as they were, there wereplenty of ways in which they already helped their busy father andmother. And as everybody knows, there is no time so busy in a farm insummer as the early morning. In general they were all, except littleRoger, due at school at eight o'clock, but to-day, as I have explained,was a holiday, and the mere feeling of not having to go to school seemedto make them wish to get up even earlier than usual.

  Then there was the treat of coffee for breakfast, instead of the soup--avery homely kind of soup made with dripping, which English childrenwould not, I fancy, think very good--which was their usual fare, and notcoffee, but white bread and _butter_! Joseph smacked his lips at this,you may be sure. After breakfast they all went into the parlour for afew minutes, there to present to Madame Marcel the little gifts they hadprepared for her, with which she was of course greatly pleased, as wellas with the decorations of the room.

  "Now go, my children," she said, "and amuse yourselves well tilldinner-time. It is a most lovely day. If you can find a nice basketfulof wood strawberries they will not come in badly for the dessert."

  "No, indeed," said Joseph, "there is nothing better than strawberrieswith cream. You will give us a little of that be
autiful thick cream youmake the little cheeses for market with, won't you, mother? For a_very_ great treat."

  And Madame Marcel could not help laughing at the pathetic air with whichhe said it, even though she told him she feared he was growing too fondof nice things to eat.

  The strawberry hunt was very successful, and the children came home ingood spirits, and quite ready to do justice to the birthday dinner, towhich had been invited the clergyman of the village, or cure, as he wascalled, and Farmer Marcel's widowed sister, with her two children.

  Later in the day the young people all played games in the orchard; then,too