The Adventures of Herr Baby

Herr Baby's birthday came in the late spring. They were all back in England by then. The old garden was no longer "lonely," for the children's voices were heard all over it, and the sunlight through the leaves flickered on to their curly heads as they ran about in delight, seeking for all their old favourite corners. The "labbits" were well and happy; Jones and Thomas had come to meet them at the railway station with broad smiles on their honest faces; all the house looked bright and smiling, too, it had been so well rubbed up to receive them – altogether Herr Baby thought "coming back" was a very nice and happy thing, though he had enjoyed himself so much at Santino that he told Lisa he didn't think he would much mind if they did go there again next winter, when it began to get cold at home, as was already spoken of, as Santino had done grandfather so much good this time.

So, as I was saying, it was a very happy little man, indeed, that woke up in his "own dear little bed," – which, wonderful to say, had not grown too small for him all the months they had been away, – on the morning of Herr Baby's fifth birthday. He could hardly stand still to be dressed, so eager was he to run off to mother's room to get her birthday kiss, and to see the presents which he knew would not have been forgotten. They turned out even prettier than he had expected; indeed, it would take me too long were I to tell you all about the beautiful box of bricks, big enough to build real houses almost, Baby thought, from grandfather, and the lovely pair of toy horses with real hair, in a stable, from mother, and the coachman's whip to crack at them from Fritz, and the pair of slippers Celia and Denny had worked for him, one foot each, and the birthday cake all snowed over with sugar, and with his name on in pink, from grandfather and mother together, "'asides their other presents." It quite took Herr Baby's breath away to think all these lovely things were for him; he sat at the nursery table quite unable to eat his breakfast, something like Fritz the morning they were starting on their journey, do you remember? till Lisa persuaded him to eat, by telling him if he didn't, he would be so tired that he wouldn't enjoy his birthday at all, which made him set to work at his bread and milk. Lisa, too, had remembered the day, for she had made him the prettiest little penny purse you ever saw, knitted in bright-coloured silk, so that now he was very well off, indeed, with his "scented" purse for his gold and silver, and Lisa's one for pennies and halfpennies, and his money-box to store up the rest in when the purses were full. He had all his presents set out in a row, so that he could see them while he was eating, and just when he was at nearly the last spoonful, he was quite startled by a voice beside him, saying, "And what about my present, Baby, dear? Did you think I had forgotten your birthday?"

It was auntie. She had come in so quietly that Herr Baby had not heard her. She leant over his chair, and he put his arms round her neck and kissed her.

"Him is so happy, auntie dear," he said; "him has such lots of p'esents, him never thought about your p'esent."

"Didn't you, dear?" said auntie, smiling. "Well, I didn't forget it – indeed, I thought of it a long time ago, as you will see. Come with me, for I see you have finished your breakfast."

Auntie took him by the hand. Baby wondered where she was going to, and he was rather surprised when she led him to his own room – that is to say, to the pretty nursery where he and Denny had their two little white beds side by side.

"Look up, Baby," said auntie.

And looking up, what do you think he saw? On the wall, at the side of his own little bed, where his eyes could see it the first thing in the morning, and the last at night, hung the picture of the blue-eyed little girl, the dear little girl of long ago, with her sweet rosy face, and queer old-fashioned white frock, smiling down at him, with the sort of wise, loving look, just as she had smiled down at him in the old shop at Santino.

"Oh, auntie, auntie!" cried Baby. But then he seemed as if he could say no more. He just stared up at the sweet little face, clasping his hands, as if he was too pleased to speak. Then, at last, he turned to auntie and hugged her.

"Oh, auntie!" he said again. "Oh, him is so p'eased to have him's own pitty little girl always smiling at him. Him will always have her, won't him, auntie?"

"I hope so, dear. She is your very own."

"Him will keep her till him is kite old. Him will show her to him's children and him's g'anchildren, won't him?" went on Baby solemnly.

"I hope so, dear," said auntie again, smiling at his flushed little face.

"Her is so pitty," said Baby. "Her is as sweet as a fairy. Auntie, him would so like to hear all the story about her. Couldn't you find it out, auntie?"

"Perhaps," said auntie, "or, what would be still better, perhaps the little girl will whisper it to you some night when you are asleep."

"That would be nice," said Baby. Then another thought struck him. "Auntie," he said, "will you ask mother to let him bring up the shiny jugs to show them to the pitty little girl? Her would like to see them so nice, and not brokened at all wif the packing. Oh, auntie, what a bootiful birfday – him are so happy!"

THE END