Aunt Judys Tales | Page 2

retire up-stairs and perform the necessary ablution, or otherwise they
would be turned out, and not allowed to listen to the story.
Nos. 6 and 7 were rather restive. The truth was, it had been one of those
unlucky days which now and then will occur in families, in which
everything seemed to be perverse and go askew. It was a dark, cold,
rainy day in November, and going out had been impossible. The elder
boys had worried, and the younger ones had cried. It was Saturday too,
and the maids were scouring in all directions, waking every echo in the

back-premises by the grating of sand-stone on the flags; and they had
been a good deal discomposed by the family effort to play at "Wolf" in
the passages. Mamma had been at accounts all the morning, trying to
find out some magical corner in which expenses could be reduced
between then and the arrival of Christmas bills; and, moreover, it was a
half-holiday, and the children had, as they call it, nothing to do.
So Nos. 6 and 7, who had been vexed about several other little matters
before, during the course of the day, broke out now on the subject of
the washing of their hands.
Aunt Judy was inexorable however--inexorable though cool; and the
rest got impatient at the delay which the debate occasioned: so, partly
by coaxing, and partly by the threat of being shut out from hearing the
story, Nos. 6 and 7 were at last prevailed upon to go up- stairs and
wash their grim little paws into that delicate shell-like pink, which is
the characteristic of juvenile fingers when clean.
As they went out, however, they murmured, in whimpered tones, that
they were sure it was VERY HARD!
After their departure, Aunt Judy requested the rest not to talk, and a
complete silence ensued, during which one or two of the youngest
evidently concluded that she was composing her story, for they stared
at her with all their might, as if to discover how she did it.
Meantime the rain beat violently against the panes, and the red curtains
swayed to and fro from the effect of the wind, which, in spite of
tolerable woodwork, found its way through the divisions of the
windows. There was something very dreary in the sound, and very odd
in the varying shades of red which appeared upon the curtains as they
swerved backwards and forwards in the firelight.
Several of the children observed it, but no one spoke until the footsteps
of Nos. 6 and 7 were heard approaching the door, on which a little girl
ventured to whisper, "I'm very glad I'm not out in the wind and rain;"
and a boy made answer, "Why, who would be so silly as to think of
going out in the wind and rain? Nobody, of course!"
At that moment Nos. 6 and 7 entered, and took their places on two little
Derby chairs, having previously showed their pink hands in sombre
silence to Aunt Judy, whereupon Aunt Judy turned herself so as to face
the whole group, and then began her story as follows:-
"There were once upon a time eight little Victims, who were shut up in

a large stone-building, where they were watched night and day by a set
of huge grown-up keepers, who made them do whatever they chose."
"Don't make it TOO sad, Aunt Judy," murmured No. 8, half in a
tremble already.
"You needn't be frightened, No. 8," was the answer; "my stories always
end well."
"I'm so glad," chuckled No. 8 with a grin, as he clapped one little fat
hand down upon the other on his lap in complete satisfaction. "Go on,
please."
"Was the large stone-building a prison, Aunt Judy?" inquired No. 7.
"That depends upon your ideas of a prison," answered Aunt Judy.
"What do you suppose a prison is?"
"Oh, a great big place with walls all round, where people are locked up,
and can't go in and out as they choose."
"Very well. Then I think you may be allowed to call the place in which
the little Victims were kept a prison, for it certainly was a great big
place with walls all round, and they were locked up at night, and not
allowed to go in and out as they chose."
"Poor things," murmured No. 8; but he consoled himself by
recollecting that the story was to end well.
"Aunt Judy, before you go on, do tell us what VICTIMS are? Are they
fairies, or what? I don't know."
This was the request of No. 5, who was rather more thoughtful than the
rest, and was apt now and then to delay a story by his inquiring turn of
mind.
No. 6 was in a hurry