Mary Gray | Page 2

a time when he had not been so reticent. That was before
the stepmother came, the stepmother whom, honestly, Walter Gray had
married because his child was neglected. He had not anticipated,
perhaps, the long string of children which was to result from the
marriage, whose presence in the world was to make Mary's lot a more
strenuous one than would have been the case if she had been a child
alone.
Not that Mary grumbled about the stepbrothers and sisters. Year after
year, from the time she could stagger under the weight of a baby, she
had received a new burden for her arms, and had found enough love for
each newcomer.
The second Mrs. Gray was a poor, puny, washed-out little rag of a
woman, whose one distinction was the number of her children. They
had always great appetites to be satisfied. As soon as they began to run
about, the rapidity with which they wore out their boots and the knees
of their trousers, and outgrew their frocks, was a subject upon which
Mrs. Gray could expatiate for hours. Mary had a tender, strong pity
from the earliest age for the down-at-heel, over-burdened stepmother,
which lightened her own load, as did the vicarious, motherly love
which came to her for each succeeding fat baby.
Mary was nurse and nursery-governess to all the family. Wistaria
Terrace had one great recompense for its humble and hidden condition.
It was within easy reach of the fields and the mountains. For an
adventurous spirit the sea was not at an insuperable distance. Indeed,
but for the high wall of the school playground, the lovely line of
mountains had been well in view. As it was, many a day in summer
Mary would carry off her train of children to the fields, with a humble
refection of bread and butter and jam, and milk for their mid-day meal;
and these occasions allowed Mrs. Gray a few hours of peace that were
like a foretaste of Paradise.

She never grumbled, poor little woman, because her husband shared his
thoughts with Mary and not with her. Whatever ambitions she had had
to rise to her Walter's level--she had an immense opinion of his
learning--had long been extinguished under the accumulation of toils
and burdens that made up her daily life. She was fond of Mary, and
leant on her strangely, considering their relative ages. For the rest, she
toiled with indifferent success at household tasks, and was grateful for
having a husband so absorbed in distant speculations that he was
insensible of the near discomfort of a badly-cooked dinner or a
buttonless shirt.
The gardens of the houses opened on a lane which was a sort of
rubbish-shoot for the houses that gave upon it. Across the lane was a
row of stabling belonging to far more important houses than Wistaria
Terrace. Beyond the stables and stable yards were old gardens with
shady stretches of turf and forest trees enclosed within their walls.
Beyond the gardens rose the fine old-fashioned houses of the Mall, big
Georgian houses that looked in front across the roadway at the line of
elm-trees that bordered the canal. The green waters of the canal,
winding placidly through its green channel, with the elm-trees reflected
greenly in its green depths, had a suggestion of Holland.
The lane was something of an adventure to the children of Wistaria
Terrace. There, any day, you might see a coachman curry-combing his
satin-skinned horses, hissing between his teeth by way of
encouragement, after the time-honoured custom. Or you might see a
load of hay lifted up by a windlass into the loft above the stables. Or
you might assist at the washing of a carriage. Sometimes the gate at the
farther side of the stable was open, and a gardener would come through
with a barrowful of rubbish to add to the accumulation already in the
lane.
Through the open gateway the children would catch glimpses of
Fairyland. A broad stretch of shining turf dappled with sun and shade.
Tall snapdragons and lilies and sweet-williams and phlox in the
garden-beds. A fruit tree or two, heavy with blossom or fruit.
Only old-fashioned people lived in the Mall nowadays, and the

glimpses the children caught of the owners of those terrestrial paradises
fitted in with the idea of fairyland. They were always old ladies and
gentlemen, and they were old-fashioned in their attire, but very
magnificent. There was one old lady who was the very Fairy
Godmother of the stories. She was the one who had the magnificent
mulberry-tree in her garden. One day in every year the children were
called in to strip the tree of its fruit; and that was a great day for
Wistaria Terrace.
The children were allowed to bring basins to carry