Mrs. Overtheways Remembrances | Page 5

fairy tales. It is true that in Fairy-land there are advantages

which cannot always be reckoned upon by commonplace children in
this commonplace world. When the straw, the coal, and the bean came
to a rivulet in their travels, the straw laid himself across as a bridge for
the others, and had not the coal been a degree too hot on that unlucky
occasion, they might (for anything Ida knew to the contrary) still have
been pursuing their journey in these favourable circumstances. But a
travelling-companion who expands into a bridge on an emergency is
not to be met with every day; and as to poor Ida--she was alone. She
stood first on one leg, and then on the other, she looked at the water,
and then at the primroses, and then at the water again, and at last
perceived that in one place there was a large, flat, moss-covered stone
in the middle of the stream, which stood well out of the water, and from
which--could she but reach it--she might scramble to the opposite bank.
But how to reach it? that nice, large, secure, comfortable-looking stone.
"I must put some more stones," thought Ida. There were plenty in the
stream, and Ida dragged them up, and began to make a ford by piling
them together. It was chilly work, for a cloud had come over the sun;
and Ida was just a little bit frightened by the fresh-water shrimps, and
some queer, many-legged beasts, who shot off the stones as she lifted
them. At last the ford was complete. Ida stepped daintily over the
bridge she had made, and jumped triumphantly on to the big stone.
Alas! for trusting to appearances. The stone that looked so firm, was
insecurely balanced below, and at the first shock one side went down
with a splash, and Ida went with it. What a triumph for the shrimps!
She scrambled to the bank, however, made up a charming bunch of
primroses, and turned to go home. Never mind how she got back across
the brook. We have all waded streams before now, and very good fun it
is in June, but rather chilly work in February; and, in spite of running
home, Ida trembled as much with cold as with excitement when she
stood at last before Mrs. Overtheway's green gate.
Click! Ida went up the white steps, marking them sadly with her wet
feet, and gave a valiant rap. The door was opened, and a tall, rather
severe-looking housekeeper asked:
"What do you want, my dear?"

A shyness, amounting to terror, had seized upon Ida, and she could
hardly find voice to answer.
"If you please, I have brought these for--"
For whom? Ida's pale face burnt crimson as she remembered that after
all she did not know the little old lady's name. Perhaps the severe
housekeeper was touched by the sight of the black frock, torn as it was,
for she said kindly:
"Don't be frightened, my dear. What do you want?"
"These primroses," said Ida, who was almost choking. "They are for
Mrs. Overtheway to take to church with her. I am very sorry, if you
please, but I don't know her name, and I call her Mrs. Overtheway
because, you know, she lives over the way. At least--" Ida added,
looking back across the road with a sudden confusion in her ideas, "at
least--I mean--you know--we live over the way." And overwhelmed
with shame at her own stupidity, Ida stuffed the flowers into the
woman's hand, and ran home as if a lion were at her heels.
"Well! Miss Ida," began Nurse, as Ida opened the nursery door (and
there was something terrible in her "well"); "if I ever--" and Nurse
seized Ida by the arm, which was generally premonitory of her
favourite method of punishment--"a good shaking." But Ida clung close
and flung her arms round Nurse's neck.
"Don't shake me, Nursey, dear," she begged, "my head aches so. I have
been very naughty, I know. I've done everything you can think of; I've
crept through the hedge, and been right through the wood, and made a
ford, and tumbled into the brook, and waded back, and run all the way
home, and been round by the town for fear you should see me. And I've
done something you could never, never think of if you tried till next
Christmas, I've got some flowers for Mrs. Overtheway, only I did it so
stupidly; she will think me a perfect goose, and perhaps be angry," and
the tears came into Ida's eyes.
"She'll think you a naughty, troublesome child, as you are," said Nurse,

who seldom hesitated to assume the responsibility of any statement that
appeared to be desirable; "you're mad on that old lady, I think. Just look
at that