DAME QUIMP’S QUEST[13]

DAME QUIMP’S QUEST[13]

Ellen Manly

Farmer Jones was standing at his front gate one bright December morning when a quaint figure came hurrying along the road—a bent old woman in a long blue cloak, with the ruffles of a big cap flopping about her wrinkled face.

“Good day!” said she, as soon as she was near enough to be heard. “You’re Farmer Jones, I believe. I think you will do nicely to head the procession—just step right behind me and we’ll move on!”

“And, pray, who are you and what should I be doing in a procession?” cried the astonished man. “I’m quite too busy to leave home to-day!”

“Never mind!” answered the old crone, “I know all about you, for I’ve heard you grumbling over the weather many a time. As I came down the hill just now you were complaining at the cold and wishing it were June—you’re a regular ‘weather fretter!’ I’m the Grumble Collector, and you’d better do just as you’re told or there’ll be trouble. My name is Dame Quimp, and my work is to hunt up grumblers and bring them to my old friend Santa Claus before Christmas. If there’s anything he hates, it is grumbling, and he says he is going to teach some folks a lesson this year.

“It’s no use to say a word—just follow me, and be quick about it, too!” So off started Dame Quimp with Farmer Jones behind her, grumbling as he went.

She soon stopped short before a little house by the roadside and listened a moment. There was a sound of violent stamping, and an angry voice cried out: “I hate that old dress and I won’t wear the ugly thing! I never have any pretty clothes!” and out on the porch rushed the milliner’s little daughter, in a fine temper.

“Hoity-toity!” cried the dame. “You’re a pleasant little girl, to be sure! Just the one I’m looking for! Never mind asking ‘Why?’ but stop scolding at once and fall in line behind Farmer Jones.”

The child looked crosser than ever and began to cry, but she couldn’t help herself, and away went Dame Quimp, Farmer Jones, and the milliner’s little daughter.

As they neared the first corner, loud voices were heard and angry tones, and there stood the baker’s boy and the grocer’s clerk having a hot discussion. “It’s too far!” cried the first. “I can’t tramp way over on the hill for anybody! I hate to be sent on errands from morning till night from one end of town to the other!”

“So do I!” exclaimed the grocer’s clerk. “I’m always being told to take something somewhere for somebody just when I want a little time to myself. The skating’s fine to-day and I ought to get off early, but I shan’t be allowed to. It’s a shame to have to carry bundles instead of being on the pond!”

“Very well, young men!” cried Dame Quimp, “you shall have a nice long walk. I’m very pleased to meet you! Just step next in line to the little girl and we’ll hurry along! No questions, please!”

So off went Dame Quimp, Farmer Jones, the milliner’s little daughter, the baker’s boy, and the grocer’s clerk.

As they passed the doctor’s house, the cook, in her apron and cap, was standing at the gate grumbling to the ice-man. “Shure an’ ’tis nothin’ but cook, cook, cook, all day long, an’ meals havin’ to be kept hot fer a man that’s niver in the house when he ought to be! I’m that tired of wurruk that I’ve a foine mind to tell him he may cook fer himself fer a while!”

“All right, Bridget!” called Dame Quimp, sharply. “You step off right now! Just take your place next to the grocer’s clerk and we’ll move on!” And away again went Dame Quimp, Farmer Jones, the milliner’s little daughter, the baker’s boy, the grocer’s clerk, and the doctor’s cook.

Pretty soon they came to little Tommy Brooks’s house, and there was Tommy at the front door fussing with his mother. “I don’t need any overcoat!” cried he, “and I can’t wear rubbers,—they hurt my feet,—and I left my mittens at school! I hate to be bundled up just like a girl, anyway, and I wish people would let little boys alone!”

“Thomas Brooks!” called out the dame, severely, “you put on that overcoat and those rubbers at once and get behind the doctor’s cook—you’re the boy for me! Step lively, now, all of you!” And off started Dame Quimp, Farmer Jones, the milliner’s little daughter, the baker’s boy, the grocer’s clerk, the doctor’s cook, and little Tommy Brooks.

A little farther up the street the shoemaker’s wife was grumbling to a neighbor, as she shook out her duster on the porch. “I’ve no patience with housekeeping!” declared the sharp voice. “I don’t do anything but chase dirt from morning till night, and yet the place is never clean—and my work is never done. Yes, it is a comfortable and pretty house, but I’m tired of the sight of it! I have to go and sweep the dining-room this very minute!”

“Oh no! not at all!” cried Dame Quimp. “That nice home of yours won’t get any more cleaning this day! You can fall right in line behind Tommy Brooks, and no remarks, if you please!”

So off they went again—Dame Quimp, Farmer Jones, the milliner’s little daughter, the baker’s boy, the grocer’s clerk, the doctor’s cook, little Tommy Brooks, and the shoemaker’s wife.

At the turn of the road there was the sound of excited talking and high words, and there stood the minister’s twin grandchildren quarreling over a sled and a pair of skates.

“I don’t want the old sled!” cried the boy. “I do nothing but give you rides on it! You can just let me have the skates, and drag the sled, yourself, for a while!”

“Take the old skates!” answered the little girl, angrily. “I can’t stand up on them, anyway, and I’m tired of trying, and I don’t want the sled, either. I wish people would give us some nice presents. What’s the use of being twins if you can’t have a good time?”

“Sure enough!” cried Dame Quimp. “Two nice little children who can’t be happy with a fine sled and a pair of new skates—I never heard of such a thing! Come right here and take places behind the shoemaker’s wife; and don’t cry about it, either, for there’s no time to lose!” And away hurried Dame Quimp, Farmer Jones, the milliner’s little daughter, the baker’s boy, the grocer’s clerk, the doctor’s cook, little Tommy Brooks, the shoemaker’s wife, and the minister’s twin grandchildren.

Before long they came to the beautiful big house where the banker lived, and there, just coming out of the gate, they met the governess, looking much distressed and almost in tears. “What can I do for you, my dear?” asked Dame Quimp, anxiously; “you seem to be in trouble. I’m the Grumble Collector, and perhaps I can help you.”

“Indeed you can,” said the governess, eagerly, “if you will only tell me what to do with the banker’s Dorothy. She has everything in the world to please and amuse her, and yet she’s always in a fret. As for clothes, she has so many pretty things that she can’t tell which she wants to wear. I ran away just now because I was quite worn out with her grumbling. I left her fussing over a pink, a blue, and a green frock, trying to decide which to put on, and in such a temper that she couldn’t look nice in anything.”

“I see! I see!” replied the dame; “a very bad case indeed! Just bring her to me at once and she shall report to Santa Claus— Ah, here she is! Come right along, Dorothy; you’re just the kind of little girl needed in this procession! Stop fretting, directly, and step in line behind the minister’s twin grandchildren and we’ll move on!”

And away again went Dame Quimp, Farmer Jones, the milliner’s little daughter, the baker’s boy, the grocer’s clerk, the doctor’s cook, little Tommy Brooks, the shoemaker’s wife, the minister’s twin grandchildren, and the banker’s Dorothy.

“Let me see,” said the dame, as they reached the end of the street; “I think I have heard that the barber’s grandmother was a terrible grumbler—I might try to find out.” So at a little house at the corner they all waited while she knocked vigorously at the door. It was opened quickly by a sharp-looking little old woman who held on her arm a big basket of mending.

“What do you want!” she said crossly. “I haven’t time to say a word to anybody, so I can’t ask you in. I’m just as fretted as I can be with all this mending to do! I do think that after darning socks for nearly fifty years I might be allowed to hold my hands for a bit; but every week here’s this great basket full and nobody but me to attend to it. It makes me so cross that I grumble over every pair of the old socks—I wish they were in Guinea!”

“Tut! Tut!” replied Dame Quimp, sternly. “I don’t know much about Guinea, but I do know where you’re going! You’re the very one to finish my collection. Set down that basket at once and put on a warm cloak and hood and follow the banker’s Dorothy, and we’ll go straight to Santa Claus—he’ll be quite horrified to see such a string of grumblers!”

So off once more went Dame Quimp, with Farmer Jones, the milliner’s little daughter, the baker’s boy, the grocer’s clerk, the doctor’s cook, little Tommy Brooks, the shoemaker’s wife, the minister’s twin grandchildren, the banker’s Dorothy, and the barber’s grandmother, all following behind her, one after another.

They walked and they walked,—over the bridge and past the mill; out beyond the golf-links; up one hill and down another; across ploughed fields, and through narrow woodland paths, till they were all very tired and cold, and the barber’s grandmother, being such an old woman, was quite worn out. Dame Quimp, however, would listen to no complaints, but kept them all strictly in line and hurried them on, until, in a couple of hours’ time, they reached Christmas Town.

They found Santa Claus in his shop busily engaged in tying up delightful-looking parcels in gay paper, with seals and labels, gold and silver cord, scarlet and green ribbons, and sprigs of holly scattered around him in every direction.

“Good day, old friend!” cried Dame Quimp as she entered. “I have done a good morning’s work, as you see—all these are fine, first-class grumblers, and not one of them deserves a Christmas gift. Let me introduce them—here are Farmer Jones, the milliner’s little daughter, the baker’s boy, the grocer’s clerk, the doctor’s cook, little Tommy Brooks, the shoemaker’s wife, the minister’s twin grandchildren, the banker’s Dorothy, and the barber’s grandmother. Take a good look at them so you will make no mistakes.”

“Oh dear, dear!” cried Santa Claus, in much distress. “Is it really as bad as that! I never should have thought you could find so many grumbly people in a town full of pleasant things, with so much to make them happy! I suppose I ought to give them a severe lesson to check this terrible habit, but I’m afraid, Dame, that I should quite spoil my own Christmas pleasure if I were to pass them all by!

“What can be done about it? Don’t you think we might let them off this time with a warning? I’m sure you must already have given them a pretty good scolding, for it seems to me you are getting to be quite a grumbler yourself, and I have no doubt you have been lecturing them all along the way.”

“Indeed I have!” replied the dame, “and a thankless job it was! They’re a troublesome lot, I tell you, and you’d better not let them off too easily! But, of course, you must suit yourself.”

“Oh dear! Oh dear!” cried Santa Claus again, as he tried to look sternly at the unhappy grumblers. “This is very sad—very sad indeed! It is too near Christmas for any one even to look cross, to say nothing of scolding!” And here his round face broke into a broad smile, and all the grumblers smiled, too.

“See, Dame Quimp!” cried he, eagerly, “these poor people are all in a good temper already, and I feel sure that, if I trust them, they will try very hard not to be grumblers any longer. Is it not so, my friends?”

And Farmer Jones, the milliner’s little daughter, the baker’s boy, the grocer’s clerk, the doctor’s cook, little Tommy Brooks, the shoemaker’s wife, the minister’s twin grandchildren, the banker’s Dorothy, and the barber’s grandmother, all promptly answered, “Yes!”

“Now hurry home as fast as you can,” said Santa Claus, giving them each a big stick of candy. “You have been gone so long that your friends will be anxiously wondering where you are. Dame Quimp and the barber’s grandmother will wait and have a cup of tea with me, and I will take them home in my sleigh a little later.”

There was a perfect chorus of thanks and promises, a beaming smile from Santa Claus, a reluctant grunt of farewell from Dame Quimp, and each member of the grumbler procession set out at best speed on the return trip.

It was late when they all reached home, but, strange to say, with the exception of the doctor’s cook, the baker’s boy, and the grocer’s clerk, not one of them had been missed, for the various friends and relations had been having such a delightfully quiet and restful afternoon that they had forgotten all about the departed grumblers.