Mabel's summer in the Himalayas

Contents

Making Ready .

CHAPTER ].

The Journey . .

Chapter I. Making Beady

mamma, I wonder what can be the ^ matter ? Here comes auntie in all this heat,” cried little Mabel Grey, turning from the window, to which she had rushed a moment before at the sound of wheels.

Mamma came from her room when she heard her daughter’s voice, and papa came from his study. Then the outer door opened softly and was quickly closed, and auntie stepped into the midst of the little group.

^‘Oh, auntie,” exclaimed Mabel, “what made you come out in this heat? It will make your head ache ;” and mamma, lead-

MABEJ/S SUMMER ing auntie to a seat, repeated Mabel’s question.

''Uncle is not so well again,” answered auntie, " and this morning, when the doctor called, he told him that he could not get well in this great heat and must go immediately to the mountains ; and we have decided to leave on Monday evening.”

For a moment no one spoke ; then mamma said,

" So soon ? And this is Friday !”

" Yes,” replied auntie, " and it is because we go so soon that I came out at this time ; for, knowing how troubled you have felt about Mabel’s health, I have come to offer to take her with us to the mountains. Will you trust her to my care?”

A shout of delight burst from Mabel, and, springing into her mamma’s lap and winding her arms about her neck, she pleaded,

" Do let me go, mamma ! I am so fond of the hills ! Please do let me go with auntie.”

But mamma did not answer, and a tear

MAKING READY.

trembled in her eye; while papa looked very grave at the thought of parting with his little daughter.

Mabel’s parents lived in India, and that country, you know, is not like America ; but for several months during the year, in some parts of India, the heat is so great that from the rising to the setting of the sun the outer doors are all carefully closed, to shut out the furnace-like air. Of course this life is very hard for little children, who cannot play out of doors except very early in the morning or in the evening. They grow thin and white, and many die. I have seen little pale-faced children stand looking out of the window watching for the going down of the sun, when the doors could be opened and they could run about under the trees in the open air.

Mabel Grey was not a strong child, and two years before, when she became ill in the great heat, she was sent to the mountains, where she soon grew strong and rosy, and

MABEL'S SUMMER.

her cheeks and limbs became so plump and round that when, on her return, her^ papa took his little girl in his arms, he said,

What makes you so heavy, Mabel ? Have you been eating stones?”

Auntie knew that MabeFs mamma was anxious about her little daughter now ; and when, because of uncle’s illness, it became necessary for them to go to the mountains, she remembered Mabel, and this had brought her out at a time when few Europeans venture abroad.

Please let me go,” again pleaded Mabel, patting her mamma’s cheek.

‘‘Yes,” chimed in auntie, as she saw mamma hesitate and her eyes fill with tears; “Mabel will get back her roses and her strength in the mountains, we hope. Do let her go.”

“ But she will be a great care to you, I am afraid, especially when uncle is ill,” pleaded mamma, faintly; for she felt that,

MAKING READY.

hard as it would be to part from her child, she ought to accept auntie’s offer.

No, no ! I will not be a trouble to auntie,” came quickly from Mabel. ‘‘ Why, I can help her in ever so many ways — bring things to her, and all that.”

Mamma smiled as she looked into the eager little face, and, remembering another darling she had once clasped in her arms, but who now slept beneath the sod in the little cemetery, she said to auntie,

‘‘ If you can care for her, I think we must let her go.”

“Yes,” echoed papa; “I think we must let our little daughter go.”

And so it was settled.

Then auntie rose to go, followed to the veranda by papa, mamma, Mabel and little brother Frankie, whose baby-head could not at all understand why his sister Mabel was so happy and every one else so grave.

The time passed very quickly to every one but Mabel, who thought the days

MABEVS SUMMER.

longer than usual, though there were many things to interest her. Mamma was very busy preparing warm clothing for her little daughter, for she knew that in the mountains the air would be cool and fresh ; and, like other little girls, Mabel was fond of new clothes. Then Mabel busied herself in looking over her own treasures. The dolls were laid out, in order to decide what members of the family could be left behind.

‘‘ This one is very pale — don’t you see, Frankie?” Mabel said — ‘‘so she must go to the mountains ; and perhaps she will get roses like me. And this one has lost a foot, and this a hand ; so they must both go. Then the mamma of all must go, to take care of the children, and of course the baby cannot be left at home; so I think I must take them all. I can pack them in one box. And now I must see about their wardrobes, just as mamma is looking after mine. I will put in some warm dresses and

MAKING READY.

some wraps too, and these must be sent to the wash;” and away Mabel ran to find some one to do the work for her, with many charges to make haste, for was she not going to the mountains in just two days more?

Frankie kept very close to his little sister ; for though he could not appreciate all her preparations, yet Mabel was so full of life and happy bustle that it was pleasant to be with her.

The dollies and their clothes are all packed now, and we will look over my books,” said Mabel a little later; ‘‘for I am sure mamma will not wish me to take them all. I want my ‘ Peep-of-Day ’ books, and my ‘ Susy ’ books, and my singing-book, and the new story-book papa gave me, and the last one that came from America ; and I’m going to ask mamma to give me paper and pen, and then, when I get to the mountains, I will print you a little letter. Don’t you think that will be nice, Frankie?”

MABEUS SUMMER.

Mamma, coming that moment into the room, said,

‘‘And would you not like some bright wools and canvas and needles, and thread and buttons, and cloth to make new dresses for your dollies?’’

“Thank you, mamma; I should like it ever so much. — And now, Frankie, I am going to say ‘ Good-bye ’ to the native Christians. Come with me, please. To-morrow will be Sunday, and you know I go away on Monday, and perhaps I shall be too tired then.”

So the two children sallied forth to see their friends, Mabel in her excitement walking very fast, and fat little Frankie doing his best to keep up with her.

Chapter II. The Journey

Tl^HEN Mr. and Mrs. Howard reached the station on Monday evening, Mr. and Mrs. Grey had not yet arrived with Mabel; but by the time Mr. Howard had secured a comfortable compartment in the railway-carriage, and made all other necessary arrangements for the journey, Mr. and Mrs. Grey made their appearance leading by the hand little Mabel, her face flushed and her eyes shining with excitement. Papa lifted her into the carriage and said to Mr. Howard, ‘‘We have brought our little girl to you,” while Mabel, clasping auntie’s hand, saidj

“Will the train go soon, auntie? I thought the time would never come to start ; and then mamma forgot my umbrella,

J3

MABEL'S SUMMER.

after all — a nice new one — and we were afraid to go back for it lest we should be late.”

While they waited mamma talked with Mrs. Howard about her little girl, and put into her hands some packages not intended for Mabel’s eyes, and which she said would perhaps amuse her should she get lene^.

At length the signal for departure was given, and Mr. and Mrs. Grey, after embracing once more their little daughter and bidding good-bye to their friends, stepped from the train.

When Mabel felt the train actually in motion, she clapped her hands and cried out.

Now we are off!”

Auntie, looking out of the window, saw papa and mamma standing close to the carriage watching for another glimpse of the bright face of their darling. Papa looked very grave, and there were tears in mamma’s eyes.

‘‘ Now, auntie, I’m very tired ; please put me to bed,” said Mabel a few moments afterward.

The railway-carriages in India are not like those in America. In India a carriage is divided into two or three compartments quite distinct from one another, each of whick-is entered by doors at the side. Mr. Howard had secured a compartment provided with three long seats, which could be used as beds at night.

Mrs. Howard arranged Mabel’s bed and pillows and disrobed the tired little body ; then Mabel, kneeling down, said her evening prayer, gave uncle and auntie a good-night kiss and was soon fast asleep, and slept soundly until morning. Then, as the sunlight began to stream through the windows, Mabel sprang up :

‘‘ Oh, auntie, I’ve had such a nice sleep ! and I’m rested now just as much as if I had slept in my own little bed at home. Let me be dressed, please, and then I can look out

MABEL^S SUMMER.

of the window. I expect mamma is wondering where we are now/’ she added, with a little touch of sadness in her voice.

“ I am sure she thought of us as soon as she opened her eyes this morning,” answered auntie; ‘‘and when we get to Toondla, we will write her a letter.”

“ Are we going to stop at Toondla ? Why, that is where Mrs. Keed lives! Shall we see her?”

“We cannot travel in the day, my child, because of the heat; so Mrs. Reed has kindly asked us to spend the day with her.”

“ I’m so glad,” answered Mabel, “ for I am very fond of Mrs. Reed.”

The air soon became quite hot, and our travelers all grew wholly tired before reaching Toondla ; but at length the train glided into a covered station, and there were strange sounds, and strangely-dressed people were rushing in all directions. The station-house, with its shelter, seemed very

THE JOURNEY.

pleasant after the heat and glare of the last few hours. Water-carriers were passing back and forth on the platform with large skins filled with water slung across their backs, and the thirsty people on the train were loudly calling for water — water to cool their heads, water to slake their thirst.

I am sure this is Toondla,” Mabel cried out when the train stopped, “for there is Mr. Reed waiting for us, and he looks so warm !”

Mr. Reed was dressed in white. There was a white cover on the large sun-hat he wore, and a white cover on his umbrella.

“We will hasten home out of this heat,” Mr. Reed said, when he had greeted the travelers, “ and Mrs. Reed is waiting to give us breakfast.”

How hot the sun was, and how blinding the glare ! so that all were glad when the pleasant home of Mr. Reed was reached. In the large rooms the great fans sus-

M ABELLS SUMMER.

pended from the ceiling were kept in constant motion, while into two of the rooms a stream of cool air was forced by a machine called a thermantidote. One of these curious machines was sending a stream of cooled air into the room assigned to our travelers.

“ Oh, auntie, how nice this is ! Now we shall get cooled off,’’ exclaimed Mabel as she threw herself upon a couch.

The day was oppressively warm, but with every door and window carefully closed to shut out the heated air the house was comparatively comfortable. There was a long rest at midday ; then the letter to mamma, and the stroll in the garden after the sun went down, and the pleasant evening meal when the lamps were lighted. Mabel had a long nap then, but wakened in great good humor when told that she could continue her travels.

All that night, and the following day until late in the afternoon, our travelers

THE JOURNEY.

sped on toward the Himalayas, the air becoming cooler, until, reaching Saharunpore, the point where they left the rail, the heat was much less oppressive than in their home in the plains. Just before the sun went down the party were stowed away in a conveyance somewhat resembling an omnibus, but very rudely built. They had yet a journey of forty miles before reaching the foot of the Himalayas.

As the darkness came on Mabel grew tired and sleepy, so auntie made a bed for her in the bottom of the omnibus, and the little girl was soon fast asleep. Uncle, too, was able to get some sleep, but auntie was too anxious to sleep. Every five or six miles of the way horses were changed. Sometimes they started otf at a furious pace, and sometimes they refused to move. The road, too, was not always safe ; and when a low range of mountains was crossed, the air was so cool that auntie feared both the invalid and Mabel would suffer. It was a

M ABELLS SmmEB.

relief, therefore, when the journey was at an end, and when, at two o’clock in the morning, the omnibus halted before a low thatched bungalow with a wide veranda in front. All was still and dark, but soon a light appeared and the house was opened. Uncle and auntie climbed down from the omnibus, and Mabel was carefully lifted out.

Where are we, auntie ?” asked the sleepy little girl. “ Have we got there yet ?”

Not to Landour, but to the foot of the mountains. We can sleep here until the darkness is gone ; then we will go up the mountain.”

From the top of the great omnibus boxes and packages were handed down, and deposited on the veranda; then the travelers were conducted to one of the little rooms, and soon all was still again. But with the first streak of dawn auntie was astir. After her own preparations were completed she took from Mabel’s box the warm clothing her loving mamma had provided for her;

THE JOURNEY.

and when all was in readiness, she wakened the little girl.

“What is it, auntie?” she asked, with eyes still unopened.

“ Wake up, Mabel ! Uncle and auntie are dressed, breakfast will soon be here, and the men are at the door waiting to carry us and our bundles up the mountain.”

“ Oh, auntie !” with a little scream of delight. “And so I shall see Fannie to-day! Do you think they are expecting us ?”

“Yes, dear; I wrote Mrs. Linton that I hoped we should reach Landour this morning.”

“ I’m so glad ! And am I really going to wear these warm clothes ? How funny I”

“Yes, my child. The sun will be hot, like the sun in the plains, but the air will be pleasant and cool.”

There are no roads over the mountains for carriages, and burdens are carried on the backs of mules and ponies or are borne

M ABELLS SUMMER.

by men, and, hard * as the work is, because they receive more pay for it than for ordinary labor they are always ready to engage in it.

While auntie was dressing Mabel and giving her her breakfast, uncle was on the veranda arranging with the men who had assembled. The packages and boxes were all placed before them, and each one was anxious to secure for himself the lightest load. Unless carefully watched, a strong man would pick up a small package and, strapping it to his back, march off triumphantly, leaving the heaviest loads for those less able to bear them.

Soon uncle’s voice was heard calling auntie and Mabel to make haste or they would find the sun very hot before they reached Landour. E-ugs and shawls were thrown over a conveyance looking somewhat like the top of a small sleigh with two seats facing each other. A basket of luncheon was put in, lest Mabel should get

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THE JOURNEY.

hungry in the fresh morning air. She was wrapped in a warm cloak; then auntie brought her scarlet hood, out of which her bright little face peeped, all smiles and eagerness.

Leaping into the jhampan, as the curious vehicle was called, she said.

This nice little seat is for me, and the wide one, just opposite, is for you, and I can see your face all the time ; and the cover over the top will shut out the sun.”

Poles were fastened to the sides of the jhampan ; and when it was carried, the ends of the poles rested on the shoulders of the bearers. Four strong men lifted the jhampan from the ground and started off merrily, followed by four others to relieve them when they became tired.

The morning was lovely and the air fresh and cool. The road led through a large bazar, and here one of the irons through which the poles of the jhampan passed was found to be broken, and it became necessary

MABEL’S SUMMER.

to go back for another conveyance. The broken jhampan was set down upon the ground close beside some shops, while four men went back for a stronger one. Mabel did not like the detention, but amused herself watching the people who passed. Here was a man driving ponies laden with bags of grain; then followed men bearing burdens upon their backs; there was a water-carrier with a skin filled with water slung across his back. Some coolies, in passing, asked for water. The water-carrier moved his skin a little to one side and opened the mouth of the sack, while the thirsty coolie sat down on his heels, joined his two hands and raised them to his mouth ; into his joined hands the water-carrier poured a small stream of water until his thirst was quenched. Thus they were all satisfied. The men from the little shops brought out bright brass vessels to be filled with water. Women were seen toiling up the hill bearing on their heads jars of water, brought

Hindu woman with jars on her head

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THE JOURNEY.

from some neighboring spring or well. How straight they were, and how gracefully they bore their burdens !

Before some of the shops the owners were setting out baskets of grain for sale. These were the grain-merchants, and for the coolies who passed they kept a su^Dply of parched rice or corn, or some other grain, which they sold in small quantities, and which the men could eat as they walked along. Frequently two women were seen grinding at a mill, for in India the meal is ground as it is needed for daily use, and this work is usually done by women, who sit on the ground opposite each other. The mill is made of two round, flat stones placed one above the other. In the upper stone is a handle quite near the edge, and by this means the upper stone is made to turn upon the lower. Through a little circular opening in the upper stone the grain is put in, handful by handful; and when the mill is turned, the grain is ground.

MABEL SUMMER.

lu one shop gay native cloths were exposed for sale ; in another, skins of animals found in the mountains. Here was the shop of a money-changer, and before him, on a low table, were little piles of copper coin, and little heaps of shells also used as currency.

But Mabel grew tired of watching the shops and the passers-by, and, looking back, exclaimed,

see uncle coming, auntie, and the coolies bringing our boxes. I can see mine, and I do hope the poor dolls will not get broken.’’

Why are you sitting here ?” uncle asked when he came up.

‘‘We’re broken down; don’t you see, uncle?” answered Mabel. “And you will get to Landour first, and perhaps we shall stay here all day,” she continued, with a little pout.

“Oh no; I shall wait for you,” Mr. Howard said. “But here come the men.”

THE JOURNEY.

To lift the rugs and the wraps into the new jhampan was but the work of a moment, and the travelers moved on, the road becoming steeper and steeper and winding in and out, sometimes a high mountain on one side and a precipice on the other. Flowers were in bloom, and in shady nooks delicate ferns were growing. Mabel was fond of flowers, and constantly asked to be allowed to get out to gather them; but auntie at length said,

‘‘ If we stop so often, Mabel, it will be very late before we reach Landour, and Fannie will grow tired looking for you.’’

‘‘Well, then, auntie, I will not ask to get out any more, because in Landour I can gather flowers every day.”

As they approached Landour, Mabel suddenly called out,

“ Oh, auntie, I remember this ! I’m sure we are almost there, and we shall see our own house very soon.”

MABEL'S SVMMER.

Auntie smiled, but did not answer.

Then, as they turned a corner, Mabel clapped her hands and shouted,

‘‘ I knew this was Landour, and that is the very house; and I expect Fannie is on the veranda looking out for us.”

Chapter III. Life In The Mountains

rpHE bearers stopped before a thatched ^ cottage with a wide, pleasant veranda in front, and over the trellis-work honeysuckles were climbing. As soon as the jhampan was set down Mabel sprang out and, running up to the veranda, kissed a lady standing there, and then turned to salute a little girl, a year or two younger than herself, who stood quietly by the side of her mother.

‘^You know me, don’t you, Fannie?” Mabel asked. ‘‘ And are you not glad I have come? for now you will have some one to play with you.”

Fannie was very shy, and did not answer.

A little child with rosy cheeks and bright hair was clinging to Mrs. Linton.

MABEL 'S SUMMER.

‘‘This is Katie, I suppose?” said Mrs. Howard.

“Yes, and she is my youngest. But come into the sitting-room ; you must be tired, and hungry too, for it is late.”

Breakfast was soon served, and, though Mabel, who was not at all shy, was quite ready to answer any question asked her about the journey, Fannie said not a word ; but whenever she thought she could do so without being observed, she stole glances at the new arrivals.

By the time that breakfast was over, the men bringing the boxes began to arrive.

“We will look at the rooms now,” said Mrs. Howard ; for the cottage was designed for two families, and it had been arranged that Mr. and Mrs. Howard should occupy the vacant rooms.

“ But you will take your meals with me until you are settled,” said Mrs. Linton, kindly.

“ To-day we shall be glad to do so, but

LIFE IN THE MOUNTAINS.

to-morrow, I think, we shall be quite ready to begin life on our own account.”

‘‘Let us go too,” said Mabel, taking Fannie’s hand, “and see where we are going to live. — Where will you sleep, auntie?” she asked, a few minutes later.

“In this room, my child.”

“ And where are you going to put me ?” asked Mabel, a little ruefully.

“ In this room too. Your little bed will be on that side, just where I can see you all the time.”

“ I am so glad, auntie, because, you know, I have never slept in a room all alone, and perhaps I should be frightened ; I know I should be lonely.”

Mabel walked to the window, and then exclaimed,

“ Please come here, auntie. There is just a little path close to the window, and a railing, and then you look down and down, and I can see great trees there. But here,” said Mabel, running to another window,

MABEL^S SUMMER.

“you look up, and up; and, auntie, when you have climbed to the very top, you can see mountains far, far away covered with snow. I remember, though I was a very little girl when I was here before — not more than five years old. But I was born here, above the clouds ; mamma told me so. And now may I go with Fannie and play outside?’’

“Yes, but you must not go in the sun without your sun-hat. And now I want to tell you that you must not climb about in dangerous places when you and Fannie are alone. Will you remember ?”

“Yes, auntie,” was cheerfully answered; and the two little girls, hand in hand, tripped out into the sunshine.

To our friends from the plains the air seemed very cool, so for several days after their arrival fires were kept burning in the grates, though the sun was warm and flowers were blossoming outside.

The little girls were soon well acquainted.

LIFE IN THE MOUNTAINS.

and Fannie’s shyness began to wear off, so that she would come into Mrs. Howard’s parlor to play, though at first she ventured no farther than the veranda. In the morning, when Mabel opened her eyes, her first question usually was,

‘‘ Auntie, have you seen Fannie ? Is she up and dressed?”

Together the two little girls took their morning walks.

Fannie is ever so much smaller than I am,” Mabel said one day; ‘‘so I can take care of her.”

One evening Mr. Howard stepped out on the veranda, and, looking up the hill rising at one side of the cottage, saw Mabel on a narrow path far up the hill, and just where the bank was very steep.

“ Mabel is quite alone,” he said ; “ and on that narrow path too! I am very much afraid she will fall.”

Just then he heard stones rattling down. They struck the road, then glanced off and

MABEL^S SUMMER.

rolled and bounded far down the mountainside.

Mr. Howard sprang forward, and, climbing up the bank, caught Mabel, who stood poising herself, greatly frightened as she felt the ground slipping away beneath her feet. Taking Mabel in his arms, Mr. Howard said,

Has not auntie often said that you must not climb in dangerous places when you are alone T

“ But I did not know that it was dangerous,” answered Mabel, with a little tremble in her voice.

“ Did you not know that you ought not to have climbed there ?”

Mabel hung her head, but made no answer.

‘‘You said that you could take care of Fannie,” continued Mr. Howard; “but if you lead her into such places, you cannot be trusted with her. Did you see where that stone rolled just now? It did not

LIFE IN THE MOUNTAINS.

stop on the path, but rolled far down the mountain, and so I am afraid my little girl might have done had she fallen/’

‘‘ Uncle, I will never climb up there again,” said Mabel, penitently.

When Mr. Howard told his wife where he had found Mabel, she said,

do not think she meant to be disobedient, but she is so young that she does not always understand where there is danger, and in her love for flowers and ferns and pretty stones she is sometimes tempted to go beyond the line of safety. I know her mamma wishes her to be as much as possible in the open air, that she may gain health and strength ; so I think that we must try to find a trusty ayah to go out with her. In this way only shall I feel safe about her when she is out of my sight.”

As soon as it was known that an ayah was wanted for Mabel women with letters of recommendation began to come to the

M ABELLS SUMMER.

house. Some did not bring letters that satisfied Mrs. Howard, and with the appearance of others she was not pleased; so it was several days before a suitable woman could be obtained. But one morning a pleasant - faced woman presented herself. Her clothes were clean, and her letters of recommendation were satisfactory.

Take this woman, auntie, please,” pleaded Mabel. ‘‘Don’t you think she has a pleasant face? and her clothes are quite clean. I think she likes children, too. — What was the name of the last little girl you took care of?” she asked the ayah.

“Lillie, and I have her picture;” and from the folds of the large cloth which covered her head and shoulders she produced a folded paper, out of which she took the picture of a little girl with a sweet childish face.