Elizabeth went back. Then they scolded her all the way to school.
At school it was no better. She seemed more silly and stupid every day. She could not say her tables, especially the seven-times; she could not keep up in reading, and when she sewed, the cloth
was all over bloodspots from the pricks. The other children laughed at her.
‘Oh Elizabeth, why are you such a stupid child?’ asked Miss Thrupp, the teacher.
Sometimes, that year, Elizabeth got down behind the cedar chest, though it was dusty there, and lay on the floor. ‘I wish it was Christmas,’ she said to the fairy doll inside. Then
she would remember something else and say, ‘I wish it never had been Christmas,’ because worst of all, Elizabeth could not learn to ride her bicycle.
Father taught her, and Mother taught her; Christabel never stopped teaching her. ‘Push, pedal; pedal pedal pedal,’ cried Christabel, but Elizabeth’s legs were
too short.
‘Watch me,’ said Godfrey, ‘and you won’t wobble.’ But Elizabeth wobbled.
‘Go fast,’ said Josie. ‘Then you won’t fall.’ But Elizabeth fell.
All January, February, March, April, and June she tried to ride the bicycle. In July and August they went to the sea so that she had a little rest; in September, October, November she tried
again, but when December came, I am sorry to tell you, Elizabeth still could not ride the bicycle.
‘And you’re seven years old!’ said Christabel.
‘More like seven months!’ said Godfrey.
‘Baby! Baby!’ said Josie.
Great-Grandmother was to come that year for Christmas; none of the children had seen her before because she had been living in Canada. ‘Where’s Canada?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘Be quiet,’ said Christabel.
Great-Grandmother was Mother’s mother’s mother. ‘And very old,’ said Mother.
‘How old?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘Ssh,’ said Godfrey.
There was to be a surprise, the children were to march into the drawing room and sing a carol, and when the carol was ended Great-Grandmother was to be given a basket of roses. But the basket
was not a plain basket; it was made, Mother told them, of crystal.
‘What’s crystal?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘Shut up,’ said Josie, but, ‘It’s the very finest glass,’ said Mother.
The roses were not plain roses either; they were Christmas roses, snow-white. Elizabeth had expected them to be scarlet. ‘ Isn’t she silly?’ said Josie.
Who was to carry the basket? Who was to give it? ‘I’m the eldest,’ said Christabel. ‘It ought to be me.’
‘I’m the boy,’ said Godfrey. ‘It ought to be me.’
‘I’m Josephine after Great-Grandmother,’ said Josie. ‘It ought to be me.’
‘Who is to give it? Who?’ In the end they asked Mother, and Mother said ‘Elizabeth.’
‘ El izabeth?’
‘ Eliza beth?’
‘ Elizabeth? ’
‘Why?’ They all wanted to know.
‘Because she’s the youngest,’ said Mother.
None of them had heard that as a reason before, and –
‘It’s too heavy for her,’ said Christabel.
‘She’ll drop it,’ said Godfrey.
‘You know what she is,’ said Josie.
‘I’ll be very, very careful,’ said Elizabeth.
How proud she was when Mother gave the handsome, shining basket into her hands outside the drawing-room door! It was so heavy that her arms ached, but she would not have given it up for anything
in the world. Her heart beat under her velvet dress, her cheeks were red, as they marched in and stood in a row before Great-Grandmother. ‘Noel, Noel,’ they sang.
Great-Grandmother was sitting in the armchair; she had a white shawl over her knees and a white scarf patterned with silver over her shoulders; to Elizabeth she looked as if she were dressed in
white and silver all over; she even had white hair, and in one hand she held a thin stick with a silver top. She had something else, and Elizabeth stopped in the middle of a note; at the end of
Great-Grandmother’s nose hung a dewdrop.
*
An older, cleverer child
At school it was no better. She seemed more silly and stupid every day. She could not say her tables, especially the seven-times; she could not keep up in reading, and when she sewed, the cloth
was all over bloodspots from the pricks. The other children laughed at her.
‘Oh Elizabeth, why are you such a stupid child?’ asked Miss Thrupp, the teacher.
Sometimes, that year, Elizabeth got down behind the cedar chest, though it was dusty there, and lay on the floor. ‘I wish it was Christmas,’ she said to the fairy doll inside. Then
she would remember something else and say, ‘I wish it never had been Christmas,’ because worst of all, Elizabeth could not learn to ride her bicycle.
Father taught her, and Mother taught her; Christabel never stopped teaching her. ‘Push, pedal; pedal pedal pedal,’ cried Christabel, but Elizabeth’s legs were
too short.
‘Watch me,’ said Godfrey, ‘and you won’t wobble.’ But Elizabeth wobbled.
‘Go fast,’ said Josie. ‘Then you won’t fall.’ But Elizabeth fell.
All January, February, March, April, and June she tried to ride the bicycle. In July and August they went to the sea so that she had a little rest; in September, October, November she tried
again, but when December came, I am sorry to tell you, Elizabeth still could not ride the bicycle.
‘And you’re seven years old!’ said Christabel.
‘More like seven months!’ said Godfrey.
‘Baby! Baby!’ said Josie.
Great-Grandmother was to come that year for Christmas; none of the children had seen her before because she had been living in Canada. ‘Where’s Canada?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘Be quiet,’ said Christabel.
Great-Grandmother was Mother’s mother’s mother. ‘And very old,’ said Mother.
‘How old?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘Ssh,’ said Godfrey.
There was to be a surprise, the children were to march into the drawing room and sing a carol, and when the carol was ended Great-Grandmother was to be given a basket of roses. But the basket
was not a plain basket; it was made, Mother told them, of crystal.
‘What’s crystal?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘Shut up,’ said Josie, but, ‘It’s the very finest glass,’ said Mother.
The roses were not plain roses either; they were Christmas roses, snow-white. Elizabeth had expected them to be scarlet. ‘ Isn’t she silly?’ said Josie.
Who was to carry the basket? Who was to give it? ‘I’m the eldest,’ said Christabel. ‘It ought to be me.’
‘I’m the boy,’ said Godfrey. ‘It ought to be me.’
‘I’m Josephine after Great-Grandmother,’ said Josie. ‘It ought to be me.’
‘Who is to give it? Who?’ In the end they asked Mother, and Mother said ‘Elizabeth.’
‘ El izabeth?’
‘ Eliza beth?’
‘ Elizabeth? ’
‘Why?’ They all wanted to know.
‘Because she’s the youngest,’ said Mother.
None of them had heard that as a reason before, and –
‘It’s too heavy for her,’ said Christabel.
‘She’ll drop it,’ said Godfrey.
‘You know what she is,’ said Josie.
‘I’ll be very, very careful,’ said Elizabeth.
How proud she was when Mother gave the handsome, shining basket into her hands outside the drawing-room door! It was so heavy that her arms ached, but she would not have given it up for anything
in the world. Her heart beat under her velvet dress, her cheeks were red, as they marched in and stood in a row before Great-Grandmother. ‘Noel, Noel,’ they sang.
Great-Grandmother was sitting in the armchair; she had a white shawl over her knees and a white scarf patterned with silver over her shoulders; to Elizabeth she looked as if she were dressed in
white and silver all over; she even had white hair, and in one hand she held a thin stick with a silver top. She had something else, and Elizabeth stopped in the middle of a note; at the end of
Great-Grandmother’s nose hung a dewdrop.
*
An older, cleverer child
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