The Girl Who Loved Stories And Wrote Them

From under the sitting-room table came strange whispers, but Mrs. Hodgson was not at all surprised. Beneath the long overhanging cover she could see a chubby, curly-headed little girl seated on the floor talking in low earnest tones to her wax doll, braced against the table leg.

Frances, the little girl under the table, would have described the scene very differently. What she saw was not an ordinary center table, but an Indian wigwam; not a speechless doll, but a squaw to whom she, as the chief, was telling tales of the war-trail and the happy hunting grounds.

“Frances is pretending again,” said Mrs. Hodgson to herself as she went out of the room, a bit puzzled at this little daughter’s way of playing.

The chubby little girl and her doll had many an adventure together. They took mad gallops on coal-black steeds that seemed to ordinary eyes nothing but the arms of the nursery sofa. As survivors from a sinking ship they drifted on a raft that Frances’ two sisters would have called the green arm chair. These experiences seemed very real to this little girl.

Something within little Frances’ curly head helped her to transform the sitting-room cupboard into a temple in Central America and the stiff doll into Mary Queen of Scots. It was the gift of imagination. How surprised her family would have been at that time had they known that this gift was one day to make her a famous storywriter.

In the smoky factory town of Manchester, England, Frances Eliza Hodgson was born, November 24, 1849. When she was about four years old, her sweet, gentle mother was left a widow.

Like other English children of families in comfortable circumstances, the Hodgson girls had a governess at home, before they entered a near-by private school. The lessons which interested Frances the most were those that contained stories, such as certain parts of history. She could never satisfy her great appetite for stories, though she read continually.

There were not so many good books for children then as nowadays. Frances’ relatives seemed to think that the birthday and Christmas gift books were quite enough for a little girl. Frances, however, did not agree with them. When she made a new acquaintance at school, she was sure to ask her, first of all, what books she had to lend. Sometimes when she went to visit a little friend, she forgot her manners entirely and buried herself in a new book, so eager was she to read.

One gloomy rainy day, Frances wandered through the house looking for something to read. She glanced at the tall secretary and wished that its books looked more interesting. However, she decided that she might at least try one. Accordingly, she pulled out a fat volume. It had short lines, which, to Frances, meant conversation and a story. She opened another book and found more stories. Delightedly, she continued to examine the books.

Frances was so excited and happy that she forgot to go to tea. She had discovered that there were stories enough to last her for months! It was in this way that Frances Hodgson discovered Shakespeare’s plays, Scott’s and Dickens’ novels, and many other interesting books.

Not content with reading stories, Frances was always telling or writing them. On the afternoons at school when the girls were allowed to talk quietly over their crocheting and fancy work, Frances would tell stories in low tones to the group of girls near her. They were delighted with her tales and continually begged her to tell more.

At home she often wrote stories on slates or in old account books. For fear of being teased she rarely showed the stories to anyone except her mother. Mrs. Hodgson always had an encouraging word for her little daughter’s tales and verses. This gave Frances an added incentive to continue writing.

Just at the close of the Civil War a great change came into the life of the little storywriter. Mrs. Hodgson decided to leave England and move to America. The family fortunes were impaired, and an uncle had promised to find work for the boys in the United States.

Romantic Frances was delighted with the change. Her first American home was in a tiny settlement in the forests of Tennessee. Everything was so new and strange that she seemed actually to be living in a story. The next home on the top of a hill, with mountains in the distance, was even better. How she loved the bright sunshine, the flowers, the birds, and her bower, a cozy retreat in the woods!

The boys had not as yet been able to add very much to the family fortunes. Frances and her sisters did not mind worn-out frocks and scanty meals, but they were troubled to see their dear little mother so worried. The girls decided that something had to be done immediately.

“How wonderful it would be,” thought Frances, “if an editor would buy one of my stories!”

She was only fifteen years old, and she did not know how to send a story to an editor. She had read in a magazine that contributors must write very clearly on foolscap paper, and enclose stamps.

Not having sufficient money with which to buy stamps and paper, Frances and her sisters earned the money by selling wild grapes.

At last the story was sent, but it was done secretly, for Frances was afraid that her brothers would tease her. What a happy day it was when, on its second trip, the story, together with another, brought a check for thirty-five dollars! She had found a way to help.

Frances Hodgson went on writing and selling her stories. Soon her books became famous. When she married Dr. S. M. Burnett, she was able to help him complete his education by her writing. Their son, Vivian, is also a writer. He has been a journalist and is the author of several books.

Mrs. Burnett has written many novels for grown people as well as stories that children love. Little Lord Fauntleroy, the tale of a lovable little American boy who won the heart of his crusty old English grandfather, is the best known of her books for children. Among her other well-known books are Editha’s Burglar, Sara Crewe, The Cozy Lion, The Secret Garden, and Land of the Blue Flower.

Mrs. Burnett does not preach in her delightful stories for children. One can, however, easily see in her stories the lessons in thoughtfulness and courtesy she had learned from her mother. Frances Hodgson Burnett’s great gift of imagination, together with her desire to write, enabled her to give us stories that have brought pleasure to many people.