which hung in air above his head, and flew before, wherever he went. He
began to see it when still very young, and as he grew bigger he saw it
more clearly still. And he blew, blew, and the gay bubble went up, up,
and all things prospered. Before long, the baby Prince was a man, and
took possession of his kingdom; for in this wonderful country plenty of
kingdoms are to be had, and Princes are not forced to wait until their
fathers die before taking possession of their crowns. So, being a grown
Prince, he began to look about for a Princess to share his throne with
him. And he found a very nice little one; who, when he asked her, made a
courtesy and said, "Yes, thank you," in the prettiest way possible. Then
the Prince was pleased, and sent for a priest. The priest's name was
Slack. He belonged to the Methodist persuasion, Otsego Conference, but
he married the Prince and the Princess just as well as though he had
been an archbishop. They went to live in a small palace of their own,
and after awhile some little princelings came to live with them, and
they were all very happy together. And the lucky Prince, being
fairy-blessed, kept on being lucky. The rainbow bubble flew before; he
blew strongly, wisely; it soared high, high, and all things prospered.
His kingdom increased, his treasure-bags were filled with gold. By and
by the little palace grew too small for them, or they fancied it so, and
another was built, a real palace this time, with lawns, and fish-ponds,
and graperies, and gardens. The only trouble was--
But here come the children downstairs, so I must drop into plain prose,
and tell you what already you have guessed, that the Prince I mean is
their father, John Frisbie,--Prince John, if you like,--and the
Princess's name was Mary Jones before she was married, but now, of
course, it is Mary Frisbie. There were five of the princelings,--Jack
and May and Arthur and Lulu and Bertha. The new palace was a beautiful
house, with wide, lovely grounds. But since they came to live in it,
Mrs. Frisbie had taken it into her head that so fine a house required
manners to match, and that the things the children liked best, and had
been allowed to do in the small house, were vulgar, and might not be
permitted now. This was a real trouble to the little ones, for, as their
mother said, they were "clear Frisbie all through;" and the thrift,
energy, cleverness, and other qualities by which their father had made
his fortune, were strong in them. Perhaps the Fairy had visited their
cradles also. Who knows?
The girls came down crisp and fresh in their ruffled frocks, with curls
smoothed, sashes tied, and their company dolls in their hands.
"Now sit down and be comfortable," said Mrs. Frisbie.
Dear me, what a number of meanings there are to that word "comfortable"!
Mrs. Frisbie thought it meant pretty clothes, pretty rooms, and nothing
to do. To the boys it took the form of hard, hearty work of some sort.
Papa understood it as a cool day in his office, business brisk, but not
too brisk, and an occasional cigar. May, Lulu, and Bertha would have
translated it thus: "our old ginghams and our own way;" while Dinah, if
asked, would have defined "comfort" as having the kitchen "clar'd up"
after a successful bake, and being free to sit down, darn stockings, and
read the "Illustrated Pirate's Manual," a newspaper she much affected on
account of the blood-thirstiness of its pictures. None of these various
explanations of the word mean the same thing, you see. And the drollest
part is that no one can ever be made "comfortable" in any way but his
own: that is impossible.
The company dolls were very fine ladies indeed; they came from Paris,
and had trunks full of splendid dresses. The children did not care much
for them, and liked better certain decrepit babies of rag and
composition, which were thought too shabby to be allowed in the parlor.
"Where are the boys?" asked Mrs. Frisbie, when the small sisters had
settled themselves.
"Jack was going to have his sale this afternoon," replied Mary. "And
Arthur is auctioneer."
"His sale! What on earth is that?"
"Why, Mamma--don't you know? Jack's chickens, of course. Croppy had
eleven and Top-knot nine. There's a 'corner' in chickens just now,
Arthur says, because most of the other boys have lost theirs. Alfred's
were sick and died, and the rats ate all of Charley Ross's, and a hawk
carried off five of Howard's. Jack expects to make a lot of money,
because Croppy is a Bramahpootra hen, you know, and her chicks are very
valuable."
"Corner! Lot of money! Oh, dear!" sighed poor Mrs. Frisbie, "what words
the boys do teach you. Where they learn them I can't imagine. Not from
me."
"From Papa, I guess," explained Lulu innocently. "He used to have hens
when he was little, and sell 'em. It was splendid fun, he says.
Grandmamma thinks that Jack is just Papa over again."
"All of you are," said Mrs. Frisbie. "Not one of you is a bit like me.
Can't you sit still, Bertha? What _are_ you doing there with your
handkerchief?"
"Only dusting the table leg, Mamma; it wasn't quite clean."
"Dear, dear! and in your nice frock. Do let the furniture alone, child.
Ring for Bridget, if any thing wants cleaning. You're a real Meddlesome
Matty, Bertha."
"O Mamma!" cried Bertha, aggrieved. "Grandmamma taught me to dust when
we lived in the other house, you know. Grandmamma said it was a good
thing for little girls to be useful. And I didn't meddle with any thing
on the table; really I didn't, Mamma."
"Never mind, dear," said Mrs. Frisbie. "It's no great matter, only I
don't like to have you do such things. Now sit still and play with your
doll." She opened a book and began to read. The children crept nearer to
each other and talked in low whispers.
"Let's play that Eugenie and Victoria are little girls come to make each
other a visit, and Isabella is their Mamma."
"You can't! Little girls never have trains to their dresses or
necklaces."
"Oh! I wish Nippy Scatch-Face and old Maria were down here," sighed
Lulu.
"I'll tell you," put in May. "We'll play they are three stiff old
ladies, who always wear best clothes, you know, and sit so in chairs;
and that Nippy and Maria are coming to make them a visit. They needn't
really come, you know. Mrs. Eugenie, sit up straight. Now listen to the
hateful old thing! She's talking to Victoria."
"Sister, when are those children coming?"
"I don't know, sister," squeaked back Lulu in the character of Victoria.
"I wish they wouldn't come at all. Children are the bane of my
existence."
"You horrid doll, talking that way about _my_ baby," cried Bertha,
giving Victoria a shove.
"Don't, Beppie; you'll push her down," said May. Then changing her voice
again, "Your manners is most awful, I'm sure," she squeaked, in the
person of the irate Victoria.
All the children giggled, and Mrs. Frisbie looked up from her book.
At this moment in ran the two boys, hot, dusty, and excited,--Arthur
with a handful of "fractional currency," and Jack waving a two-dollar
bill.
"See!" they cried. "Four dollars and sixty-five cents. Isn't that
splendid? Mr. Ashurst bought all the Croppys, and gave twenty-five cents
a piece for them."
"Let us see, let us see!" cried the little girls, precipitating
themselves on the money.
"Look here, now, Mary Frisbie--no snatching!" protested Jack,--"I
haven't told you the best yet. Mr. Ashurst says we're such good farmers,
that he'll give us work whenever we like to take it. He says I could
earn three dollars a week _now_! Think of that."
"Oh, how much!" cried Lulu, awe-struck. "What could you do with so much,
Jacky?"
"Now boys,--listen to me," said their mother. "Go upstairs right away
and get ready for tea. You look like real farmers' boys at this moment,
I declare, so hot and dusty. I don't wonder Mr. Ashurst offered you
work,--though I think it was very impertinent of him to do so. I hope
you said that your father's sons didn't need to earn money in any such
way."
"Why, Mamma, of course I didn't. Arthur and me like to work, and we are
going to somehow just as soon as we're big enough. It's lots better fun
than going to school. Besides, Papa says we may. He told us all American
boys ought to work, whether their fathers are rich or poor."
"Papa likes to talk nonsense with you," said Mrs. Frisbie, biting her
lips. "Go up now and dress."
There was a howl from both boys.
"O Mamma! not yet. It's too early for that horrid dressing, oh, a great
deal too early, Mamma. We've got a lot to do in our chicken house.
Mayn't we go out again for a little while, just for half an hour,
Mamma?"
"Well--for half an hour you may," said Mrs. Frisbie reluctantly,
consulting her watch. Away clattered the boys,--the girls looking after
them with envious eyes.
Presently Lulu slipped out and was gone a few minutes. She came back
sparkling, with her cheeks very rosy.
"Mamma," she cried, "what _do_ you think? David says if you haven't any
objections, we may each of us have a little garden down there behind the
asparagus beds. He'll make them for us, Mamma, he says, and we can plant
just what we like in them. O Mamma! don't have any objections--please."
"Will he really?" cried May. "I'll put peppergrass in mine,--and
parsley. Dinah says she never has as much parsley as she wants."
"Yes, and little green cucumbers," added Bertha,--"little teeny-weeny
ones, for pickles, you know. Dinah is always wishing she could get them,
but David never sends in any but big ones. O Mamma! do say yes. It'll be
so nice."
"Cucumbers! peppergrass! Well, you are the strangest children! Why don't
you have pinks and pansies and pretty things?"
"Oh, we will, and make bouquets for you, Mamma; only we thought of the
useful things first."
"Somehow you always do think of useful things first," murmured Mrs.
Frisbie. "However, have the gardens if you like. I'm sure I don't care."
The children's thanks were cut short by the click of a latch-key in the
hall-door.
"There's Papa!" cried Bertha; and, like three arrows dismissed from the
string, the children were off to greet him. It was always a joy to have
Papa come home.
He was looking grave as he opened the door, but his face lit up at once
at the sight of his little girls. Papa's face without a smile upon it
would have seemed a strange sight indeed to that household. It did cross
May's mind that evening that the smiles were not so merry as usual, and
that Papa seemed tired; but no one else noticed it, either then or on
the days that followed.
Bubbles are pretty things, but the keeping them in air grows wearisome
after a while. About this time the rainbow bubble set afloat by the kind
Fairy for the sleeping Prince began to misbehave itself. Contrary winds
seized it; it flew wildly, now here, now there; and, instead of sailing
steadily, it was first up, then down, then up again, but more down than
up. Prince John blew his hardest and did his best to keep it from
sinking; for he knew, as we all do, that once let a bubble touch the
earth, and all is over,--its glittering wings collapse,--they fly no
more.
So the weeks went on. Unconscious of trouble, the children dug and
planted in their little gardens. Each new leaf and shoot was a wonder
and a delight to them. Bertha's plants flourished less than the others,
because of a habit she had of digging them all up daily to see how the
roots were coming on; but, except for that, all went well, and the
bluest of skies stretched itself over the heads of the small gardeners.
In the City, where Papa's office was, the sky was not blue at all. High
winds were blowing, stormy black clouds shut out the sun. Bubbles were
sinking and bursting on every side, and men's hearts were heavy and
anxious. Prince John did his best. He watched his bubble anxiously, and
followed it far. It was fairy-blessed, as I said, and its wings were
stronger than bubble's wings usually are; but at last the day came when
it could soar no longer. The pretty shining sphere hovered, sank,
touched a rock, and in a minute--hey! presto!--there was no bubble
there; it had utterly disappeared, and Prince Frisbie, with a very sober
face, walked home to tell his wife that he had lost every thing they had
in the world. This was not a pleasant or an easy thing to do, as you can
readily imagine.
The children never forgot this evening. They used to vaguely refer to it
among themselves as "That time, you know." Papa came in very quiet and
pale, and shut himself up with Mamma. She--poor soul!--was much
distressed, and sobbed and cried. They heard her as they came downstairs
dressed for the evening, and it frightened them. Papa, coming out after
a while, found them huddled together in a dismayed little group in the
corner of the entry.
"O Papa! is it any thing dreadful?" asked May. "Is Mamma sick?"
"No, not sick, darling, but very much troubled about something. Come
with me and I will explain it to you." Then Papa led them into the
dining-room; and, with Bertha on his knee and the others close to him,
he told them that he had lost a great deal of money (almost all he had),
and they would have to sell the place, and go and live in a little house
somewhere,--he didn't yet know exactly where.
The children had looked downcast enough when Papa commenced, but at this
point their faces brightened.
"A really little house?" exclaimed May. "O Papa! do you know, I'm glad.
Little houses are so pretty and cunning, I always wanted to live in one.
Susie Brown's Papa does, and Susie can go into the kitchen whenever she
likes, and she toasts the bread for tea, and does all sorts of things.
Do you suppose that I may toast the bread when we go to live in our
little house, Papa?"
"I daresay Mamma will be glad of your help in a great many ways,"
replied Papa.
"Shall we be poor, very poor indeed?" demanded Bertha anxiously.
"Pretty poor for the present, I am afraid," replied her Father.
"Goody! goody!" cried May, hopping up and down on her toes. "I always
wanted to be poor, it's so nice! We'll have the _best_ times, Papa; see
if we don't!"
Papa actually laughed, May's happy, eager face amused him so much.
"I know what we'll do," said Jack, who had been considering the matter
in silence. "We'll raise lots of chickens, and give you all the money,
Papa."
"My boy, I am afraid you must give up your chickens. There will be no
place for them in the new home."
"Must we?" Jack gave a little gulp, but went on manfully, "Well, never
mind, we'll find something else that we can do."
"Mr. Ashurst says Jack is the 'handiest' boy he ever saw, Papa," put in
Arthur eagerly.
"Well, handiness is a capital stock-in-trade. Now, dears, one thing,--be
as good and gentle as possible with Mamma, and don't trouble her a bit
more than you can help."
"We will, we will," promised the little flock. Mrs. Frisbie was quite
right in saying that the children took after their father. Their brave,
bright natures were as unlike hers as possible.
It is sad to see what short time it requires to pull down and destroy a
home which has taken years to build. The Frisbies' handsome, luxurious
house seemed to change and empty all in a moment. Carriages were sold,
servants dismissed. Furniture was packed and carried away. In a few days
nothing remained but a fine empty shell, with a staring advertisement of
"For Sale" pasted on it. The familiar look was all gone, and everybody
was glad to get away from the place. It took some time to find the
"little house," and some time longer to put it to rights. Papa attended
to all that, the children remaining meanwhile with Grandmamma. Mamma
had taken to her bed with a nervous attack, and cried day and night.
Everybody was sorry; they all waited on her, and did their best to raise
her spirits.
At last the new home was ready. It was evening when the carriage set
them down at the gate, and they could only see that there were trees and
shrubs in the tiny front yard, and a cheerful light streaming from the
door, where Dinah stood to welcome them,--dear old Di, who had insisted
on following their fortunes as maid of all work. As they drew nearer,
they perceived that she stood in a small, carpeted entry, with a room on
either side. The room on the right was a sitting-room; the room on the
left, a kitchen. There were three bedrooms upstairs, and a small coop in
the attic for Dinah. That was all; for it was indeed a "really little
house," as Papa had said.
"Oh, how pretty!" cried Lulu, as she caught sight of the freshly papered
parlor, with its cheerful carpet, and table laid for tea, and on the
other hand of the glowing kitchen stove and steaming kettle. "Such a
nice parlor, and the dearest kitchen. Why, it's smaller than Susie
Brown's house, which we used to wish we lived in. Don't you like it,
Mamma? I think it's _sweet_."
Mrs. Frisbie only sighed by way of reply. But the children's pleasure
was a comfort to Papa. He and Dinah had worked hard to make the little
home look attractive. They had papered the walls themselves, put up
shelves and hooks, arranged the furniture, and even set a few late
flowers in the beds, that the garden might not seem bare and neglected.
The next day was a very busy one, for there were all the trunks to
unpack, and the bureau drawers to fill, and places to be settled for
this thing and that. By night they were in pretty good order, and began
to feel at home, as people always do when their belongings are
comfortably arranged about them.
Mrs. Frisbie was growing less doleful. Her husband, who was very tired,
lay back in a big arm-chair. The evening was chilly, so Dinah had
lighted a small fire of chips, which flickered and made the room bright.
The glow danced on Bertha's glossy curls as she sat at Mamma's knee, and
on the rosy faces of the two boys. All looked cheerful and cosy; a smell
of toast came across the entry from the kitchen.
"Bertha, your hair is very nicely curled to-night," said Mrs. Frisbie.
"I don't know how Dinah found time to do it."
"Dinah didn't do it, Mamma. May did it. She did Lulu's too, and Lulu did
hers. We're always going to dress each other now."
Just then May came in with a plate of hot toast in her hand. Lulu
followed with the teapot.
"It's so nice having the kitchen close by," said May, "instead of way
off as it was in the other house. This toast is as warm as--toast"--she
concluded, not knowing exactly how to end her simile.
"Your face looks as warm as toast, too," remarked her Father.
"Yes, Papa, that's because I toasted to-night. Dinah was bringing the
clothes from the lines, so she let me."
"I stamped the butter, Papa," added Lulu. "Look, isn't it a pretty
little pat?"
"And I sifted the sugar for the blackberries," put in Bertha from her
place at Mamma's knee.
"You don't mind, do you Mamma?" observed Mary anxiously. "Di pinned a
big apron over my frock. See, it hasn't got a spot on it."
"I'm glad she did," said Mrs. Frisbie, surprised. "But it doesn't matter
so much how you dress here, you know. It was in the other house I was so
particular."
"But I like to please you, Mamma, and you always want us to look nice,
you know. We mean to be very careful now, because if we don't we shall
worry you all the time."
Mrs. Frisbie put her arm round Mary and kissed her.
"I declare," she said, half-laughing, half-crying. "This house _is_
pleasant. It seems snugger somehow, as if we were closer together than
we ever were before. I guess I shall like it after all."
"Hurrah!" cried Prince John, rousing from his fatigue at these
comfortable words. "That's right, Molly, dear! You don't know what good
it does me to hear you say so. If only you can look bright and the
chicks keep well and happy, I shall go to work with a will, and the
world will come right yet." He smiled with a look of conscious power as
he spoke; his eyes were keen and eager.
I think that just then, as the children gathered round the table, as
Mrs. Frisbie took up the teapot and began to pour the tea, and her
husband pushed back his chair,--that just then, at that very moment, the
Fairy entered the room. Nobody saw her, but there she was! She smiled on
the group; then she took from her pocket another bubble, more splendid
than the one she had brought before, and tossed it into the air above
Prince John's head. "There," she said, "catch that. You'll have it this
time, and it won't break and go to pieces as the first one did. Look at
it sailing up, up, up,--this bubble has wings, but it sails toward and
not away from you. Catch it, as I say, and make it yours. But even when
it _is_ yours, when you hold it in your hand and are sure of it, you'll
be no luckier and no happier, my lucky Prince, than you are at this
moment, in this small house, with love about you, hope in your heart,
and all these precious little people to work for, and to reward you when
work is done."
* * * * *
THE STORY OF JULIETTE.
A Child's Romance. By BEATRICE WASHINGTON. With 45 illustrations by J.
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OLD ROUGH THE MISER.
* * * * *
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illustrations by J. F. Goodridge. Square 16mo, cloth, $1.25.
[Illustration: OLD ROUGH THE MISER.]
Mrs. Wesselhoeft's "Fable Stories" are proving themselves more and
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* * * * *
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A GUERNSEY LILY;
OR,
HOW THE FEUD WAS HEALED.
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THE LITTLE SISTER OF WILIFRED.
* * * * *
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* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Varied hyphenation was retained when there was an equal number of each,
as in doorway and door-way.
Obvious punctuation errors corrected.
Page 33, "o" changed to "of" (The game of)
Page 158, "what" changed to "when" (said so when)