Mrs. Darling was dining from home, and every heart in her little
establishment rejoiced over the circumstance, for it meant less work
for everybody, with an opportunity to enjoy Christmas Eve on his own
account.
Mrs. Bonnet, the lady's-maid, with the plans she had in mind for the
evening, was scarcely annoyed at all when her mistress scolded because
the corset-lace had got itself in a knot.
The chamber was full of a delicate odor of iris. The gas-globes at the
ends of their jointed gold arms looked like splendid yellow pearls; on
the dressing-table under them glittered a quantity of highly embossed
silverware, out of all reasonable proportion with the little person
owning it, who sat before the mirror beautifying her finger-nails
while Mrs. Bonnet did her hair.
"Mind what you are about," the mistress murmured, diligently polishing.
Mrs. Bonnet instantly removed the hot tongs from the tress she was
twisting, and caught it again with greater precaution.
"Mind what you are about," warned Mrs. Darling, somewhat louder, a
beginning of acid in her voice.
Mrs. Bonnet again disengaged the hair from the tongs, and after a
little pause, during which to make firm her nerve, with infinite
solicitude took hold again of the golden strand, and would have waved
it, but--
"Mind what you are about!" almost screamed little Mrs. Darling. "Didn't
I _tell_ you to be careful? You have been pulling right along at the
same hair! _Do_ consider that it is a human scalp, and not a _wig_ you
are dealing with! Bonny, you are not a bad woman, but you will wear me
out. Come, go on with it; it is getting late."
Before the hair-dressing was accomplished Mrs. Darling rolled up her
eyes--her blue eyes, round and angelic as they could sometimes be--at
the reflection of Mrs. Bonnet's face in the mirror, and said, meekly:
"Bonny, do you think that black moiré of mine would make over nicely
for you? I am going to give it to you. No, don't thank me--it makes me
look old. Now my slippers."
While Bonnet was forcing the shoe on her fat little foot, Mrs.
Darling's glance rested, perhaps by chance, on a photograph that leaned
against the clock over the mantelpiece. It was that of a still young,
well-looking man, whose face wore an unmistakable look of goodness, of
the kind that made it what one expected to read under it in print--the
Rev. Dorel Goodhue. There was another more conspicuous man-photograph
in the room, on the dressing-table, in a massive frame that matched the
toilet accessories. It stood there always, airing a photographic smile
among the brushes and hand-glasses and pin-boxes.
"I suppose," said Mrs. Darling, while she braced herself against Bonnet
to help get the small shoe on--"I suppose I have a very bad temper!"
and she laughed in such a sensible, natural, good-natured way any
one must have felt that her exhibition of a moment before had been a
sort of joke. "Tell the truth, Bonny: if every mistress had to have a
certificate from her maid, you would give me a pretty bad one, wouldn't
you? But I was abominably brought up. I used to slap my governesses.
And I have had all sorts of illnesses; trouble, too. And I mostly
don't mean anything by it. It is just nerves. Poor Bonny! I treat you
shamefully, don't I?"
"Oh, ma'am," said the lady's-maid, expanding in the light of this
uncommon familiarity, "I would give you a character as would make it
no difficulty in you getting a first-class situation right away; you
may depend upon it, ma'am, I would. Don't this shoe seem a bit tight,
ma'am?"
"Not at all. It is a whole size larger than I wear. If you would just
be so good as to hold the shoe-horn properly. There, that is it."
She stood before the bed, on which were spread two long evening
dresses. A little King Charles spaniel had made himself comfortable
in the softest of one. His mistress pounced on him with a cry, first
cuffed, then kissed and put him down. "Which shall I wear?" she asked.
Bonnet drew back for a critical view, but dared not suggest unprompted.
"The black and white is more becoming, but the violet crape is
prettier. Oh, Bonny, decide quickly for me, like a tossed-up penny!"
"Well, I think now I should say the violet, ma'am."
"Should you?" Mrs. Darling mused, with a finger against her lip. "But
I look less well in it. Surely I had rather look pretty myself than
have my dress look pretty, hadn't I? Give me the black and white, and
hurry. Mr. Goodhue will be here in a second. Bonnet!" she burst forth,
in quite another tone. "You trying creature! Didn't I _tell_ you to put
a draw-string through that lace? Didn't I _tell_ you? _Where_ are your
ears? _Where_ are your senses? What on _earth_ do you spend your time
thinking about, I should like to know, anyway? I wouldn't wear that
thing as it _is_, not for--not for--Oh, I am tired of living surrounded
by fools! Take it away--take it away! Bring the violet!"
At last she was encased in the fluffy violet crape, and at sight of the
sweet picture she made in the mirror her brow cleared a little; she
looked baby-eyed and angelic again, with her wavy hair meekly parted in
the middle. While she looked at herself she let Bonnet have one of her
arms to button the long glove.
"Ouch! Go softly; you pinch!" she murmured.
Bonnet changed her method with the silver hook, adjusted it anew, and
pulled at it ever so softly.
"Ouch! You pinch me!" said Mrs. Darling, a little louder.
Bonnet stopped short, and looked helplessly at the glove, that could
not be made to meet without strain over the plump white wrist. After
a breathing-while, with stealthy gentleness, again she fitted the
silver loop over the button, and, with a devout inward appeal to
Heaven, tried to induce it through the button-hole. She had almost
succeeded when Mrs. Darling screamed, "Ouch, ouch, ouch! You pinch like
_anything_! I am black and blue!" And tearing her arm from the quaking
servant, began fidgeting with the button herself, soon pulling it off.
[Illustration: "SHE LET BONNET HAVE ONE OF HER ARMS"]
"Bonnet, how many times must I tell you to sew the buttons fast on my
gloves before you give them me to put on?" she asked, severely. "No,
they were not!" she stormed, and peeled off the glove, throwing it far
from her, inside out.
There was a knock, and a respectful voice saying, outside the door,
"Mr. Goodhue is below, ma'am."
"Get a needle," Mrs. Darling said, humbly, like a child reminded of its
promise to behave, and waited patiently while the button was sewed on,
and held out her arm again, letting Bonnet pinch without a murmur.
A final bunch of violets was tucked in the bosom of her gown, and she
was leaving the bedroom, when, as if at a sudden thought, she turned
back, went to the door of a little room leading from it, and stood
looking in.
"Aren't they lovely, the hundred of them?" she gushed. "Did you ever
see such a sight? One prettier than the other! I almost wish I were one
of the little girls myself!"
"Them that gets them will be made happy, sure, ma'am. I suppose it's
for some Christmas-tree?"
"They are for my cousin Dorel's orphans. Pick up, Bonny. Open the
windows. Mind you keep Jetty with you. Don't let him go into the
kitchen. I am sure they feed him. I shall not be very late--not later
than twelve."
Mrs. Darling went down the stairs, followed by Bonnet with her mantle
and fan, and Jetty, who leaped and yapped in the delusion that he was
going to be taken for a walk.
The gentleman waiting below came forward to take Mrs. Darling's hand.
Mrs. Bonnet listened to the exchange of polite expressions between
them with no small degree of impatience; it seemed to her they might
just as well have made these communications later, in the carriage.
At last and at last they were gone. With the clap of the door behind
them the whole atmosphere of the house changed as by enchantment. A
door slammed somewhere; a voice burst out singing below-stairs; the
man in livery who had held the door for Mrs. Darling and her reverend
cousin leaned over the banisters and shouted, heartily, "Catherine!
I say, Catherine!" Mrs. Bonnet fairly scampered up-stairs, with the
mistaken Jetty, who thought this was the beginning of a romp, hard
after her, trying to catch her by the heels.
She entered Mrs. Darling's room with no affectation of soft-stepping,
threw up the window--the sharp outer air cut into the scented warmth
like a silver axe--and began pushing things briskly into their places.
She digressed from her labors a moment to get from the closet a black
moiré, which she examined, then replaced.
Now came a rap at the door, and a voice only a shade less respectful
than before, saying, "Miss Pittock is waiting below, ma'am."
"Very well, I will be down directly," said Mrs. Bonnet. "Come here,
Jetty!"
Jetty, instead of coming, ran round and round among the chair legs,
waving his tail in a graceful circle, eluding Mrs. Bonnet's hand not by
swiftness, but craft.
"Come here, you little fool," muttered Bonnet; and as her bidding,
however severe, availed nothing, she cast Mrs. Darling's wrapper over
the little beast, and got him entangled like a black-and-tan butterfly
in a pocket-handkerchief. She snatched him up squirming a little,
tucked him tightly under her arm, and ran up-stairs to her own chamber
on the third floor. There she dropped him; and when she had donned her
black coat and bonnet, gloves and galoshes, during which preparations
Jetty was leaping and yapping like crazy, in the supposition again that
they were going for a walk together, she turned out the light and shut
the door against his wet, black nose. His reproachful barks followed
her down the passage. "It's good for 'is lungs," she said, grimly,
hurrying over the stairs.
[Illustration: "AT LAST THEY WERE GONE"]
And here at the foot was Miss Pittock, looking quite more than the lady
in her mistress's last year's cape.
"I hope I haven't kept you waiting, Miss Pittock."
"Quite the contrary; don't mention it, Mrs. Bonnet. Oh, the shops is a
sight to behold, Mrs. Bonnet! I never seen anything like this year. It
do seem as if people made more to-do than they used about Christmas,
don't it? Are we ready, Mrs. Bonnet?"
"I am if you are, Miss Pittock."
"Now, what kind of shops do you fancy most, so we'll go and look into
their show-windows first?"
"I'm sure I don't know. What do you prefer yourself, Miss Pittock?
We've time to see most everything of any account, anyhow. She's not
coming home before twelve."
"No more is mine. Suppose we go first to the Grand Bazar. They've
always got the most amazing show there. That you, Mr. Jackson? A merry
Christmas to you, Mr. Jackson, and a happy New Year!"
For just as they reached the door they found the butler letting himself
out too. He did not sleep in the house, and was taking the opportunity
to-night to leave early. For a second he could not return Miss
Pittock's salutation, his mouth being crowded with a last bite snatched
in haste. When he had swallowed, he grinned and excused his hurry,
holding the door for the ladies.
"Sorry I ain't going your way, ladies," he said, amiably, and the door
closed behind the three.
In the kitchen the cook, with a face like a pleasant copper saucepan,
rosy and shining and round, was moving about leisurely, giving this and
that a final unhurried wipe. She wore a face of contentment; it was her
legitimate night out; with a good conscience presently she was going up
to make a change, and off to her family.
A young woman in a light gingham and frilled cap sat watching her
sulkily, her hands idle on her embroidered muslin apron. A girl of
perhaps eighteen, capless, in a dark calico that made not the first
pretension to elegance, was washing her face at one of the shiny copper
faucets. She vanished a moment, and came back with her damp hair
streaked all over by the comb. The cook was gone.
"You going, too, I suppose?" said the sullen parlor-maid.
"Why, yes. 'Ain't I done everything? There's no need of my staying, is
there?" The kitchen-maid went home for the night, too.
"No, I don't suppose there is. I just thought you might happen to be,
that's all."
The kitchen-maid sat down a minute, in a tired, ungirt position, and
looked over at the parlor-maid with good-natured young eyes grown a
trifle speculative. The latter let her glance wander over the day's
newspaper, brought down-stairs until inquired for.
"Tell you what I'd like to do!" exclaimed the kitchen-maid.
"What'd you like to do, Sally?"
"That's to come back again after I've been home for just a minute."
The parlor-maid looked up, unable altogether to conceal her interest.
The house was very quiet. Through the clock-ticks, at perfectly regular
intervals, came the muffled sound of Jetty's disconsolate yaps. Neither
of the girls appeared to hear them.
"You don't mean just to oblige, do you, Sally?"
"Well, I'd do it in a minute for nothing else beside, but that ain't
quite all I was thinking of just this once. Miss Catherine"--she
hesitated, then, enthusiastically--"have you seen 'em up-stairs? the
whole hundred of 'em laid out off Mrs. Darling's bedroom? I saw 'em
when Mrs. Bonnet she sent me up for the lamps to clean. Law! Wouldn't
any child like to see a sight like that! There's a little girl in my
tenement, she'd just go crazy. Do you think there'd be any harm in it
if I was to bring her over and let her get one peep? She's as clean a
child as ever you saw. She comes of dreadful poor folks, but just as
respectable! She never seen anything like it in her life. Law, what
would I have done when I was a young one if I'd seen that? I'd thought
I was dead and gone to heaven. I say, Miss Catherine, d' you think any
one would mind?"
"How'll they know?" said Miss Catherine, callously. "Look here, Sally;
you go along just as fast as you can and fetch your young one. And when
you've got back, perhaps I'll step out a minute, two or three doors up
street, and you can answer the bell while I'm gone. Now hurry into your
things. I'll give you your car fare."
"Miss Catherine, you're just as good as you can be, and I'll do
something to oblige you, too, some time," said Sally, her face aglow
with delight; and having hurried into her jacket and tied up her head
in a worsted muffler, was off.
She almost ran over the packed snow down the street. She had soon left
the quiet rows of private dwelling-houses and come where hundreds of
lights glittered across the rose-tinged snow. At every few rods a
street band tootled and blared, covering the scraping of snow-shovels
and jingle of bells. "How gay it is!" she thought; "won't it be a
treat!"
She plunged into a mean, small street, leading off a mean but tawdry
larger one, where things hung outside the shops with their prices,
written large, pinned on them, and had soon come to the house where her
family lived.
She went in like a great gust of fresh air. In less than five minutes
she came out, leading by the hand a little girl who, from being very
much bundled up about the shoulders, and having brief petticoats
above thin black legs, looked top-heavy. She was obliged to nearly
run to keep up with Sally, and was trying to get out words through
the breathlessness occasioned by hurrying and laughing and coming so
suddenly into the frosty air.
"Oh, lemme guess, Sal, and tell me when I'm hot. Is it made of sugar?"
"No, it ain't."
"But you said it was a treat, didn't you, Sally?"
"I did that. But ain't there all sorts of treats? There's going to the
circus, for instance. That hasn't any sugar."
"Is it a circus, Sally? Is it a circus?"
"No, it ain't a circus, but it's every bit as nice."
"Is it freaks, Sally? oh, tell me if it's freaks? It isn't? Are you
sure I shall like it very much? It's nothing to eat, and it's nothing
I can have to keep, and it's not a circus. What color is it? You'll
answer straight, won't you?"
"Oh, it's every color in the world, and striped and polka-dotted and
crinkled and smooth. There's a hundred of it."
The child would have stopped short on the sidewalk the better to centre
her mind on guessing, but Sally dragged her briskly along. At the top
of the street they came to a standstill.
"What is it?" asked the child.
"We're going to take the car," said Sally, grandly.
"O--h!" breathed the child.
"I guess you never stepped on to one of these before. This, Tibbie, is
nothing but the beginning. Hi! Hi!"
The swiftly gliding, fiery, formidable car stopped, and the hoarse
buzz died out in a grinding of brakes; the light was dimmed a minute,
then flared out again, as if the monster had winked. Sally and Tibbie
climbed on; it moved, banging and whirring on its farther way. They had
to stand, of course, but what of that? Tibbie looked all about with her
shining, intelligent brown eyes, and felt a flush of gratified pride
to see Sally, when the conductor had squeezed himself near, pay like
the others; it had seemed impossible that some compromise should not
have to be made with him. She slipped her hand in Sally's, and was too
occupied with the people and the colored advertisements to talk.
"Did you get anything for Christmas yet, Tibbie?"
She moved her head up and down, bestowing all her attention on a
parcel-laden woman bound to drop something the next time she stirred.
"What did you get?"
"A doll's flat-iron and a muslin bag of candy. I put the iron on to
heat, and it melted. I gave what was left to Jimmy."
"Who gave them to you?"
"Off the Sunday-school tree. But there were no lights on it, because it
was daytime. Sally, I know something that has a hundred--"
"What's that? Let's see if you've got it now?"
Tibbie looked a little shamefaced, then said, "A dollar--is a hundred
cents."
"Well, and would I be bringing you so far just to show you a dollar?
This is worth as much as a dollar, every individual one of them.
Tibbie, it's just the grandest sight you ever seen--pink and blue and
yellow and striped--"
Tibbie, who was looking Sally fixedly in the face, as if to see if her
secret anywhere transpired, now almost shouted, "It's marbles!"
"Aw, but you're downright stupid, Tibbie. I don't mind telling you I'm
disappointed. You're just a common, every-day sort of young one, with
no idear of grandness in your idears at all. And you don't seem to keep
a hold on more than one notion at a time. First it's a dollar. Is that
pink and blue? And next it's marbles. Is marbles worth a dollar apiece?
Now tell me what's the grandest, prettiest thing that ever you saw--"
"... Angels."
"D' you ever see any?"
"In the church window, painted."
"Well, this is as handsome as a hundred angels, less than a foot tall,
all in new clothes, with little hats on."
"Sally, I think I know now. Only it couldn't be that. There couldn't
likely be a hundred of them all together, for, oh, Sally, it isn't a
store we are going to! You didn't tell me it was a store."
"No more it is. We're going straight to Mrs. Darling's house, and no
place but there. Here's where we get off."
The big girl, with the small one, alighted and turned into the quieter
streets, Tibbie, as before, almost running to keep up with her
long-legged friend.
They went into Mrs. Darling's by the back door. In the kitchen stood
Miss Catherine in a coat with jet spangles and a hat with nodding
plumes, pulling on a pair of tight kid gloves.
Tibbie at sight of her hung back, murmuring to Sally, "You didn't tell
me! You didn't tell me!"
"Now, you'll be sure she don't touch anything, Sally," said Miss
Catherine, looking Tibbie over.
"Naw! She won't hurt anything. I've told her I'll skin her if she does."
"Are her hands clean? You'd better give them a wash, anyhow."
Tibbie dropped her eyes, a little mortified.
"All right! I'll wash 'em," said Sally.
"She'd better scrape her boots thoroughly on the mat, too, before going
up."
"I'll look after all that, Miss Catherine. Just you go long with an
easy mind."
"Well, I'm off. I won't be long. Why don't you give her a piece of that
cake? It's cut. But make her eat it down here. Good-night, little
girl. I guess you never was in a house like this before. Good-night,
Sal. Is my hat on straight?"
She was gone, and the whole house now belonged to Sally and Tibbie.
They looked at each other in silence a moment; the glee they felt came
shining to the surface of their faces and made them grin broadly at
each other.
"She's particular, ain't she?" said Sally.
"I just as soon wash them again, but they're clean. I thought you said
she was gone off to a party and going to be gone till real late."
"Law!" roared Sally, and plumped down to contort herself in comfort.
"She thought it was Mrs. Darling herself! Law! law!"
Tibbie laughed, too, but not so heartily, and the great time began.
Sally went for the cake-box, and Tibbie made a thoughtful selection;
and "Who'll ever find a few crumbs?" said Sally. "Come along!"
The great child and the little, full of a sense of play, went up the
stairs hand in hand. Tibbie could scarcely take account of what was
happening to her, such was the pure delight of the adventure.
"This is the dining-room; this is the sitting-room; this is the
receiving-room; this, now prepare--this is Mrs. Darling's own room!"
Up went the light; the rose-paper walls, the rose-chintz dumpy chairs,
the silver-laden dressing-table, the pink and white draped bed, leaped
into sight. Tibbie stood still, open-lipped.
"Ain't it handsome?" asked Sally, with the pride of indirectly
belonging to such things. "Come along, I'm going to wash your hands in
Mrs. Darling's basin."
She drew Tibbie, who gazed backward over her shoulder, into the little
alcove where the marble wash-stand was, and turned on stiff jets of hot
and cold water together. At the sweet odor of the soap tablet pushed
under her nose, Tibbie's attention was won to the operations of washing
and wiping.
"But where is there a hundred of anything?" she asked, faintly,
looking all about.
"Oh, this ain't it yet! This is only like the outside entry. Now, Miss
Tibbs, what kind of scent will you have on your hands?"
"Oh, Sal!"
"Shall it be Violet, or Russian Empress, or--what's this other--Lilass
Blank? or the anatomizer played over them like the garden-hose?"
They unstopped the bottles in turn, and drew up out of them great,
noisy, luxurious breaths. "This, Sally, this," said Tibbie at the one
with the double name like a person. Sally poured a drop in her little
rough, red hands, and she danced as she rubbed them together.
"Why are the little scissors crooked?" she asked, busily picking
up and putting down things one after the other. "What for is the
fluting-irons? What for is the butter in the little chiny jar? What's
the flour for in the silver box? Oh, what's this? Oh, Sal, what's that?"
Sally picked up the powder-puff and gave her little friend, who drew
back startled and coughing, a dusty dab with it on each cheek. "It's to
make you pale," she said. "It ain't fashionable to be red." She applied
the puff to her own cheeks as well. The two stood gazing in silent
interest at themselves in the mirror, and gradually broke into smiles
at the incongruous reflection. Sally suddenly bent one cheek, hitched
up one shoulder, and brushed half her face clean; then did the same by
the other cheek with her other shoulder. Tibbie, who had watched her,
aped her movement faithfully. They looked at themselves again, and
Tibbie remarked, "But I ain't red, anyhow."
"Law! that you ain't! When are you going to begin to get some fat on
your bones, Tibbie, or to grow?"
"I don't know. Who's the gentleman, Sal, in the pretty frame?"
"That's Mrs.'s husband. He ain't been living some time."
"Oh, he isn't living. Listen, listen, Sally! What's that noise I keep
hearing? I've heard it ever since we came."
Sally listened. "That? That's Jetty. It's a little bit of a dog, up at
the top of the house."
"Oh, a little bit of a dog! Why does he bark all the time?"
"I guess Mrs. Bonnet shut him up there alone in the dark till she came
back from gadding with Miss Pittock."
"Couldn't we get him, Sally? I hate to hear him. I want to see him
awfully."
"All right. You wait here. But don't you hurt anything, or I'll skin
you, sure, like I told Miss Catherine. And whatever you do, don't you
go into the little room till I come back."
"Is the hundred there?"
"Yes, it's there."
Tibbie, left alone, looked at the half-open door a minute, then turned
away from it: all was so interesting, anyhow, she could wait with
grace. With the palm of her hand, which she frequently stopped to
smell, she stroked the fine linen pillows on the bed, and the white
bear rugs on the floor, and the curtains: everything felt so soft. She
examined the features of the Rev. Dorel Goodhue with approbation,
proposing to ask Sally whether she knew him.
The bark came nearer and nearer; when the door opened, in tumbled a
small silky ball of black dog, who almost turned himself inside out in
his delight at being in human company again. He ran floppily about and
about the floor, in his conscious, cringing, graceful way, waving his
tail round and round, tossing back his long silk ears to bark and bark.
At last the girls between them had him caught. He was squeezed tight in
Tibbie's arms, where he wriggled and twitched, covering her cheeks and
ears with rapid dog-kisses, interspersed still with rapturous barks.
"Oh, oh!" cried Tibbie, trying vainly to hold him still long enough to
get a good kiss at him. "Isn't he soft? Isn't he sweet? And he has a
yellow ribbon. Oh, do keep quiet, doggie dear--you tickle!"
"I don't think we will bother any more about seeing the hundred," said
Sally, a feigned coldness in her tone, and stood aloof watching child
and dog.
"I had forgotten, honest, Sally."
"Put him down and come on, then."
"Mayn't I hold him and come too?"
"No; for when you see 'em, you'll drop him so quick you'll like as not
break his legs."
"All right. Down, Jetty! Down, sir! Come along, Jetty; come right
along, dear!"
"Wait a minute. I'll go in first and turn up the light. When I sing
out, you come on."
She went ahead, and Jetty precipitated himself at her heels. Tibbie
stooped with anxious inducing noises, and "Come back, sir! Come back!"
"Ready!" shouted Sally.
Tibbie made a bound for the door, but at a step's distance was overcome
by a curious timidity, and instead of bolting in, pulled the door
towards her tremulously, and pushed aside the lace hanging with a cold
hand.
There lay the hundred, all on a couch under the gas-light, arranged as
in a show-window, propped by means of silk cushions so as to form a
solid sloping bank--the hundred beautiful dolls.
"Well, ma'am?" asked Sally, expectantly.
Tibbie said nothing, but looked at them vaguely, full of constraint.
"Well, I never!" said Sally. "Don't you like 'em? What on earth did you
expect, child? Well, I never! Well, if it don't beat all! Why, when I
was a young one--Why, Tibbie girl--don't you think they are _lovely_?"
"Yes," she whispered, moving her head slowly up and down, then letting
it hang.
"Aw, come out of that," said Sally, understanding. "Come, let's look at
'em one by one, taking all our time. Come to Sally, darling, and don't
feel bad. We'll have lots of fun."
She took the not unwilling Tibbie by the hand, and led her nearer the
banked splendor.
The dolls were all of a size, and, undressed, would with difficulty
have been told apart, except, perhaps, by their little mothers. All
were very blond and wide-eyed and bow-lipped; all, though dressed like
little ladies, had the chubby hands of infants; and their boots were
painted trimly on with black, and their garters with blue. But how to
render the coquettish fashionableness with which these wax-complexioned
darlings were tricked out! all equally in silks and satins and velvets
and lace, so that there could be no jealousies; all with hats of like
beauty and stylishness.
Sally seated herself on the floor beside the low couch, and pulled
Tibbie down into her lap, who drew up Jetty into hers. Tibbie had
recovered the power to speak, but was still unduly sober and husky.
"I had almost guessed it, you know," she said, "when you said like
angels with hats on. But I couldn't think there would be a hundred
unless it was a store. What has the lady so many for?"
"Bless your heart! They ain't for herself! They are for orphans in a
school that a minister-cousin of hers is superintendent of. She has
been over a month making these clothes. Every Wednesday she would give
a tea party, and a lot of ladies come and sit stitching and snipping
and buzzing over the dolls' clothes the blessed afternoon. And I washed
the tea things after them all!"
"They are for the orphans. Are there a hundred orphans?"
"I guess likely."
"Suppose, Sally--suppose there were only ninety-nine, and some girl got
two!"
"Well, we two have got a hundred for to-night, Tibbie, so let's play,
and glad enough we've got our mothers. Look, this is the way you must
hold them to be sure of not crumpling anything."
She slipped her hand deftly under a doll's petticoats, and they peeped
discreetly at the dainty under-clothes, crisp and snowy, more lace than
linen.
"My soul and body! Did you ever see the like!" exclaimed Sally,
spurring on Tibbie's enthusiasm by the tone of her voice, making the
wonder more, to fill her little friend's soul to intoxication. Tibbie
easily responded. She fairly rocked herself to and fro with delight.
"And not a pin among 'em," sighed Sally. "All pearl buttons and silk
tying-strings and silver hooks and eyes; and, mercy on my soul! a
little bit of a pocket in every dress, with its little bit of a lace
pocket-handkerchief inside. D'you see that, Tibbie? And not two alike!"
"Oh, but there are some _'most_ alike!" said the quick-eyed Tibbie;
"only, scattered far apart. There are three with the little rose-bud
silk, and here's more than one with the speckled muslin. Perhaps those
will be given to sisters."
"Come on, Tibbie; let's choose the one we would choose to get, if we
was to get one given us. Now, I would like that one in red velvet. It's
just so dressy, ain't it, with the gold braid sewed down in a pattern
round the bottom. Which would you take?"
"I should like the one all in white. She must be a bride; see, she has
a wreath and veil and necklace. I should like her the very best. But
right after that, if I could have two, I should like this other in the
shade-hat with the forget-me-nots, and forget-me-nots dotted all over
her dress. And, see! the sky-blue hair-ribbon. If I could just have
three of them, then I would take this one too, with the black lace
shawl over her head fastened with roses instead of a hat. She has such
a lovely face! And after her I would choose this one in green--or this
one in pink; no, this one here, Sally, just look--this one in green and
pink. And you, if you could have more than one, which would you choose,
after the red one?"
"Well, I guess I'd choose this one in white."
"Oh no, Sally; don't you remember? That is the bride, the one I said
the very first. You can have all the others, Sally dear, except the
bride. But let's see, perhaps there are two brides. Yes!--no!--that is
just a little girl in white, without a wreath. Should you like her as
well? I was the first to say the bride, you know."
"Law! I wouldn't have wanted her if I had known she was a bride! I
take this one, Tibbie--this one with the feathers in her hat. Ain't she
the gay girl, in red and green plaid! And this purple silk one, and
this red and white stripe, and this--"
"Wait! That's enough, Sally; that makes four for you. It's my turn
now. If I could have five, I should take one of the rose-bud ones--no,
two of them, so's to play I had twins. Say, Sally, let's choose one
apiece--first you one, then me one, till we've chosen them all up, and
got fifty apiece. Your turn."
They chose and chose, pointing each time, and detailing the costume of
the chosen one aloud with the greatest enjoyment.
Jetty had laid himself down beside them, stretched his silky length,
his nose between his paws. He was very tired. Perhaps among the things
his great moist eyes were wondering about was the reason of this
fatigue in his vocal chords.
"For my forty-fifth one," said Sally, placing her forefinger pensively
against the side of her nose, "I choose her--her with the little black
velvets run all through."
"Taken already," said Tibbie, promptly.
"Then her over there, with the short puffy sleeves."
"Taken!"
"She taken too? Well, then, her in the pink Mother Hubbard with the
little knitting-bag on her arm."
"Taken, Sally! Can't you remember anything? Those belong to me; I chose
them long ago. These are the only not taken ones; here and here and
here and here and here and here and--"
"Aw, you're a great girl!" cried Sally, suddenly throwing her arms
around Tibbie and casting herself backward on the floor with her, where
they tumbled and rolled, laughing, Jetty jumping about on top of them,
barking hoarsely in a frenzy of fun.
"Oh, Tibbie, ain't we having a time of it?"