village they found an envelope stuck up in an inviting manner against
a tree. In this way they had agreed to leave missives for each other
as they passed on. This note informed them that the walking party was
going to take the short cut across the meadows, and would still be in
front of them. They saw the party at last, just beyond the short cut;
but Mr. Peterkin was explaining the character of the oak-tree to his
children as they stood around a large specimen.
"I suppose he is telling them that it is some kind of a '_Quercus_,'"
said Agamemnon, thoughtfully.
Mrs. Peterkin thought Mr. Peterkin would scarcely use such an
expression; but she could see nothing of Elizabeth Eliza. Some of the
party, however, were behind the tree, some were in front, and
Elizabeth Eliza might be behind the tree. They were too far off to be
shouted at. Mrs. Peterkin was calmed, and went on to the
stopping-place agreed upon, which they reached before long. This had
been appointed near Farmer Gordon's barn, that there might be somebody
at hand whom they knew, in case there should be any difficulty in
untying the horse. The plan had been that Mrs. Peterkin should always
sit in the carriage, while the others should take turns for walking;
and Agamemnon tied the horse to a fence, and left her comfortably
arranged with her knitting. Indeed, she had risen so early to prepare
for the alphabetical breakfast, and had since been so tired with
preparations, that she was quite sleepy, and would not object to a nap
in the shade, by the soothing sound of the buzzing of the flies. But
she called Agamemnon back, as he started off for his solitary walk,
with a perplexing question:--
"Suppose the rest all should arrive, how could they now be
accommodated in the carryall? It would be too much for the horse! Why
had Elizabeth Eliza gone with the rest without counting up? Of course,
they must have expected that she--Mrs. Peterkin--would walk on to the
next stopping-place!"
She decided there was no way but for her to walk on. When the rest
passed her they might make a change. So she put up her knitting
cheerfully. It was a little joggly in the carriage, she had already
found, for the horse was restless from the flies, and she did not like
being left alone.
She walked on then with Agamemnon. It was very pleasant at first, but
the sun became hot, and it was not long before she was fatigued. When
they reached a hay-field she proposed going in to rest upon one of the
hay-cocks. The largest and most shady was at the other end of the
field, and they were seated there when the carryall passed them in
the road. Mrs. Peterkin waved parasol and hat, and the party in the
carryall returned their greetings; but they were too far apart to hear
each other.
Mrs. Peterkin and Agamemnon slowly resumed their walk.
"Well, we shall find Elizabeth Eliza in the carryall," she said, "and
that will explain all."
But it took them an hour or two to reach the carryall, with frequent
stoppings for rest, and when they reached it no one was in it. A note
was pinned up in the vehicle to say they had all walked on; it was
"prime fun."
In this way the parties continued to dodge each other, for Mrs.
Peterkin felt that she must walk on from the next station, and the
carryall missed her again while she and Agamemnon stopped in a house
to rest, and for a glass of water. She reached the carryall to find
again that no one was in it. The party had passed on for the last
station, where it had been decided all should meet at the foot of
grandfather's hill, that they might all arrive at the house together.
Mrs. Peterkin and Agamemnon looked out eagerly for the party all the
way, as Elizabeth Eliza must be tired by this time; but Mrs.
Peterkin's last walk had been so slow that the other party were far in
advance and reached the stopping-place before them. The little boys
were all rowed out on the stone fence, awaiting them, full of delight
at having reached grandfather's. Mr. Peterkin came forward to meet
them, and, at the same moment with Mrs. Peterkin, exclaimed: "Where is
Elizabeth Eliza?" Each party looked eagerly at the other; no Elizabeth
Eliza was to be seen. Where was she? What was to be done? Was she left
behind? Mrs. Peterkin was convinced she must have somehow got to
grandfather's. They hurried up the hill. Grandfather and all the
family came out to greet them, for they had been seen approaching.
There was great questioning, but no Elizabeth Eliza!
It was sunset; the view was wide and fine. Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin stood
and looked out from the north to the south. Was it too late to send
back for Elizabeth Eliza? Where was she?
Meanwhile the little boys had been informing the family of the object
of their visit, and while Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin were looking up and
down the road, and Agamemnon and Solomon John were explaining to each
other the details of their journeys, they had discovered some facts.
"We shall have to go back," they exclaimed. "We are too late! The
maple-syrup was all made last spring."
"We are too early; we shall have to stay two or three months,--the
cider is not made till October."
The expedition was a failure! They could study the making of neither
maple-syrup nor cider, and Elizabeth Eliza was lost, perhaps forever!
The sun went down, and Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin still stood to look up
and down the road.
* * * * *
Elizabeth Eliza, meanwhile, had sat upon her trunk as it seemed, for
ages. She recalled all the terrible stories of prisoners,--how they
had watched the growth of flowers through cracks in the pavement. She
wondered how long she could live without eating. How thankful she was
for her abundant breakfast!
At length she heard the door-bell. But who could go to the door to
answer it? In vain did she make another effort to escape; it was
impossible!
How singular!--there were footsteps. Some one was going to the door;
some one had opened it. "They must be burglars." Well, perhaps that
was a better fate--to be gagged by burglars, and the neighbors
informed--than to be forever locked on her trunk. The steps approached
the door. It opened, and Amanda ushered in the expressman.
Amanda had not gone. She had gathered, while waiting at the
breakfast-table, that there was to be an expressman whom she must
receive.
Elizabeth Eliza explained the situation. The expressman turned the key
of her trunk, and she was released!
What should she do next? So long a time had elapsed she had given up
all hope of her family returning for her. But how could she reach
them?
She hastily prevailed upon the expressman to take her along until she
should come up with some of the family. At least she would fall in
with either the walking party or the carryall, or she would meet them
if they were on their return.
She mounted the seat with the expressman, and slowly they took their
way, stopping for occasional parcels as they left the village.
But, much to Elizabeth Eliza's dismay, they turned off from the main
road on leaving the village. She remonstrated, but the driver insisted
he must go round by Millikin's to leave a bedstead. They went round by
Millikin's, and then had further turns to make. Elizabeth Eliza
explained that in this way it would be impossible for her to find her
parents and family, and at last he proposed to take her all the way
with her trunk. She remembered with a shudder that when she had first
asked about her trunk he had promised it should certainly be delivered
the next morning. Suppose they should have to be out all night? Where
did express-carts spend the night? She thought of herself in a lone
wood, in an express-wagon! She could scarcely bring herself to ask,
before assenting, when he should arrive.
"He guessed he could bring up before night."
And so it happened that as Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin in the late sunset
were looking down the hill, wondering what they should do about the
lost Elizabeth Eliza, they saw an express wagon approaching. A female
form sat upon the front seat.
"She has decided to come by express," said Mrs. Peterkin. "It is--it
is--Elizabeth Eliza!"
THE PETERKINS AT THE "CARNIVAL OF
AUTHORS" IN BOSTON.
The Peterkins were in quite a muddle (for them) about the carnival of
authors, to be given in Boston. As soon as it was announced, their
interests were excited, and they determined that all the family should
go.
But they conceived a wrong idea of the entertainment, as they supposed
that every one must go in costume. Elizabeth Eliza thought their
lessons in the foreign languages would help them much in conversing in
character.
As the carnival was announced early Solomon John thought there would
be time to read up everything written by all the authors, in order to
be acquainted with the characters they introduced. Mrs. Peterkin did
not wish to begin too early upon the reading, for she was sure she
should forget all that the different authors had written before the
day came.
But Elizabeth Eliza declared that she should hardly have time enough,
as it was, to be acquainted with all the authors. She had given up
her French lessons, after taking six, for want of time, and had,
indeed, concluded she had learned in them all she should need to know
of that language. She could repeat one or two pages of phrases, and
she was astonished to find how much she could understand already of
what the French teacher said to her; and he assured her that when she
went to Paris she could at least ask the price of gloves, or of some
other things she would need, and he taught her, too, how to pronounce
"_garcon_," in calling for more.
Agamemnon thought that different members of the family might make
themselves familiar with different authors; the little boys were
already acquainted with "Mother Goose." Mr. Peterkin had read the
"Pickwick Papers," and Solomon John had actually seen Mr. Longfellow
getting into a horse-car.
Elizabeth Eliza suggested that they might ask the Turk to give
lectures upon the "Arabian Nights." Everybody else was planning
something of the sort, to "raise funds" for some purpose, and she was
sure they ought not to be behindhand. Mrs. Peterkin approved of this.
It would be excellent if they could raise funds enough to pay for
their own tickets to the carnival; then they could go every night.
Elizabeth Eliza was uncertain. She thought it was usual to use the
funds for some object. Mr. Peterkin said that if they gained funds
enough they might arrange a booth of their own, and sit in it, and
take the carnival comfortably. But Agamemnon reminded him that none
of the family were authors, and only authors had booths. Solomon John,
indeed, had once started upon writing a book, but he was not able to
think of anything to put in it, and nothing had occurred to him yet.
Mr. Peterkin urged him to make one more effort. If his book could come
out before the carnival he could go as an author, and might have a
booth of his own, and take his family.
But Agamemnon declared it would take years to become an author. You
might indeed publish something, but you had to make sure that it would
be read. Mrs. Peterkin, on the other hand, was certain that libraries
were filled with books that never were read, yet authors had written
them. For herself, she had not read half the books in their own
library. And she was glad there was to be a Carnival of Authors, that
she might know, who they were.
Mr. Peterkin did not understand why they called them a "Carnival"; but
he supposed they should find out when they went to it.
Mrs. Peterkin still felt uncertain about costumes. She proposed
looking over the old trunks in the garret. They would find some
suitable dresses there, and these would suggest what characters they
should take. Elizabeth Eliza was pleased with this thought. She
remembered an old turban of white mull muslin, in an old bandbox, and
why should not her mother wear it?
Mrs. Peterkin supposed that she should then go as her own grandmother.
[Illustration]
Agamemnon did not approve of this. Turbans are now worn in the East,
and Mrs. Peterkin could go in some Eastern character. Solomon John
thought she might be Cleopatra, and this was determined on. Among the
treasures found were some old bonnets, of large size, with waving
plumes. Elizabeth Eliza decided upon the largest of these.
She was tempted to appear as Mrs. Columbus, as Solomon John was to
take the character of Christopher Columbus; but he was planning to
enter upon the stage in a boat, and Elizabeth Eliza was a little
afraid of sea-sickness, as he had arranged to be a great while finding
the shore.
[Illustration]
Solomon John had been led to take this character by discovering a
coal-hod that would answer for a helmet; then, as Christopher Columbus
was born in Genoa, he could use the phrases in Italian he had lately
learned of his teacher.
As the day approached the family had their costumes prepared.
Mr. Peterkin decided to be Peter the Great. It seemed to him a happy
thought, for the few words of Russian he had learned would come in
play, and he was quite sure that his own family name made him kin to
that of the great Czar. He studied up the life in the Encyclopaedia,
and decided to take the costume of a ship-builder. He visited the
navy-yard and some of the docks; but none of them gave him the true
idea of dress for ship-building in Holland or St. Petersburg. But he
found a picture of Peter the Great, representing him in a
broad-brimmed hat. So he assumed one that he found at a costumer's,
and with Elizabeth Eliza's black water-proof was satisfied with his
own appearance.
Elizabeth Eliza wondered if she could not go with her father in some
Russian character. She would have to lay aside her large bonnet, but
she had seen pictures of Russian ladies, with fur muffs on their
heads, and she might wear her own muff.
Mrs. Peterkin, as Cleopatra, wore the turban, with a little row of
false curls in front, and a white embroidered muslin shawl crossed
over her black silk dress. The little boys thought she looked much
like the picture of their great-grandmother. But doubtless Cleopatra
resembled this picture, as it was all so long ago, so the rest of the
family decided.
Agamemnon determined to go as Noah. The costume, as represented in one
of the little boys' arks, was simple. His father's red-lined dressing
gown, turned inside out, permitted it easily.
Elizabeth Eliza was now anxious to be Mrs. Shem, and make a long dress
of yellow flannel, and appear with Agamemnon find the little boys.
For the little boys were to represent two doves and a raven. There
were feather-dusters enough in the family for their costumes, which
would be then complete with their india-rubber boots.
Solomon John carried out in detail his idea of Christopher Columbus.
He had a number of eggs boiled hard to take in his pocket, proposing
to repeat, through the evening, the scene of setting the egg on its
end. He gave up the plan of a boat, as it must be difficult to carry
one into town; so he contented himself by practising the motion of
landing by stepping up on a chair.
But what scene could Elizabeth Eliza carry out? If they had an ark, as
Mrs. Shem she might crawl in and out of the roof constantly, if it
were not too high. But Mr. Peterkin thought it as difficult to take an
ark into town as Solomon John's boat.
The evening came. But with all their preparations they got to the hall
late. The entrance was filled with a crowd of people, and, as they
stopped at the cloak-room, to leave their wraps, they found themselves
entangled with a number of people in costume coming out from a
dressing-room below. Mr. Peterkin was much encouraged. They were thus
joining the performers. The band was playing the "Wedding March" as
they went upstairs to a door of the hall which opened upon one side of
the stage. Here a procession was marching up the steps of the stage,
all in costume, and entering behind the scenes.
"We are just in the right time," whispered Mr. Peterkin to his family;
"they are going upon the stage; we must fall into line."
The little boys had their feather-dusters ready.
Some words from one of the managers made Mr. Peterkin understand the
situation.
"We are going to be introduced to Mr. Dickens," he said.
"I thought he was dead!" exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin, trembling.
"Authors live forever!" said Agamemnon in her ear.
At this moment they were ushered upon the stage.
The stage manager glared at them, as he awaited their names for
introduction, while they came up all unannounced,--a part of the
programme not expected. But he uttered the words upon his lips, "Great
Expectations;" and the Peterkin family swept across the stage with the
rest: Mr. Peterkin costumed as Peter the Great, Mrs. Peterkin as
Cleopatra, Agamemnon as Noah, Solomon John as Christopher Columbus,
Elizabeth Eliza in yellow flannel as Mrs. Shem, with a large,
old-fashioned bonnet on her head as Mrs. Columbus, and the little boys
behind as two doves and a raven.
Across the stage, in face of all the assembled people, then following
the rest down the stairs on the other side, in among the audience,
they went; but into an audience not dressed in costume!
There were Ann Maria Bromwick and the Osbornes,--all the
neighbors,--all as natural as though they were walking the streets at
home, though Ann Maria did wear white gloves.
"I had no idea you were to appear in character," said Ann Maria to
Elizabeth Eliza; "to what booth do you belong?"
"We are no particular author," said Mr. Peterkin.
"Ah, I see, a sort of varieties' booth," said Mr. Osborne.
"What is your character?" asked Ann Maria of Elizabeth Eliza.
"I have not quite decided," said Elizabeth Eliza. "I thought I should
find out after I came here. The marshal called us? 'Great
Expectations.'"
Mrs. Peterkin was at the summit of bliss. "I have shaken hands with
Dickens!" she exclaimed.
But she looked round to ask the little boys if they, too, had shaken
hands with the great man, but not a little boy could she find.
They had been swept off in Mother Goose's train, which had lingered on
the steps to see the Dickens reception, with which the procession of
characters in costume had closed. At this moment they were dancing
round the barberry bush, in a corner of the balcony in Mother Goose's
quarters, their feather-dusters gayly waving in the air.
But Mrs. Peterkin, far below, could not see this, and consoled
herself with the thought, they should all meet on the stage in the
grand closing tableau. She was bewildered by the crowds which swept
her hither and thither. At last she found herself in the Whittier
Booth, and sat a long time calmly there. As Cleopatra she seemed out
of place, but as her own grandmother she answered well with its New
England scenery.
Solomon John wandered about, landing in America whenever he found a
chance to enter a booth. Once before an admiring audience he set up
his egg in the centre of the Goethe Booth, which had been deserted by
its committee for the larger stage.
Agamemnon frequently stood in the background of scenes in the Arabian
Nights.
It was with difficulty that the family could be repressed from going
on the stage whenever the bugle sounded for the different groups
represented there.
Elizabeth Eliza came near appearing in the "Dream of Fair Women," at
its most culminating point.
Mr. Peterkin found himself with the "Cricket on the Hearth," in the
Dickens Booth. He explained that he was Peter the Great, but always in
the Russian language, which was never understood.
Elizabeth Eliza found herself, in turn, in all the booths. Every
manager was puzzled by her appearance, and would send her to some
other, and she passed along, always trying to explain that she had not
yet decided upon her character.
Mr. Peterkin came and took Cleopatra from the Whittier Booth.
"I cannot understand," he said, "why none of our friends are dressed
in costume, and why we are."
"I rather like it," said Elizabeth Eliza, "though I should be better
pleased if I could form a group with some one."
The strains of the minuet began. Mrs. Peterkin was anxious to join the
performers. It was the dance of her youth.
But she was delayed by one of the managers on the steps that led to
the stage.
"I cannot understand this company," he said, distractedly.
"They cannot find their booth," said another.
"That is the case," said Mr. Peterkin, relieved to have it stated.
"Perhaps you had better pass into the corridor," said a polite
marshal.
They did this, and, walking across, found themselves in the
refreshment-room. "This is the booth for us," said Mr. Peterkin.
"Indeed it is," said Mrs. Peterkin, sinking into a chair, exhausted.
At this moment two doves and a raven appeared,--the little boys, who
had been dancing eagerly in Mother Goose's establishment, and now came
down for ice-cream.
"I hardly know how to sit down," said Elizabeth Eliza, "for I am sure
Mrs. Shem never could. Still, as I do not know if I am Mrs. Shem, I
will venture it."
Happily, seats were to be found for all, and they were soon arranged
in a row, calmly eating ice-cream.
"I think the truth is," said Mr. Peterkin, "that we represent
historical people, and we ought to have been fictitious characters in
books. That is, I observe, what the others are. We shall know better
another time."
"If we only ever get home," said Mrs. Peterkin, "I shall not wish to
come again. It seems like being on the stage, sitting in a booth, and
it is so bewildering, Elizabeth Eliza not knowing who she is, and
going round and round in this way."
"I am afraid we shall never reach home," said Agamemnon, who had been
silent for some time; "we may have to spend the night here. I find I
have lost our checks for our clothes in the cloak-room!"
"Spend the night in a booth, in Cleopatra's turban!" exclaimed Mrs.
Peterkin.
"We should like to come every night," cried the little boys.
"But to spend the night," repeated Mrs. Peterkin.
"I conclude the Carnival keeps up all night," said Mr. Peterkin.
"But never to recover our cloaks," said Mrs. Peterkin; "could not the
little boys look round for the checks on the floors?"
She began to enumerate the many valuable things that they might never
see again. She had worn her large fur cape of stone-marten,--her
grandmother's,--that Elizabeth Eliza had been urging her to have made
into a foot-rug. Now how she wished she had! And there were Mr.
Peterkin's new overshoes, and Agamemnon had brought an umbrella, and
the little boys had their mittens. Their india-rubber boots,
fortunately, they had on, in the character of birds. But Solomon John
had worn a fur cap, and Elizabeth Eliza a muff. Should they lose all
these valuables entirely, and go home in the cold without them? No, it
would be better to wait till everybody had gone, and then look
carefully over the floors for the checks; if only the little boys
could know where Agamemnon had been, they were willing to look. Mr.
Peterkin was not sure as they would have time to reach the train.
Still, they would need something to wear, and he could not tell the
time. He had not brought his watch. It was a Waltham watch, and he
thought it would not be in character for Peter the Great to wear it.
At this moment the strains of "Home, Sweet Home" were heard from the
band, and people were seen preparing to go.
"All can go home, but we must stay," said Mrs. Peterkin, gloomily, as
the well-known strains floated in from the larger hall.
A number of marshals came to the refreshment-room, looked at them,
whispered to each other, as the Peterkins sat in a row.
"Can we do anything for you?" asked one at last. "Would you not like
to go?" He seemed eager they should leave the room.
Mr. Peterkin explained that they could not go, as they had lost the
checks for their wraps, and hoped to find their checks on the floor
when everybody was gone. The marshal asked if they could not describe
what they had worn, in which case the loss of the checks was not so
important, as the crowds had now almost left, and it would not be
difficult to identify their wraps. Mrs. Peterkin eagerly declared she
could describe every article.