THE STREET MASQUERADE
It was the evening before Admission Day. Silver Gate City wore its gala
dress in honor of the approaching 9th of September, the anniversary of
the birth of the State of California.
Arches draped with flags spanned the street corners; streamers of
red, orange, and green floated from trolley and telegraph wires;
palm-branches and festoons of bunting decked the fronts of houses and
shops. To-morrow the city was to be serious and grand with orations and
bands of music, but to-night it was on tiptoe for a frolic.
Directly after tea Molly and Pauline retired to Molly’s room to prepare
for the street masquerade. Kirke and Paul were arraying themselves in
Paul’s room across the way, roaring and clapping at intervals with such
gusto that Captain Bradstreet, in the library beneath, chuckled from
sympathy.
The captain was to pose at the festival as General Washington, and had
already donned a long military coat, black stockings, and knee-breeches
of velvet.
“Unless our ears deceive us, Patsy, those young people are in pretty
fair spirits,” he said, with a courtly bow to Mrs. Davidson, who stood
at his elbow dressed like Martha Washington.
She wore an old-fashioned brocade gown, with her powdered hair rolled
back from her forehead over a cushion.
“The same thought has occurred to myself, General,” she replied archly,
as she arranged the white ruffles at his wrists. “They are bent on
mystifying their sisters to-night, and are highly pleased with the
costumes selected.”
“That is evident, madam. Are you the only one in the secret?”
“The only one besides Mrs. Rowe. The boys want to mingle in the crowd
before giving you an opportunity to recognize them. Shall we go on?”
The false father of his country bowed assent, and reached for his
three-cornered hat.
“Since it is your will, madam, we will depart forthwith.”
The Revolutionary pair had secured reserved seats in a sun parlor
overlooking the plaza, and Mr. and Mrs. Rowe occupied chairs near them.
Mrs. Rowe wore a black silk dress, and had thrown over her head a lace
mantilla. Mr. Rowe sported a Spanish hat and cloak.
“Papa plays he’s a Spanish man, Auntie David, so he won’t get cold,”
explained pink-robed Weezy.
Little Miss Weezy had known Mrs. Davidson and Captain Bradstreet at
first sight, because Pauline had described the garments in which they
would appear.
“Your papa is a very sensible man, little queen of the fairies,”
returned the make-believe Lady Washington; and she stooped to bend in
shape the wire taste in Weezy’s drooping left wing.
“Now I’m going to see if I can tell Kirke and Mollie in their play
clothes,” said her dainty majesty, with a touch of her wand on General
Washington’s shoulder.
The general smiled upon her as she flitted away like a roseate cloud.
Through her pink silk mask, she observed many wonders in the street
outside, and presently, she danced back to her mother, crying,--
“Look, look, mamma! There are Pauline and Mollie! White dresses on;
sunbonnets too.”
The masked faces beneath the white sunbonnets turned in the direction
of Weezy’s voice, but the white figures moved forward without halting.
“They’re just _a-funning_, mamma. It _was_ Pauline and Molly, now
truly.”
“It seems to me that the taller one is too tall for my Pauline, and the
shorter one is too short for your Molly, señora,” said General George
Washington Bradstreet, following with his eye the simply arrayed couple.
Turning neither to the right nor to the left, they walked on,
arm-in-arm, under the brilliant arc light, while the fairy queen’s
mamma smiled behind her black mask. Of all in the sun parlor, she and
Lady Washington alone knew how Pauline and Molly were to be dressed.
Weezy grew impatient.
“Say, mamma, please. Wasn’t it Pauline and Molly?”
“I mustn’t tell you, little queeny.”
“Oh, dear! I hate that ugly thing over your face, mamma. You don’t look
like my pretty mamma. You look like some other little girl’s mamma.”
“Do I?” Mrs. Rowe laughed. “And you look to me, fairy queen, like some
other mamma’s little girl.”
“I hope Kirke won’t guess I’m his onty donty sister, mamma. Where is
Kirke, I’d like to know.”
The longer Weezy watched the comers and goers, the more bewildered she
grew. Here stalked a tall man in a white sheet, his face muffled in a
pillow-case; and next him Weezy spied a yellow pumpkin marching on two
feet. At least it appeared to be a pumpkin, only Weezy had never before
beheld any pumpkin that had a boy’s head in place of a stem.
“O mamma, see! There’s a little girl looks just like a tulip! And
there’s a little boy--O mamma, mamma, _do_ see him! He’s all black and
part yellow like a big _sting-y_ bumblebee!”
Weezy hopped up and down too excited to keep still.
“I expect any minute to see her fly into the air on those gauze wings
of hers,” remarked General Washington. And of course he meant what he
said, for George Washington never told a lie.
“Don’t be uneasy about her, General,” responded the pretended Spanish
lady playfully. “She won’t flutter far from the earth while these
strange sights are to be witnessed.”
To and fro past the sun parlor trooped monks with cowls, and nuns with
rosaries; men dressed in gunny-sacks, and women dressed in newspapers.
All wore masks. Weezy saw pretty masks and hideous masks; masks of
pigs’ faces, of pug-dogs’ faces, of negro, Chinese, and tattooed Indian
faces. In every direction the square was a moving mass of varied
color. To look through the window was like looking through a slowly
whirling kaleidoscope.
“Now those white girls are coming back, mamma,” called Weezy. “And
here’s an old, old woman with a queer hat on, and she’s got a dog.”
“That woman must be Old Mother Hubbard, Weezy.”
“And, O mamma! can you see? There’s somebody with a striped dress on.
It’s red and white; blue too. It looks like Fourth of July.”
Her mamma preserved a discreet silence.
“And, oh, please, mamma, see that other somebody with her! Her clothes
are all red and orange and green.”
The “somebodies” were Pauline and Molly, and they were laughing under
their breath to hear Weezy talk about them in this high key.
“They’ll never guess me in this black wig, Pauline,” whispered Molly,
taking long steps to disguise her gait.
“Nor me in this blond one, unless Paul does,” returned Pauline. “Isn’t
it strange that we haven’t found him and Kirke yet?”
“Very. I’ve taken particular notice of all the clowns and Indians, Miss
Stars-and-Stripes. They don’t any of them seem like our boys.”
“I’m wondering, Miss Gold-State, if Paul didn’t give me a glimpse of
that comic mask on purpose to fool me.”
Here Old Mother Hubbard turned aside to join Mother Goose, and this
brought United-States Pauline and California Molly next the two “white
girls.”
“It would be just like him, Miss Stars-and-Stripes.”
“I don’t see any fun in dressing up in sunbonnets,” remarked Pauline of
her neighbors in front. “It’s no disguise at all.”
“No,” returned Molly. “We can wear sunbonnets any day.”
The white maskers quickened their pace.
“Hush, Molly! I’m afraid those girls have overheard every word we’ve
said,” said Pauline, pulling down her blue liberty cap. “See them
shake. They’re laughing at us.”
“If they’re laughing we haven’t hurt their feelings, Pauline, so I
don’t care.”
Had not Molly’s ears been partially covered by her wig she might have
heard a faint titter from under the nearest sunbonnet.
“I think those must be country girls, Molly; don’t you? They kick out
the hems of their gowns every step they take.”
“You ought to give them lessons in Delsarte, Pauline.”
Molly and Pauline had again come around to the enclosed balcony, where
Weezy stood at an open window gazing out.
“The little fairy queen hasn’t the least idea who we are,” whispered
Pauline triumphantly; “nobody has but your mother. Take longer steps,
Miss California, or your papa will know you by the way you walk.”
“And your papa’ll know you, Miss Liberty Cap, by the way you swing your
arms.”
“No, he shan’t. I’ll hold them as stiff as Indian clubs.”
“That’s a dear; and I’ll march like a colonel. You needn’t be afraid of
my giving us away, Polly.”
“Unless you spoil everything by giggling, Miss California. You’re
_such_ a girl to giggle!”
Pauline was giggling herself, but so softly that no one in the sun
parlor was the wiser; no, not even Lady Washington, who sat only a few
feet from the pavement.
“What makes them press back upon us so?” said Molly, suddenly stopped
by the crowd in front. “Stretch your neck, Miss Stars-and-Stripes.”
[Illustration: “That inquisitive little dog.”
_Page 153_]
Pauline had the advantage of Molly in being the taller.
“Oh, oh, Mother Goose has lost her goose! No--yes--no--she’s caught it!
What a scramble! Why, Molly, Mother Goose must be a boy! Who knows but
it’s Paul?”
“Or Kirke, Pauline!”
People began to move on again. When the crush was over, the girls
found themselves once more beside the white sunbonnets. The wearers of
the bonnets bowed in a friendly fashion, and one of them--it was the
shorter--handed Pauline a bunch of carnations.
Pauline murmured her thanks, and whispered to Molly that she thought
she had met that girl before--perhaps at La Jolla.
How much longer the pleasant farce might have gone on but for Zip
cannot be told, for at this point that inquisitive little dog appeared
upon the scene to find out what Molly and Kirke were doing. Barking and
whining, he frisked about Molly, “saluting the flag” as Pauline said;
and after that performance of what use was it for Molly to pretend that
she was _not_ Molly?
And as if he had not already done mischief enough, Zip next charged at
the girl who had given Pauline the pinks, and the girl’s mask dropped
down, and everybody saw that the supposed maiden was Kirke Rowe.
Weezy almost laughed her wings off at the sight, while General
Washington and the “Spanish man” openly applauded.
“To think,” said the amused general, “that those children should have
kept their secret the whole evening, and that after all it should have
been the dog that let the cat out of the bag!”
But the cat was out, and thus ended the farce for our masqueraders.
The evening had been a delight, and we will leave the happy children
laughing and complimenting one another on the extraordinary shrewdness
they had displayed in disguising themselves. We may meet them again in
a year and a day; who knows where? Possibly in the City of the Silver
Gate, possibly in Europe. But wherever it may be, The Merry Five will
not appear again with masks on their faces.
PENN SHIRLEY’S BOOKS
PENN SHIRLEY’S STORIES
FOR THE LITTLE ONES
Miss Penn Shirley is a very graceful interpreter of child-life. She
thoroughly understands how to reach out to the tender chord of the
little one’s feelings, and to interest her in the noble life of her
young companions. Her stories are full of bright lessons but they do
not take on the character of moralizing sermons. Her keen observation
and ready sympathy teach her how to deal with the little ones in
helping them to understand the lessons of life. Her stories are simple
and unaffected.--_Boston Herald._
THE LITTLE MISS WEEZY SERIES
Three volumes Illustrated Boxed, each 75 cents
LITTLE MISS WEEZY
One of the freshest and most delightful, because the most natural of
the stories of the year for children, is “Little Miss Weezy,” by Penn
Shirley. It relates the oddities, the mischief, the adventures, and the
misadventures of a tiny two-year-old maiden, full of life and spirit,
and capable of the most unexpected freaks and pranks. The book is full
of humor, and is written with a delicate sympathy with the feelings of
children, which will make it pleasing to children and parents alike.
Really good child literature is not over-plenty, despite the multitude
of books that come daily from the press; and it is pleasing to welcome
a new author whose first volume, like this one of Penn Shirley, adds
promise of future good work to actual present merit.--_Boston Courier._
LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S BROTHER
This is a good story for young children, bringing in the same
characters as “Little Miss Weezy” of last year, and continuing the
history of a very natural and wide-awake family of children. The doings
and the various “scrapes” of Kirke, the brother, form a prominent
feature of the book, and are such as we may see any day in the school
or home life of a well-cared-for and good-intentioned little boy. There
are several quite pleasing full-page illustrations.--_The Dial._
We should like to see the person who thinks it “easy enough to write
for children,” attempt a book like the “Miss Weezy” stories. Excepting
Sophie May’s childish classics, we don’t know of anything published as
bright as the sayings and doings of the little Louise and her friends.
Their pranks and capers are no more like Dotty Dimple’s than those
of one bright child are like another’s, but they are just as “cute”
as those of the little folks that play in your yard or around your
neighbor’s doorsteps.--_Journal of Education._
LITTLE MISS WEEZY’S SISTER
“It is one of the best of the series, and will please every child who
reads it. It is brought out just at the holiday time, and is brimful
of good things. Every character in it is true to nature and the
doings of a bright lot of children, in which Miss Mary Rowe figures
conspicuously, will entertain grown folks as well as little ones.”
It is a thoroughly clever and delightful story of child-life,
gracefully told, and charming in its blending of humor and pathos.
The children in the book are real children, and the pretty plot
through which they move is fully in harmony with the characters. The
young ones will find it a storehouse of pleasant things pleasantly
related, and a book that will appeal at once to their sentiments and
sympathies.--_Boston Gazette._
A book that will hold the place of honor on the nursery bookshelf,
until it falls to pieces from much handling, is “Little Miss Weezy’s
Sister,” a simple, yet absorbing story of children who are interesting
because they are so real. It is doing scant justice to say for the
author, Penn Shirley, that the annals of child-life have seldom been
traced with more loving care.--_Boston Times._
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized or underlined text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.