'Lisbeth was asleep. She was tired enough to sleep well. She was better
off asleep than awake; had you asked her she would have told you so. As
she slept she dreamed, and as she dreamed the forms in the basket became
living things, and the pence in her pocket changed to pounds, and things
which were not became to her as though they were.
In fact 'Lisbeth doubted that she was 'Lisbeth, and who knows but had
she dreamed long enough she might have been the queen herself?
The bird, in the basket, stood on its gingerbread legs, which were
changed to real bird's legs, and it sung to her sweeter than the bird at
the mile-stone sung on the post. The little dog forgot that it was
gingerbread, and barked and sprung about, and shone like satin in its
pretty black coat; it barked in a charming fashion. The cat? it was
beautiful as only cats in dreams can be, as it sat on the handle of the
basket; it was a beautiful picture to behold.
But what amused and delighted her more than the bird or the cat or the
dog, was the real live elephant which floated in the air without wings,
and the two charming little angels, with little brass crowns, who sung
sweeter than the bird itself, and blew about like thistle-down, and
astonished her more than all the shows of London. But the most
delightful gingerbread of all was the gingerbread parrot, which was no
more a gingerbread, but a real, true, live, green and gold parrot which
tapped at her hat and called, "Come, Lady 'Lisbeth, here is a coach and
four, to ride to your door."
Then 'Lisbeth woke up, and when she saw that the parrot and the angels
and the elephant, and the dog and cat, and even the bird, which had been
singing on the bottom of the basket were all gingerbread, she flew up in
a passion and threw them all to the ground, and had them all to pick up
again.
[Illustration]
When she went home she told her mother everything that had happened, and
the mother told her something that was going to happen, and they had a
great deal to say to each other. I think I would have said more to
her than her mother did, but she said all she wanted to, which was
possibly enough. But when she told 'Lisbeth what was going to happen,
she expected to see 'Lisbeth fly up in a great passion; instead of this,
however, 'Lisbeth began laughing, and laughed so hard that her mother
had to pat her on the back to make her stop.
In fact, when the mother was living with her children in the old home,
and suddenly grew poorer, she had concluded to go to London, where she
might sew, she thought, for large prices, and so get rich faster, but
when, after she got to London, she found the prices were little, and her
money was growing less, and her boys were getting spoiled, and 'Lisbeth
was getting to do so many things she should not do, she wished she had
never seen London.
Then she began thinking that it would be just as easy not to see it any
more, as it had been to come a hundred miles to see it. Then she
concluded not to see it any more, and this was what she told 'Lisbeth
when they both had so much to say to each other.
The next morning 'Lisbeth awoke with the impression that something very
pleasant had happened, or was about to happen.
She forgot to help her mother clear away the breakfast dishes, and sat
on the three-legged stool in the corner quite by herself, with her face
to the wall. The mother saw her sitting there as she popped her head in
the door, but she would not call her; she began to think she was
grieving about leaving London, yet she might have known better by the
delight of her morning embrace, if by nothing else. At any rate she
would let her alone; she would let her think it out. So she cleared up
the dishes and brushed up the floor, and put in the stitches, and packed
her parcel and said "good-by" to 'Lisbeth, for she was going to the
shop.
'Lisbeth was yet on the stool when her mother went out of the door.
"Bother!" she exclaimed, twirling about as she found herself alone.
"'Lisbeth Lillibun you are a humbug, you are indeed. You are a humbug
and no mistake; here you have been to London all this time and made only
two pence, and seven gingerbreads, and here is your mother troubled for
a bit of money to get back to the old place. Why is it you cannot help
her?"
Had 'Lisbeth remained sitting on the stool she would have continued
talking to herself, which might have resulted in no harm, and might have
kept her quiet and good, like a pleasant, dutiful child till the mother
came, but 'Lisbeth leaped off of the stool as a thought came into her
mind which might never have come there had she not leaped the moment she
did.
There was one trait in 'Lisbeth which is not in everybody. When 'Lisbeth
concluded to do a thing she did it; she did not wait until the next week
or the next month, she did not even wait until the next day. You will
say this was very clever and nice of 'Lisbeth to be so much in earnest;
and so it might have been had she mixed the earnestness with the right
kind of consideration for her mother's wishes. Indeed, in that case she
would have been such a very fine girl that ten chances to one there
would never have been any story about her at all; but she did not mix
her earnestness with anything but her own judgment, and she made just
as real a mistake as you would make should you mix your lemonade with
salt, instead of sugar--it was the wrong kind of mixture altogether.
When I say of 'Lisbeth that when she had a thing to do, she did it, that
she did not wait until the next week, or next month, or next year, you
will say: "How very delightful; how very much nicer and better 'Lisbeth
must have been than most other people;" but when I tell you that she
thought she knew what was best to be done so much better than anybody
else, that she did what she thought best without asking her mother, you
will know in a minute that 'Lisbeth was not as "nice" as a great many
other people. How could she be? Why, she could not be at all.
Well when 'Lisbeth thought the thought as she leaped off the stool, she
did not wait until the next day to do what she thought about doing, nor
till the next hour. She did not wait to consult her mother. As usual,
she mixed her own judgment with her earnestness, instead of making use
of her mother's judgment, and that was the cause of the confusion.
Children's earnestness directed by the mother's judgment is a very
different thing from children's earnestness directed by the children's
judgment; there is as much difference between the two as there is
between lemonade mixed with sugar and lemonade mixed with salt.
'Lisbeth thought it would be pleasant to get everything pulled down, and
turned inside out, and packed up ready to leave London; it would be that
much done toward starting, it would be a great help, it would be
delightful. Had she waited for mother's judgment she would have learned
that mother would not get off from London for two months at any rate,
that the things must not be pulled down until it was time to pack them
up, that it would not be time to pack them up until just before they
started. But 'Lisbeth mixed her earnestness with her own judgment.