THE CHILDREN OF MERRIGOLAND.
ONCE upon a time, in the pleasant country of Merrigoland, all the
fathers and mothers, the uncles and aunts, the grandpas and
grandmas, in fact, all the grown-up people of every sort, were
invited to the governor's house to spend a week; and all the cooks
and chambermaids, and nurses and waiters, and coachmen and
gardeners, in Merrigoland, were invited to go and wait upon them: so
there was nobody left at home in any of the houses but the children;
not even the babies; for their mothers had carried them in their
arms to the governor's house.
"What fun!" shouted the children. "We can do every thing we have a
mind to now."
"We'll eat all the cake and pies and preserves and candies in the
country," said Patty Pettitoes.
"We'll swing on all the gates, and climb all the cherry-trees, and
chase all the roosters, and play ball against the parlor-windows,"
said Tom Tearcoat.
"We'll lie down on the sofas, and read stories all day, and go to
sleep before the fire at night," said Dowsabelle Dormouse.
"We'll dress up in all our mothers' clothes, and put on their rings
and breastpins," said little Finnikin Fine, pushing a chair in front
of the looking-glass, and climbing up to look at herself.
"We'll get our stockings dirty, and tear our frocks, and tumble our
hair, and not wash our hands at dinner-time, nor put on our
eating-aprons," said Georgie Tearcoat, Tom's younger sister.
"Yes, yes: we'll all do just as we like best for a whole week; for
father and mother said we might!" shouted all the children in
Merrigoland, and then laughed so loud, that the mice ran out of
their holes to see what was the matter; and the cats never noticed
them, they were so busy sticking the hair straight up on their
backs, and making their tails look like chimney-brushes; while all
the birds in the pleasant gardens of Merrigoland fluttered their
wings, and sung,--
"Only listen to the row!
What in the world's the matter now?
Tweet, tweet! Can't sing a note;
My heart's just jumping out of my throat.
Bobolink, bobolink,
What do you think?
Is the world very glad,
Or has it gone mad?"
So the children all did what they liked best, and frolicked in the
sunshine like a swarm of butterflies, or like several hundred little
kittens, until it came night; and then they went into the houses,
and put themselves to bed. But some of them, I am afraid, forgot to
say their prayers when their mammas were not there to remind them of
it.
The next morning they all jumped up, and dressed very gayly (for
children do not often lie in bed), and came down to breakfast: but,
lo and behold! there was no breakfast ready, nor even any fire in
the ranges and cooking-stoves, and in some houses not even any
shavings and kindling wood to make a fire; and the cows, who were
mostly of a Scotch breed, came to the bars, calling,--
"Moo, moo, moo!
Who'll milk us noo?"
and the hens all stuck their heads through the bars of the
poultry-yard fence, and cried,--
"Kah-dah-cut, kah-dah-cut!
Are you having your hair cut?
Can you give us some corn
This beautiful morn?"
and the pigeons came flying down to the back door, murmuring,--
"Coo, coo, coo!
Must we breakfast on dew?"
and all the little children began to cry as loud as they could, and call,--
"Mamma, mamma, mamma!
I want you and papa!"
So, altogether, the older children were just about crazy, and felt
as if they'd like to cry too. But that never would do, of course;
for nobody cries when old enough to know better: so after running
round to each others' houses, and talking a little, they agreed they
would all work together, and that every one should do what he could
do best. So Tom Tearcoat, instead of climbing trees, and smashing
the furniture with his hatchet, went and split kindlings in all the
wood-houses; and his sister Georgie, who never wanted to be in the
house, carried them into the kitchens; and Patty Pettitoes tried her
hand at cooking, instead of eating; and Dowsabelle Dormouse made the
beds, and beat up the sofa-pillows; and Mattie Motherly, whose chief
delight was playing at housekeeping in her baby-house, set the
tables, and put the parlors to rights. But there seemed to be
nothing that Finnikin Fine could do; for she had never thought of
any thing but dressing, in all the gay clothes she could get, and
looking into the mirror until she had worn quite a place in the
carpet before it. But, at last, someone said,--
"Oh! Finnikin may dress the little children: that will suit her
best."
So Finnikin tried to do that. But she spent so much time tying up
the little girls' sleeves with ribbons, and parting the little boys'
hair behind, that, when breakfast-time came, they were not half
ready, and began to cry,--
"O Finnikin, O!
Don't spend your time so,
But put on our dresses,
And smooth out our tresses;
We don't care for curls,
Either boys or girls,
If we are but neat,
And may sit down to eat."
So at last Finnikin followed their advice, and, when she had dressed
all the children, was so tired and hungry, that she was glad to sit
down and eat her breakfast without even looking in the mirror once
while she was at table.
But nobody knew how to milk the cows; and, although Tom and Georgie
Tearcoat tried with all their might, they could not manage to get a
drop of milk from one of them, and no one else even tried. But, just
as the children were all wondering what they should do, little Peter
Phinn, who had been listening and looking, with his hands in the
pockets of his ragged trousers, and a broad grin on his freckled
face, said slowly,--
"I know how to milk."
"You do! Why didn't you say so, Peter Phinn?" cried all the children
angrily.
"Oh! I didn't know as you'd want me and Merry amongst you," said
Peter.
"Why not? Of course we do," said Patty Pettitoes, who was a very
good-natured little girl.
"Because Finnikin Fine told Merry once she wasn't fit to play with
her, when her clothes was so poor," said Peter.
"Did Finnikin say that?" asked Patty.
"Yes, she did, sure; and she called her a little Paddy, and said, if
she wore such an old, mean gown and bonnet, she'd ought to keep out
of the way of folks that dressed nicer, as she did."
Then all the children turned and looked at Finnikin Fine, and said,--
"Oh, shame, Finnikin! for shame to talk so to good little Merry
Phinn!"
Then Finnikin hung down her head, and blushed very much, and began
to cry; but Merry Phinn went close to her, and whispered,--
"Never mind them, honey. I'll forget it sooner than you will, and
I'll come and help you dress the children tomorrow morning."
"And I'll give you my new pink muslin, and my white beads, and my
bronze slippers with pink rosettes, and, and," began Finnikin; but
Merry put her little brown hand over her mouth, and said, laughing,--
"And, if I get all these fine things, I'd be as bad as yourself,
Finny darling. No: I'll wear my calico gown, and my sun-bonnet, and
my strong shoes; and you'll see I can get to my work or my play
without half the bother you'd make in your finery."
So Finnikin, still blushing, and crying a little, put her arm round
Merry's neck, and kissed her; and then she ran and took off the
rinses and pins and ribbons and flowers she had found time since
breakfast to put on, and changed her blue silk dress for a neat
gingham and a white apron, and put her hair into a net, instead of
the wreath and curls it had cost her so much trouble to arrange.
And, when she came down stairs again, all the children cried,--
"Only see how pretty Finnikin Fine is in her plain dress! She looks
like a little girl now, instead of a wax doll in a toy-shop window."
"Yes," said Tom Tearcoat; "and a fellow could play with her now in
some comfort. It used to be,--
"'Dear me, you rude boy! you've gone and torn my flounce!' or,
'You've spoilt my bow!' or, 'Dear me, you troublesome creature!
you've made me so nervous!'"
Every one laughed to hear Tom mimic Finnikin, he did it so well;
but, when they saw that the little girl herself was troubled by it,
they left off directly, and began to talk of other things; and Tom
came and tucked a big green apple into her pocket, and a lump of
maple-sugar into her hand.
Then Peter and Merry, who had always been used to waiting upon
themselves, and doing all the work they were able to do, showed the
other children many things which they needed to know, and helped
them in so many ways, that the troubles of the morning were soon
forgotten; and when, after clearing away the dinner, the little
people all came out to play upon the green, they agreed to crown
Peter and Merry King, and Queen of Merrigoland from three o'clock in
the afternoon until sunset, because they were the only boy and girl
in all the land who knew how to do the work that must every day be
done to make us all comfortable. But Peter and Merry, who were very
sensible as well as very good-natured children, said,--
"No, no, no! There shall be no kings or queens in Merrigoland. We
will teach you all that we know, and you shall teach us all that you
know, and so we will help each other; and no one shall think himself
better than any one else, or forget that none of us can do well
without the help of all the rest."
So the children shouted,--
"Hurrah for Peter and Merry, and down with fine ways and fine
clothes!"
And then they gave three cheers so loud, that the fathers and
mothers, and grandpas and grandmas, and uncles and aunts, and
brothers and sisters, heard them, as they sat at dinner in the
governor's house; and all came trooping home in a great hurry to see
what was the matter.
But when they heard the story, and found how well the children were
going on, they said,--
"We could teach them nothing better than what they are learning for
themselves. We may let them alone."
So they all went back to the governor's house, and spent the rest of
the week, and"--
"Tea is ready, Mrs. Legrange," said James at the parlor-door.