floor; then she turned the pitcher upside down in his hand, and spoke
for him.
TOBY. Dere de water, missis.
MRS. M. Oh! it's all over the carpet! How dare you, Toby?
TOBY. Why, missis, you _told_ me to put down de _water_!
MRS. M. Oh, I shall go distracted!
MR. MORRIS. Come, sister, I 'spect you'd better go home and send for
Doctor Bumpstead! Maybe he can fish up your eyes again, and stick them
in right side out. A--h! good-by, Miss Isabella, good-by, Mrs. Montague!
ALL THE DOLLS IN CHORUS. Good-by, a--h!
"Oh! did ever anybody have such a funny play before!" cried Lina, fairly
dropping Miss Morris, and clapping her hands with delight. "I mean
always to play in this way."
"Yes, it is so nice!" said Minnie. "But, come, Lina, how shall we dress
Miss Isabella to get married?"
"Oh, she has a wedding-dress all ready," replied Lina; "white silk with
lace over."
"Splendid!" cried both the sisters.
"Now, if Mr. Morris could only have a plain suit, he would look so much
more like a bridegroom."
"Well, perhaps sister will make him one," said Lina; "but what shall we
do with poor Miss Morris?"
The recollection of Miss Morris's mishap set them off again laughing;
and finally they decided that she might come to the wedding, but must
keep her handkerchief to her eyes all the time, as if she were quite
overcome by having her brother married; as well she might be, for how
would her two holes instead of eyes compare with Miss Isabella Belmont
Montague's charms?
This point settled, Lina and her little visitors were just beginning to
review the other dolls, to see who would look best at the wedding, when
a knock came at the door, and in walked Mary, Lina's nurse, to say that
Minnie and Maggie were sent for!
"Oh, what a pity!" cried Lina. "I wish you could stay all day, and all
night, and all the rest of the time. It's too bad!"
"Oh, that the afternoons were forty-'leven times as long!" said Maggie.
"Well, we must go, I suppose. Good-by, Lina; we'll come Monday
afternoon, if mamma will let us; and finish the play."
So the children kissed each other, and Minnie and Maggie were bundled up
in their warm coats and hoods, and went home. As soon as they were gone,
Lina ran to her sister Alice with Mr. Morris, and begged her to make him
a suit of black to get married in, as Miss Isabella had expressed her
preference for that style of dress. Alice kindly promised she would, and
that very evening she hunted up some black cloth that was left from a
cloak of her mother's, and in a few hours Mr. Morris was rigged out in
the last style of fashion. Here is his carte de visite, taken in his
wedding clothes. You see, the photograph man left his own hat on the
table by mistake; doesn't it look funny?
[Illustration: Portrait of Mr. Morris.]
It was past Lina's bedtime before Mr. Morris was completely dressed; but
she was allowed to sit up "just this once," and when he was finished,
she kissed Alice a great many times, carried him off in triumph, and
shut him up tight in a box, for fear his clothes should get tumbled.
Monday afternoon, Minnie and Maggie came again, bringing with them a
dear little wax doll of Minnie's, and a great paper of sugar-plums, to
"play party" with. When Mr. Morris had been sufficiently admired in his
new clothes, the children collected the other dolls, and put the
Montague family in their house again. Mr. Montague was left all alone in
the parlor to receive the company, and the ladies were up stairs in the
front bed room. Miss Isabella's wedding dress was spread out on the
elegant French bed, all ready for her to wear; and as it is a well-known
fact that a fashionable lady cannot possibly get dressed in less than
three hours, the time was put at nine o'clock, as the wedding would take
place at twelve.
Lina then began the play:
MRS. MONTAGUE. Come, my dear, it is time for you to dress; you've only
got three hours to get all ready in.
MISS ISABELLA. Yes, mamma, I am putting on my shoes now. (That is,
Maggie was putting them on.) Oh, dear! they are a great deal too tight!
they hurt me _dreadfully_. Please let me take them off.
MRS. M. No, they are not; they are a beautiful fit; don't be silly,
Isabella.
ISABELLA. I think you are real mean! There, they are on; now I must put
on my dress.
Here Maggie made her stand up, and Lina put on her dress and fastened
it.
ISABELLA. Oh, my! what a beautiful dress! Can't I keep it on all the
time, mamma?
MRS. M. Why, no; of course not! This is your wedding dress.
ISABELLA. Well, then, I mean to get married over again next year, so I
can wear it some more.
MRS. M. Now I must put on your veil, my dear, and then you will be all
ready.
Here Maggie clapped her hands to express Miss Isabella's joy, while Lina
put on the veil.
ISABELLA. Oh, how pretty I look!
MRS. M. Don't be vain, Isabella. There, you are dressed; sit down now,
while I get ready.
So Miss Isabella sat down with her new frock sticking out all around
her, like a perfect balloon, a most magnificent creature to behold! Her
dress was made of white silk, trimmed all round the bottom with deep
blonde lace, which was finished at the top with narrow silver cord. It
was looped up on one side with a bouquet of white flowers, with silver
leaves, and her waist was covered with a blonde lace bertha, and had a
bouquet of the same flowers on the front, called a _corsage_. She wore a
lace veil and a wreath of orange blossoms, and in her hand, tied fast
there, was another large bouquet, and a lace-bordered pocket
handkerchief. As to Mrs. Montague, she was hardly less splendidly
attired, in a mauve silk with eleven flounces, a lace collar and
sleeves, and a superb diamond breastpin--made of glass.
Well, dear me, I don't know how I can find room enough to describe all
the splendid ladies that came to the wedding. They were none of them
quite as elegant as Miss Isabella Belmont Montague, but they all had on
their Sunday-go-to-meeting, Fourth-of-July, Christmas-and-New-Year's
best clothes, and looked as fine as fiddles. Poor Miss Morris came, with
her handkerchief up to her eyes, and stayed so all the time, crying as
if her heart would break, I presume. She was so dismal, in her old green
barege, that Minnie kindly dressed her in Mrs. Montague's purple silk,
which fitted her quite well; so she didn't look so _very_ bad, after
all. Aren't you glad? I am.
Pretty soon in came the minister, who was no other than Angelina! as her
black nun's robe was the most like a gown that could be found; and when
she was set up with her back against the centre table, the parlor door
opened, and in marched the bride and bridegroom. Minnie and Maggie held
them in their proper places, and the minister married them in rhyme;
which, it strikes me, was a new style. This was what he said:
"Now you're married, you must obey;
You must be true to all you say,
And live together all your life;
And I pronounce you man and wife!"
When the marriage ceremony was over, the children set Mr. and Mrs.
Morris down side by side on the sofa, and leaving them to entertain the
company, and talk for themselves if they could, got the supper ready.
It was such a grand supper that they were obliged to have a table from
up stairs besides the dining table. Everything in the box of eatables
was brought out, even the roast beef and buttered toast, two dishes not
ordinarily seen at suppers. The sugar-plums were disposed around
wherever room could be found, and when everything was ready, Minnie took
Toby to the parlor door and made him say:
TOBY.
Ladies and gentlemens, please to come to supper,
Plum cake, and cream cake, and white bread and butter.
Up jumped Mr. Morris in such a violent hurry that he nearly tumbled
over, and offered his arm to his bride; which Minnie made him do by
bending it round, and pinning his kid hand fast to his waistcoat.
Maggie and Lina made the rest of the company walk after them in
procession, as fast as they could lift them up; and they all pranced and
paraded round by the back of the house into the dining room. Only poor
Miss Morris was left out, and she had tumbled off her chair, and was
lying behind the piano, on the top of her head, with one leg sticking
straight up in the air like an awning post, and the other foot
apparently boxing her ears, as it was turned back in a most
extraordinary manner, till it touched her head.
Meanwhile, there were fine times going on in the dining room. Mr.
Montague took the foot of the table, and the bride and groom the head.
As soon as they were all seated, Mr. Montague said:
MR. MONTAGUE. Ladies and gentlemen, don't you think we'd better drink
the bride's health? Here, Toby, give the company some wine glasses.
MRS. M. Dear me, ladies, what a pity! there's only six goblets; so the
rest will have to drink out of teacups!
ALL THE DOLLS (or all the three little girls, whichever you please). Oh,
never mind; that doesn't make any _difference_.
MR. MONT. The bride, ladies and gentlemen!
ALL THE DOLLS. Mrs. Morris! hurray! hurree! hurror!
MRS. M. Now, Isabella, it's time for you to change your dress, my dear.
You are going travelling, you know.
ISABELLA. Oh, what a pity! I don't want to take it off a bit!
But, of course, she had to. It wouldn't have done to go travelling in a
white silk dress, would it, you dear little poppet?
So Maggie took Miss Isabella (for they called her either that or Mrs.
Morris by turns, indifferently), away from table, and dressed her in her
gray travelling dress, which was trimmed with black velvet and small
steel buttons. Then she put on her second best bonnet, with a blue veil,
and her India-rubbers, in case it should be damp, and locked up the
wedding dress in her trunk, which was about as large as a candle box,
had a real little lock and key, and her initials painted on the side.
When she was all ready, down she came again, to take leave of her
relations and friends, who had eaten up all the wooden refreshments by
this time (though, strange to say, the dishes seemed as full as ever),
while Minnie, Maggie, and Lina eat up the sugar plums; and poor Miss
Morris sucked her thumbs, I suppose, for not a speck of anything else
did she get.
There was a great time bidding good-by, and so many hard noses were
bumped against the bride's cheek this time, that they made a dent, which
looked quite like a dimple, and improved her appearance very much
indeed. As to Mr. Morris, nobody took the slightest notice of him, as is
usually the case with the bridegroom, but he didn't seem to mind it in
the least; for he went on smirking at the company as blandly as ever.
Perhaps he didn't want people's noses making holes in _his_ face; you
wouldn't want them made in _yours_, would you? you dear little Pinkey
Winkey! Bless your heart! there's dimples enough in that cunning face
already.
But now the carriage was brought round to the door, for Mr. and Mrs.
Morris to go on their travels. It was made of--ahem!--tin, and was drawn
by two dashing tin horses, with tails like comets, and manes like
waterfalls, and such a great number of bright red spots painted all
over them, that they looked as if they had broken out with a kind of
scarlet measles.
The bride and bridegroom were put in their places, the big trunk was
hoisted up in front, and away they went! and travelled all the way down
the entry to the head of the stairs, and through sister Alice's room to
the fireplace! My! what a long journey! 'most a hundred miles, I should
think! that is, it would seem so to dolls.
Thus ended the grand play of Miss Isabella Belmont Montague's wedding,
which had taken two whole afternoons to finish, and which the children
thought the most _interestingest_ play that ever was. If you want to
know what became of her after that, I advise you to go right to Lina's
house and ask how Mr. and Mrs. Morris come on with their housekeeping!
That's all there is of this story--BOO!!
THE FAIRY WISH.
ONCE upon a time there lived a little old man, with his little old wife,
in a little old house that ran on wheels. Did you ever? Well, I never
did.
The reason why the little old house ran on wheels was, that the little
old man used to keep a monkey show in it, and drove it about for a
caravan; with an old white horse, that had a blind eye, to draw it; but
now the monkeys were all dead and buried, and the little old man and
woman lived all alone-ty-donty. It had bright green blinds, bright red
sides, a bright blue door, and bright yellow steps. On the bright blue
door there was a bright brass knocker, which was polished up at such a
rate that you could see your face in it, looking as l-o-n-g as anything;
and underneath that was a bright brass door plate, with the old
showman's name, "Timmy Timmens," on it, which was also polished up until
you could see your face in it, looking as b-r-o-a-d as anything. Did you
_ever_? Well, I _never_ did!
Inside there was a rag carpet of all the colors of the rainbow; a little
old four-post bedstead, with a patchwork counterpane; two high-backed
rocking chairs, with patchwork covers over the backs; a table with an
oil cloth cover, that had a little old tea tray on it, set up against
the wall; two bright brass candlesticks, and a china tea set; and in one
corner was a glass cupboard, which contained the other plates and
dishes. Hung against the wall over the mantlepiece was a sampler worked
by Mrs. Timmy Timmens when she was a girl, which represented Noah's ark,
with all the animals, of exactly the same size, done in cross stitch, in
such bright grass-green worsted that it quite set your teeth on edge to
look at it. Besides these, there was a little round stove, with a long
stove pipe, that came out on top of the caravan, and ended with a
flourishing weathercock, representing a fat old woman in a high gale,
with her umbrella turned inside out; which moved when the smoke came
puffing up harder than usual, and had no connection whatever with any
wind that blew.
Now, Mr. Timmy Timmens and his wife, being mighty simple old people,
were fond of reading fairy stories, and believed entirely in every word
of them. They hadn't the smallest doubt that sprites and fairies were as
common as peas this very minute, and would have thought it quite a
matter of course if a wonderful gift had suddenly tumbled down the very
stove pipe, or a beautiful lady come bursting through the wall, and
offered to carry them off to fairy land in a mother-of-pearl chariot,
drawn by milk-white doves. If a cat looked hard at her and mewed
piteously, the little old woman would sigh, "Well, this _is_ fairy work,
I'll bet a crooked sixpence! She looks like an enchanted princess, poor
thing! don't she, Timmy, dear?" If a donkey brayed louder than usual,
and seemed more obstinate than ever before, the little old man would
exclaim, "There, I told you so! an unfortunate young man, of surpassing
beauty, enchanted in this dreadful shape by a wicked fairy! That's plain
to be seen! No wonder he utters such cries of distress!" and then they
both groaned together, and waggled their heads, and blew their noses so
exactly in time with two yellow silk pocket handkerchiefs, that people
thought two fishmen must be blowing their horns at once. Did _you_
ever? Well, _I_ never did!
[Illustration: THE OLD MAN AND WOMAN LOOKING FOR FAIRIES.]
One fine morning the little old man and woman went out to take a walk on
the common; for the house stood right beside the road, in an empty field
of scrubby grass, with no fence round it. Just behind the house, to be
sure, was a paling, which enclosed a garden about as big as a good-sized
dining table, where the little old man and woman grew one or two
cabbages, two or three tomatuses, three or four potatuses, and four or
five radishes, for their own eating; but all the rest was just open
common. The old woman had a large basket in her hand, all ready to pop
down over any fairies she might see lying asleep in a bluebell, and the
old man was leaning heavily on his stick, as he was rather feeble, and,
besides, had the rheumatism in his big toe.
"Dear me, Timmy," said the old woman, "what a good thing it would be,
now, if we could only find a kind fairy who would move our house for us
somewhere nearer the village. Now that poor old Dobbin is dead--killed,
I've no doubt, by a wicked enchanter--we can no longer get around from
place to place without stirring a step from the house; and we are so far
away, that we can't walk over to take tea with any of our neighbors. Do
let us keep a sharp lookout as we walk along, and see if we can't find
a fairy ring or a fairy flower."
"With all my heart!" said Tim; and so they tottered along, peering very
hard into all the bushes, and hurrying to examine every little patch of
grass that looked greener and brighter than the rest, in the hope that
it was a fairy ring. All at once, the little old man stopped short, and
pointed with his stick at a beautiful spray of foxglove.
"There!" cried Mr. Timmens.
"Where?" cried Mrs. Timmens.
"Right before your eyes!" said the little old man. "Don't you see it? A
fairy foxglove, as my name is Timmy Timmens!"
"My goodness gracious, stars, and what's-his-names!" cried the little
old woman; "so there is! as sure as my name is Polly Timmens!"
So the little old man and woman hurried up to the flower, and after
trying a great many times to stoop down, making their old joints crack
like so many torpedoes, Mrs. Polly succeeded in plucking it, and off
they went, pell-mell, hurry-scurry, to the little old house that ran on
wheels, to consult their fairy story books, and see what was the right
thing to be done in such a case! _Did_ you ever? Well, I never _did_.
Down sat the little old man in _his_ rocking chair with the patchwork
cover, and down sat the little old woman in _her_ rocking chair with
the patchwork cover; and after a long consultation of the "Sorrows of
Prince Popinjay," and the "Wonderful History of the Princess Lillie
Bulero and the Fairy Allinmieyeo," they discovered that the proper way
to do was to hold the fairy foxglove in your hand exactly as the clock
struck twelve, at noon, and say
"Rorum corum torum snoram,
Highcum tickleme cockolorum!"
seven times; then shut your eyes tight and wish, stand on one leg and
turn round three times, and, presto! you would find, when you opened
your eyes, that your wish was accomplished!
"Dear me!" cried Mrs. Polly Timmens when her husband had finished
reading this wonderful charm; "how lucky it is that we should be the
ones to find the fairy foxglove! just as we were wishing, too, for
something of the sort. Let me see, it is half past eleven now, I
declare! Timmy, my dear, I'll go into the garden and gather two or three
tomatuses and three or four potatuses for dinner, for it would be a
shame to leave our fine vegetables behind; and then, as the clock
strikes twelve, we'll try the fairy spell, wish that our house was in
the village, and see what comes of it."
So the little old woman, taking a small basket off a nail, and a sharp
knife in her hand, went into the garden to gather the vegetables. Down
she plumped beside the bed, and began to dig and cut at the potatuses
to get them up. Her back was turned to the house, and the tall stalks
and thick leaves of the tomato bushes quite hid it from her view when
she sat on the ground, for she was a teeny-tawny little old woman. While
she was thus engaged, the little old man was sitting inside with the
book open in one hand, for fear he should forget the charm, and the
fairy foxglove tight in the other, waiting impatiently for her return.
The hands of the clock kept getting nearer and nearer to twelve, and at
last there was only one moment wanting to the time.
"Why, goodness gracious me!" cried Mr. Timmy Timmens; "has Polly forgot
all about the fairy wish? I declare, I have a great mind to begin
alone." Just as he said these words, the clock began to strike! and at
the same moment a tremendous hullabaloo arose on the road. "There come
the fairies!" squeaked the little old man; and without waiting another
second, he stood straight up in the middle of the floor, and said, in a
trembling voice:
"Rorum corum torum snorum,
Highcum tickleme cockolorum!"
seven times over; then, shutting up his eyes as tight as possible, stood
on one leg, and cried, "Please, good fairy, Polly and I wish our house
was in the middle of the village!"
Hardly had he said these words, than a long red object, that looked
wonderfully like a cow's tail, suddenly whisked in at the half open
door; the wind caught the door, and shut it to, slam! bang! and with a
jerk that made the bright brass knocker give a tremendous double knock
on the bright blue door, and sent the bright tin saucepans scattering in
every direction, the house started suddenly down on the road on a
double-quick trot! Did you EVER?! Well, I NEVER did!!
It happened that a large drove of cows and oxen were going down to
market that day, and being very hot, and tired, and thirsty, they
naturally objected to being driven in that way any longer, and commenced
cutting a variety of capers that were enough to frighten you out of
your wits. At last one irascible little bull, who had been riding on the
other ones' backs, charging at all the innocent ducks, geese, and pigs
he could find on the road, and finally had tossed one of the men who
were driving him right up in the air, dashed on ahead, and, seeing the
little house with the bright red sides, took the color as a personal
insult to himself. Down went his head and up went his heels, and in
another minute he would have bounced right into poor Mr. Timmy Timmens'
dwelling, when one of the drivers saw him, and rushing up, gave him a
good whack with his whip. Master Bull turned round to see what was to
pay; in an instant his tail was caught in the door as I told you,
and, frightened half out of his wits, he galloped off, dragging the
little house on wheels after him, and roaring with pain, while the
drivers looked on, roaring with laughter.
[Illustration: THE MAD BULL.]
Meanwhile, the little old man remained standing on one leg, not daring
to open his eyes, for fear the charm would be broken, and only wishing
that the little old woman were with him. At last the house stopped,
moving with another jerk, that sent the little old man toppling back in
his rocking chair, and a moment afterward the door was opened a little
bit, and a strange voice said, "Well, here we are at the village, old
gentleman, begging your pardon," and then all was silent.
Up jumped the little old man, opening his eyes very wide this time,
hobbled to the door, and looked out. There, sure enough, he was, in the
pleasant, shady village street, with the church directly opposite, so
nice for Sundays, and nothing to be seen but a drove of cows and oxen
going down the road at some distance!
"Well, was there ever anything known like this?" cried Mr. Timmy
Timmens. "If this isn't the most wonderful fairy doings I ever heard of!
I must go right off to find Polly, and tell her the happy news."
So saying, he went down the bright yellow steps, carefully shut the
bright blue door behind him, and toddled off as fast as he could to the
common.
Now the little old woman, before she had finished digging up the
potatuses, found the sun very warm and herself very sleepy, and thinking
her husband would be sure to call her when twelve o'clock came, she just
got under the shade of the tomatuses, and went off in a nice nap. When
she woke, she jumped up in a hurry, exclaiming, "Why, bless me--how
could I have forgotten about twelve o'clock? I must make haste into the
house this minute." But where was the house? The little old woman stared
all around until she nearly stared her eyes out, but it was nowhere to
be seen.
"Why, my goodness gracious, stars, and what's-his-names!" squealed the
little old woman, letting fall her knife and basket; "where has the
house runned to? Timmy must have tried the fairy charm without ever
telling me! I mean to go right to the village and see if it is there."
So she gathered up her basket and knife, stuffed the basket, and her
apron, and her pockets with all the vegetables she could carry, and
started off for the village. Before she was half way there, however, she
met her husband. "Where is it?" "There it is!" they called at the same
moment, and falling into each other's arms and a mud puddle, they stood
for a long time, saying by turns: "Did you ever?" "No, I never!" "Would
you believe it?" "Not 'less I see'd it!" and then they took hold of
hands and trotted off to the little house that ran on wheels.