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THE MITTEN SERIES
[Illustration: Out stalked the Griffin, smoking his Pipe, and with him
all the fashionable Beasts of the neighborhood.]
MORE MITTENS:
WITH
THE DOLL'S WEDDING
AND
OTHER STORIES.
BEING
THE THIRD BOOK OF THE SERIES.
BY
AUNT FANNY,
AUTHOR OF THE SIX NIGHTCAP BOOKS, ETC.
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
443 & 445 BROADWAY.
LONDON: 16 LITTLE BRITAIN.
1863.
Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1862, by
FANNY BARROW,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for
the Southern District of New York.
THIS VOLUME
IS
AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
TO
"ILKEN ANNIE,"
WHO
LIVES ON STATEN ISLAND.
CONTENTS.
A LETTER FROM AUNT FANNY, 7
THE DOLL'S WEDDING, 10
WHAT CAME OF GIPSYING, 25
THE CHILD HEROINE, 50
AUNT MARY, 69
LITTLE PETER, 75
THE STORY TOLD TO WILLIE, 102
A LETTER
FROM AUNT FANNY.
MY DARLING CHILDREN:
I wrote these stories, as I have already told you, some years ago, and
took a great deal of pains with them. I called them "Life Among the
Children;" when, lo and behold! somebody else had written a book with
the very same name, but very different stories, and I never knew one
word about it.
You may believe how sorry I was to take this pretty title when it
belonged to another; and I was very thankful that I could get at the
printer and have it changed.
What do you think of "The Doll's Wedding" for a name? I like it very
much, because "Lily," whose dolls were married, is one of my particular
pets; and what I have related, took place precisely as you read it. Lily
is a funny darling; she had a "doll's regatta" once, and I do believe,
in my next book, I will tell you all about it.
Meanwhile, if you will only laugh and grow fat as Lily does, and above
all, try to be good and lovely as Maggie the Child Heroine is, I will
write stories to interest you until my fingers feel as if they were all
thumbs; for that is just how they _do_ feel when they are very tired.
I wish I knew you all. I believe about three hundred children call me
"Aunt Fanny" now, but I have room in my heart for _ever, ever_ so many
more. You see I have a patent elastic heart; and when you would think it
was so crowded that a small doll could not squeeze in, if you only try,
you would find there was plenty of room for _one more_, and that one
would be you.
I wish good Mr. Somebody would make a telescope on purpose for me,
powerful enough to see all the darling children at once. Fancy how
perfectly delightful to see every little innocent child in the world
with one eye!
Oh! that thought has quite upset me, laughing and thinking about it. So
many little smiling faces at once--a great deal better than staring at
the man in the moon, who has no expression at all worth talking about.
When I get it I will invite you all to come and take a peep at
yourselves.
Good-by! I blow you a hundred kisses; and I hope the breeze is fair, so
you will get them all safe and warm from your loving
AUNT FANNY.
THE DOLL'S WEDDING.
One day, Alice came home from school, and opening her drawer, to put
away her things, she saw a letter lying on the very top of a pile of
pantalets.
"Why, who can this be for?" said she, in a tone of delighted surprise.
"Is it for me, mamma?"
"Yes," said her mother, "and it is sealed up so tight, that I expect it
is of the greatest importance; perhaps from the President of the United
States, requesting you to come to Washington immediately, to dine with
him."
"Dear me, how delightful!" exclaimed Alice. "I like getting a letter,
it's so very _oldy_, you know--just like grown people; did you pay the
postman?" and in her impatience and excitement, she tore the envelope
all to pieces. "Now read it, mamma, please," and then she began to jump
up and down, and ended by turning a summerset on the bed.
Her mother laughed, and said: "If that is the way you are going to
behave, when you go to see the President, I think he will be slightly
astonished; but let us see, first, if he wrote it," and she read thus:--
"DEAR ALICE--
"My doll is to be married on next Friday, at two o'clock; and I
should be very happy to see you, and as many dolls as you can
bring.
"Yours, truly, LILY.
"WEDNESDAY, Oct. 20th, 1858."
"Isn't it too nice!" cried Alice, with a joyful little scream. "A
wedding!" and she bounced into a rocking-chair, and nearly tipped over
backwards. "Dear me! what a _leany_-back chair! I very nearly upset.
I'll take Anna with me; but she must have a new dress immediately--and a
hoop petticoat; and, oh, mamma! her hands are all to pieces; the cotton
is sticking out in every direction; can't you buy her a new pair? these
old brown ones will never do to go to a wedding. Oh, dear! I am so
glad," she continued, clapping her hands, "I won't have any trouble with
her hair, because it is made of china, and I need not put it up in
curl-papers, as I did that poor old thing's in the corner, staring at me
so crossly, just because I cut her nose off: she can't go to the
wedding; she would frighten the bride into fits."
And now Alice ran off, and coaxed her sister, who was the very best
sister in the whole world, or any where else, to make Anna a dress,
grand enough for the occasion; and, thereupon, commenced a great
rummaging in the rag-bag, and among their mother's stock of old ribbons;
and in a short time Anna was made to look perfectly beautiful. The hoop
petticoat gave her an appearance extremely like a balloon; and she had
to sit down very carefully, to prevent it from going up in the air, and
almost over her head.
When Friday came, it rained; and Alice's sister very kindly went to see
if the wedding would come off, rain or shine. She came back with the
information, that it would not take place if it rained; the ceremony
would be postponed to the first fair day--a mode of proceeding rather
unusual, but, I think, very sensible; and, I have no doubt, that _real
live_ people would be very glad to do the same; for some find it
difficult to feel very happy when the rain is pouring down from the
great black clouds.
Alice waited impatiently until Saturday. At first it was cloudy; but
towards twelve o'clock the sun shone bright and warm, and Alice and her
doll were soon dressed; the first, all smiles, doing every thing with a
hop, skip and jump; while Miss Anna, whose heart, if she had any, was as
hard, no doubt, as her china head, kept the same prinking smile on her
face, as she was violently twisted and twitched about, and pins run into
her in all directions; not to speak of her being thrown so hastily on
the bed, while Alice was having her bonnet tied and her gloves put on,
that she fell over on the top of her head, and remained in this painful
position a quarter of an hour.
And now, all was ready, and kissing every body, even the cat, for
"good-bye," Alice set out, with her sister and Miss Anna, for the scene
of the festivities.
When they arrived, they found they were the very first, and were
received with great ceremony by Lily.
"Dear me, Alice," she said, "we were obliged to have the ceremony
yesterday, for so many little girls came we did not like to disappoint
them; but there is to be a reception to-day."
"A reception! what's that?" said Alice.
"Why, the bride will see all her friends. I will tell you about the
ceremony that took place yesterday, then you will know every thing.
Shall I?"
"Oh, do!" cried Alice; "have it over again, can't you?"
"Oh, no! that would not do," said Lily. "Well, we put the bride and
groom in the middle-room, leaning against the door; and, as the minister
could not stand up alone, I tied him fast to a chair; he did not speak
loud: so it was a kind of tableau."
"Oh!" said Alice, "what's that?"
"Why, like a picture, my dear;" said Lily, who was two years older than
Alice, and of course knew a great deal more. She made all her
explanations with sweetness and good-nature. She did not say, "Pooh!
don't you know that?--what a goose!" as some children do. She had been
taught true politeness by her dear mother, and every one who knew Lily
loved her dearly.
"Just think, Alice," said Lily, "when the doors were opened, every body
burst out laughing at the groom. Now, please don't you make a face or
laugh;" and Lily opened the door leading into the reception-room, and
Alice and her sister burst out laughing, too,--they could not help it;
for--though the bride was a splendid lady, with a tarlatan dress and
thread-lace veil--the groom--who was no less than the Count de
Morny--was a knit-worsted doll, most dismal to behold. His brown-worsted
wig not being finished on the top, he had to keep his cap on before all
the ladies. His eyes were made of steel beads, sewed close together; one
was perfect, but half of the beads had dropped out of the other, making
him look as if he were winking at the company. He wore white-worsted
mittens, black pantaloons, and a fiery red jacket. His nose was made by
sewing the middle of his face into a hard knot, and it was a nose of a
shape never before seen on this earth: and, altogether, the poor Count
de Morny looked very much like a monkey with the toothache; and must
have known it, for he hung his head as if he were ashamed of himself.
And now Lily set up the count and his bride on the sofa, with the
minister on her other side--all, in great state and dignity, ready to
receive the company.
They arrived very fast; and, before long, fourteen little girls, and
three little boys--the only live gentlemen of the party,--and about
twenty dolls were assembled.
When they were ushered into the reception-room, and saw the
comical-looking groom, there was such a peal of merry, childish laughter
that you would have thought the room was full of singing-birds--such
little rollicking trills and carols, it was perfectly delightful to hear
them. But Lily, with a very solemn and grave air, said, "Ladies, the
groom is not of a very _prippersessing_ appearance, but (as Mr. Curtis
told me to say) he has a great deal of money."
This made the children laugh more than ever. What did they know or care
about money? You might as well have talked Latin to those innocent
little ones, as to try to make them believe that any body was any better
for the money they had. No! that sort of belief is for "children of a
larger growth."
And now Lily took up each little girl, in turn, and introduced her and
her dolls to the bride. When Alice went, she did not know exactly what
to say; but she recollected what the gentlemen on last New Year's day
said to her mother, and she thought that would do nicely; so, dropping a
pretty little courtesy, she pressed the white-kid hand of the bride,
and, as a blush mantled in her cheek, she said, "How do you do? I wish
you many happy returns of the season!" by which Alice meant, I suppose,
that she ought to be married every year. At any rate, it was thought a
very fine speech, and was imitated and repeated several times.
I must describe Rosalie's doll. Remember, dear little reader, this is
all true. Well, Rosalie had a beautiful doll, dressed in a white
tarlatan, covered all over with spangles, and trimmed with scarlet. She
had an elegant bouquet of flowers on the waist, called a _corsage_, and
the most splendid cut-glass diamonds on her wrists and shoulders.
Rosalie's doll was decidedly the belle of the party.
There was a little girl present that was in what Lily called "a peck of
troubles," for she had had no idea that it was to be such a grand
affair, and she had brought her doll in a plain, white dress, rather
tumbled, and, what was worse, barefooted. Just to think--a lady at a
party without stockings or shoes! If she had been alive, instead of
being made of china, I am sure she would have fainted.
When Lily saw Bertha's distress, she said, "I will lend your doll a pair
of shoes, and she can be a lady from the other side of the Mississippi,
where they are not so particular;" and little Bertha's face brightened
into happiness again.
[Illustration: Lily handing Bertha her Doll, after lending the Shoes.]
Jessie, a sweet little blue-eyed fairy, with quiet, gentle manners,
brought two beautiful dolls, dressed in white, trimmed with black
velvet. The children all kissed the dolls, they thought them "so sweet;"
but Lily's mother kissed Jessie, and I think she had the best of it.
Ellie had a dolly that ought to have married the Kentucky giant, for she
was so big she had to have a whole chair to herself. The dear little
girl was so anxious to have her appear to advantage that, before she
came to the party, she went with her brother into the garden, and, after
a grand consultation, they picked two immense dahlias, which she
insisted should be pinned on dolly's shoulders, and her mother had great
difficulty in persuading her that dolly looked much handsomer without
them.
Hugh, a dear little boy with very bright eyes, brought a boy-doll, which
he called Mr. Brown.
There was one _live_ doll at the party. She was not quite as high as
Ellie's doll, and such a sweet little blue-eyed creature, with such
soft, curling hair that, if she had not been jumping and laughing
nearly all the time, you would really have taken her for a beautiful wax
doll. Her name was little "Mary," and she was about two years old.
I wish you could have heard little Mary sing "Where is my little Kitty
gone," sitting in a tiny chair with her little doll in her arms, bobbing
it up and down in her lap to keep time. Her sweet little baby voice was
like a robin's note; and I, for one, would not have lost that dear
little song for all the Italian operas from here to China.
There were a great many other pretty children, and splendid dolls that I
have no time to describe; and the bride and groom sat on the sofa and
stared at them all, as if they never meant to look at any thing else.
And now that all had congratulated the happy couple, you would have
thought that the queen of fun and frolic had joined the party, and all
the cross children had gone up to the moon, and never meant to come down
again; for the children--putting the dolls on the chairs, to play grown
people--all tumbled down on the carpet, and had a grand game of "hunt
the slipper," and did not leave off till supper was announced.
Supper was set out in--hem!--in the garret; but, let me tell you, it is
quite as fine to go up so high to supper, as to dive down in the
basement; at all events the children thought so, for they scuffled and
scrambled up the stairs, all laughing and talking, and nobody listening,
so that they might as well have given their ears to their dolls, for any
use they were, and arrived at the festive banquet quite breathless.
And now, what a splendid sight presented itself! The table was
beautifully ornamented, and brilliantly lighted by four candles about as
long as your finger, one at each corner; in the centre was a large
wedding cake, at least as big round as a breakfast plate, with roses and
lilies and daffadowndillies all over it, perfectly beautiful to look at,
and perfectly delicious to eat; and there was every thing else on the
table that you can think of.
All the dolls were set up stiff and straight on one side, and the
children on the other, and the children eat for both sides, and had the
most delightful time, till the minister, who was a wax doll with short
hair and movable eyes, was discovered to be fast asleep, or else his
eyes had been accidentally put out--and, as the candles were also going
out, it was high time for supper to be over.
The children now came down stairs, and, before they left, were invited
by Lily to inspect the presents.
"Oh, dear!" cried Alice, "what a splendid silver cake-basket! and here
is a knife, fork, and spoon, and, goody! just see these other spoons,
with her name on them, how very _arittoscratic_."
Between you and me, little reader, the basket, and knife, fork and
spoon, were silver--made of pewter; but there were, besides, six
"darling little spoons," that were really silver, which had been given
to Lily by her aunt; and Lily had presented them to her doll, the bride.
"And only see this china basket," said little Jessie; "blue basket and
red handle; how perfect!"
"And who gave her the splendid embroidered pincushion, I wonder," said
Alice, jumping up and down; "it will hold a whole row of pins, I'm
sure; and the beautiful preserve dishes, they would hold one cherry
apiece; dear me! how nice they look!"
"They are salt-cellars," answered Lily, laughing, "and this is a china
candlestick. I shall have to have some candles made, the size of
knitting needles; but, dear me, ladies! just look at the groom! He must
be going crazy!"
The children all turned to look, and there was the Count de Morny
tumbled over on the sofa with his legs up in the air.
"What conduct!" cried Lily; "he ought to be ashamed of himself," and she
marched up to the sofa, and took the bride's hand and boxed the Count's
ears well, saying that "boxing ears was very much practised, since Queen
Victoria had set the fashion."
And now it was getting late, for the sun's rays were coming red and
aslant into the room, and all the little ones gathered up their dolls,
and prepared to leave this delightful party.
I should think there were about two hundred kisses exchanged on this
occasion; for everybody kissed everybody, and then everybody kissed Lily
and the bride; and Lily kissed everybody else, and nobody kissed the
Count de Morny, which was quite as many kisses as he deserved, for he
was a perfect scarecrow, and nothing else; you might as well have tried
to fish the moon out of the river, as expect him to sit up straight, and
behave himself, or do any thing but wink and blink, and tumble over on
his ugly old nose.
After the kissing, everybody said good-bye, and all the children went
home delighted, to tell their parents of the nice time they had had; and
they all hoped that Lily would soon take it into her dear little head,
to invite them to another doll's wedding, as she had about a dozen
dolls, and more paper dolls than she could count. Be sure, if she does,
I will give you a faithful account of the whole affair.
WHAT CAME OF GIPSYING;
OR,
Think before you Act.
I once knew a bright-eyed, handsome boy, with curling brown hair, which
he had a habit of throwing, with a quick jerk of his head, back from his
forehead; and this habit was a sort of type of his character, for he was
so impetuous, that he would act upon an idea the very moment it came
into his head, and this want of reflection led him into innumerable
scrapes--some of them pretty serious.
"Charlie," said his father to him one day, "if you expect to get sugar
plums and amusing story books in your Christmas stocking, instead of a
birch rod, you must mend your ways considerably. How will you get along
when you grow up to be a man, if you rush about the world like a comet,
upsetting every thing in your way, and doing all manner of imprudent
things without stopping to think twice?"
"Well, now, dear papa, I really will try to think twice before I do a
thing, if I possibly can, though I have just read a very funny anecdote
about that very saying."
"What was it?" said his father.
"It was this: An old gentleman had a black servant, who always acted as
if he had no head, or might as well have been without one--something
like me, I suppose; but his master tried his best to put some sense into
his head, and did not omit to tell him, at least fifty times a day,
'Now, Cato, always think twice, before you speak once,' until at last
Cato got it by heart. One evening the poor old gentleman fell fast
asleep, while he was reading the newspaper. He held in his hand a
lighted candle. All at once his head went bob, bob, right into the
candle, and instantly his wig took fire! Cato came in at this very
instant. Here was a chance! Now he could win his master's approval, by
putting the oft-repeated adage into practice, so he cried aloud,
'Massa, I tink once--Massa, I tink twice--Massa, your wig on fire!' and
then rushed to his master, who was now wide awake, his wig blazing like
a chimney, and tore it off, though not before the poor old gentleman had
received a pretty severe scorching. Now what do you think of that,
papa?" continued Charlie, looking very mischievous.
His father laughed, and answered: "That was a very unfortunate
application of very good advice, but another old saying is, "There are
exceptions to every rule," and, in some cases you must act on the
instant to do any good; but, with these exceptions, prudence, reflection
and, above all, a careful regard to the whisperings of conscience, and a
constant appeal to your Father in heaven, to guide your steps aright,
will go far towards making you the good boy, and good man, I hope and
pray you will become; do try, my dear son, to overcome this dangerous
fault in your character."
Charlie looked very grave, and made a great many resolutions to be a
perfect pattern of prudence from that time forth, but, alas! these good
resolutions must have flown to the moon, for he kept them but a very
short time, as (with great sorrow) I shall tell you.
The heedless boy was very fond of reading, and, as you may suppose, the
books he liked the most were "Robinson Crusoe," "Gulliver's Travels,"
and "Peter Wilkins," because they were so full of adventures.
He was so excited by Robinson Crusoe, that if he had dared, he would
have gone off to sea to look for a desolate island, and be Robinson
Crusoe number two; but he was a little too much in awe of his father for
that, and he might never have had an adventure if he had not chanced one
morning upon a party of gipsies sitting around a fire in a wood, near
his home. Their glittering eyes, swarthy complexions, and air of
careless enjoyment, fired the boy's imagination. It gave him a new idea.
Splendid! The very thing! What perfect happiness! The woods were large,
and he could run off and be a gipsy immediately. It was as plain as A B
C that he would have a first-rate time.
It was school vacation just then--lovely summer weather. The white
clouds, which the sweet south wind wafted along, deepened by contrast
the glorious blue heaven above; the sweet, tranquil, drowsy country
sounds; the grassy, daisy-spangled banks of the noisy little brook; and
the great dark, thick woods, so rich in foliage that the sun's rays made
only dimples beneath, that came and went as the leaves were stirred. All
these beautiful things made a life in the joyous, free, open air, seem
the very embodiment of happiness, and Charlie, without a thought of the
consequences, determined to be a gipsy without a moment's loss of time.
It happened--by good chance or by bad chance--that, at this very moment,
Arthur, Harry, Richard and George, (Harry's little brother,) friends and
schoolmates of Charlie's, came to ask him to go fishing with them. What
an opportunity! Five jolly fellows together! As they went along he would
invite them to be his band, and he would be the captain. Capital!
The boys shouldered their fishing rods, and started off, now darting
after a butterfly, now jumping over a boulder, as boys always do; every
one in the highest spirits, and quite ready for the first fun that
offered.
They soon arrived at the water, and, in a very short time, had caught a
dozen fish, when Charlie, with sparkling eyes, began--
"I say, fellows, I am going to turn gipsy. Don't you want to go along?"
"What for?" drawled Arthur, who was rather a slow coach.
"What for? why, for fun. Who wants to be shut up at home all the time,
and have an old granny of a nurse blowing him up because his hands are
dirty, or because he don't come home, before the dinner bell rings, to
have his hair brushed and his jacket twitched straight. Now, out in the
woods we can be as dirty as we please, and nobody can say boo! and the
dinners will come to us, and we won't have to run the moment a bell
rings."
"But suppose the dinners don't come?" suggested Richard, who was very
fond of pastry and cakes, "I, for one, can't live on stewed moonshine
and mustard. If that is to be served up, I shall wish I was out of the
woods, and home again."
"I'll go with you," shouted Harry.
"And I," said little George, imitating his brother. "Come along, we are
all ready; the longer we stand, the _fearder_ we'll be. Hurra! hurra!"
"That's you! all right!" cried Charlie, joyfully. "I tell you, I've
every thing fixed,--that is, in my _head_. Hurra! for a gipsy life, and
a camp in the wild woods free, with a kettle hung up on sticks, and all
sorts of goodies for tea. There's some poetry for you!"
And now, laughing, and excited by their anticipations, off they all
started, dragging their fish along, and stumbling through the bushes, to
get clear of the wood paths, and bury themselves in the thickest part of
the forest. It was a long time before they found a place that seemed
lonely enough, but they did discover just the right place at last--a
small, open spot, sweet enough and secluded enough to have made a
ball-room for the fairies; and Charlie's handsome eyes fairly danced
with delight, as he threw himself down, and cried:
"Here we are, boys! splendid place this! Trees all around, and the
ground carpeted with beautiful soft moss."
"All but the soft," growled Richard, jumping up, and making a variety
of wry faces. "Only look what a great thorn I have sat down upon. I'm
half killed. I wonder what thorns were made for?"
"For four-legged gentlemen, with very long ears," answered Arthur. "They
are perfectly devoted to them. I think it's very odd you should be so
fond of thorns, as you are not a donkey."
"Fond--fiddlesticks! Let a fellow alone, can't you?"
"Don't tease him, Arthur," cried Charlie. "Here, I say, all of you,
guess this: Mr. Martingale has ten fine horses, and there are only
twenty-four feet among them all."
"Twenty four feet!" said Harry; "impossible! You say they are fine
horses, and ten of them. Every horse has four feet, and four times ten
are forty--that's certain."
"Perhaps," said little George, "some of them are a new style of horse;
six have the right number of feet, making the twenty-four, and the rest
crawl on their bellies, like snakes."
"Goodness! how absurd!" exclaimed Arthur. "I have heard of Mr. Barnum's
woolly horse, and a saw-horse, and a chestnut horse, and a
horse-chestnut; and a flying-horse, and a horse-fly; and a
clothes-horse, and a horse-cloth; and a rocking-horse. But a
snake-horse is something new."
"Give it up?" said Charlie. "Suppose you alter the spelling a little."
"Oh! I have it!" shouted Arthur. "The horses had twenty _fore_ feet, and
they also had twenty _hind_ feet. That's the best catch I ever heard.
Just see, fellows, what comes of being head-boy in spelling-class. I'm
the boy for learning! I dare say Dr. Addup is crying his eyes out,
because it is vacation, and he won't see me for a month."
"I've got twenty-four appetites," said Richard; "when is the
plum-pudding coming up?"
"The fish for the first course, and here they are," said Charlie.
"But I don't like raw fish," said George; "and where is the fire to cook
'em?"
"Don't be in a hurry," said the captain. "I'll fix that in a minute; I
know all about it--read it in a book; all you have to do, is, to find
two sticks, and rub them together, and there's your fire right off."
But our young gipsy soon found the difference between a fire with two
sticks in a book, and a fire with two sticks in a wood. He rubbed his
two sticks together, until _he_ was in a perfect blaze with the
exertion, but the blaze he wanted would not come.
"Hang the sticks!" he exclaimed; "the people in the books always did it
so easily, why can't I?"
Luckily for the success of the gipsy party, one of the band just then
happened to spy a match, which some chance wanderer had dropped, and a
few dry sticks having been hastily collected, a fine fire was soon
crackling and snapping merrily.
Delighted with their success, they next held a grand consultation, on
the noble science of cooking.
"The gipsies hang a kettle on forked sticks," said Richard; "and fish,
flesh, and fowl are all put in together, making, what I should call,
stewed hodge-podge."
"Well, there are ninety-nine reasons why we won't use the kettle," said
Arthur, who considered himself the wit of the party,--"and the first is,
we have no kettle, so I won't trouble you with the rest. Good gracious!"
he continued, "I'm so hungry, I could eat what I perfectly hate, and
that's a boiled calf's head."
"And I forty sour apples," cried Harry. "I wish one of these trees could
be turned into hot ginger-bread, wouldn't we _pitch in?_"
As there was no kettle to be had, they endeavored to fry the fish by
sticking them on the top of forked sticks. But, somehow, the fish would
not stay "stuck." They fell off into the blaze, and smoked, and
"sizzled," and smelt like any thing but delicious food; and there was
great scorching of fingers, and singeing of hair, as the new cooks tried
to twitch them out. At last, covered with ashes, and, of course, without
plates or any other civilized comfort, the banquet was "served" in the
young gentlemen's fingers, and tea began, Richard declaring he was
"hungry enough to eat a rhinoceros."
The first mouthful tasted "first rate," but, presently Arthur sang out,
"Hollo! I'm choking! my mouth's full of scales, and there is something
inside of this fish, that I never saw at home."
"Oh, goodness! I never thought of cleaning them; how stupid!" said
Charlie; "Never mind, boys! we'll know better next time."
"But I want some salt, and some bread and butter," said little George;
"Robinson Crusoe had them."
"Where's my ship, to get all these things," said Charlie; "we're not on
an island."
"But I thought you said you had every thing fixed."
"So I did--in my head; but you see--" answered Charlie, hesitating and
scratching his head, and looking very much bothered--"you see--"
"Come, come, boys," interposed Harry, "no fighting in the camp; we are a
sort of greenhorn gipsies, now, but we shall be all right by-and-bye,
and have a first-rate time. I wish I had a drink of water--but never
mind. Hurrah for the gipsies, and success to our side!"
Harry's good humor infected the rest of the party, and their hunger
being quieted by the meal, bad as it was, they piled more sticks on the
fire, just for the pleasure of seeing them burn, and sat down at a
little distance, to tell stories to each other, of all the gipsies, and
wild adventures they could remember.
By this time the glorious flush of sunset rested upon every thing. The
little fairy glade, with the fire in its centre; the handsome, animated
faces of the thoughtless boys, as they sat grouped together in careless
but not ungraceful attitudes; the crimson, purple, and golden clouds
above, altogether, made a very charming picture, and, so far, gipsy life
certainly seemed _coleur de rose_.
But the shadows gradually lengthened; the glowing colors became fainter;
and the gray twilight came stealing on. Occasionally a dissipated little
bird would give a faint twitter, as he was hurrying home in the
deepening gloom, from a late dinner party. Insensibly the boys relapsed
into silence, and, wearied with their long tramp, began to think of
going to bed; but here commenced new troubles.
"The beds! and the tents! Even the real gipsies did not sleep upon the
bare ground--what was to be done?"
"Here's a pretty how-de-do!" cried Arthur; "this is worse than the fish
and the fire; matches may be sometimes dropped in the woods, but
mattresses never," and here poor Charlie came in for a scolding chorus
from every body.
"Let's get some big branches, and lean them against a tree," said little
George.
"Where's the axe to cut them with," said Richard.
"Dig a cave," cried Harry.
"What with--our nails? I have a jackknife," said Richard, "I'll lend
it to you; suppose _you_ begin."
Charlie's face looked about as blank as this O, while the boys were
talking. He was completely nonplussed, and too proud to acknowledge it.
And now, for the first time, his father's warning voice rose in his
memory, and in the midst of his vexation, another voice, "the still
small voice" of conscience, reproached him for having acted with silly
impetuosity; and this time he had brought his friends, as well as
himself, into discomfort and trouble. A bitter repentant tear came into
his eye, but he hastily dashed it away, with the cuff of his sleeve. By
this time all was dark; there was no moon that night, and the stars,
blinking and twinkling in their far-off homes, gave scarcely a glimmer
of light in the dense forest. The burning twigs alone revealed to
Charlie the wearied, vexed faces of his companions. Throwing his hair
back from his forehead, by the quick, characteristic movement I have
mentioned, he said cheerfully:
"I tell you what, fellows, we are here, and we must stay here to-night,
at least. We can't burrow like rabbits, and we don't understand roosting
on one foot like birds; suppose we all lie down in a heap, one top of
the other, and, when the bottom one of all is warm enough, take him out
and put him on top."
This made the boys roar with laughter, and at last, somehow or other,
they squeezed, and pushed, and tumbled, and jumbled themselves together,
like a family of kittens, and not a soul could tell which were his own
arms or legs, as they stuck out, over, under, and across each other,
and then they shut their eyes, and tried to fall asleep.
But here new troubles began. Myriads of insects came buzzing around
them, a superannuated old bull-frog and his wife set up a dismal
bellowing, in a swampy spot close by, and, apparently, any quantity of
high-tempered owls were holding a mass meeting, all hooting and tooting,
and talking at once. A general attack was made on the poor little
gipsies by a nimble army of musquitoes, who seemed to be in a perfect
frenzy of delight, at the fine supper provided for them. The boys
slapped, and whacked, and kicked in the dark, and hit each other, three
times as often as they did their foes.
"Oh, murderation!" exclaimed poor Charlie, "what shall we do--what
_shall_ we do?" as the boys, unable to bear the torment any longer,
started to their feet, little George fairly blubbering with distress,
and rummaging in vain in his pocket, for his pocket-handkerchief, to
wipe away his tears, and rub his nose up, as little boys invariably do.
"Suppose we try to find some other place," said Richard, "we seem to
have come to the very spot where all the musquitoes live."
"Oh! don't," cried little George, "don't go running about the woods in
the dark. Who knows how many bears there may be up in the trees."
"And robbers, too, with guns and pistols," said Arthur.
"And how can we light another fire, if we leave this?" said Richard, who
was more practical than the rest. "By-the-way, I think I've heard that
smoke will drive away musquitoes; suppose we put on some green wood, and
make a great smudge."
Any thing was better than being bitten; so the boys poked and groped
around in the uncertain light, for the fire was very low, and picked up
all the branches they could find, and heaped them upon the fire, and,
sure enough, they did make a great "smudge," and set every body
coughing, choking, and crying, until they were half crazy.
By degrees the musquitoes did seem to be driven off a little, or else
the gipsies were so tired and sleepy that they ceased to hear or feel
them, for one after another became, first silent, then drowsy, and,
finally, dropped off into slumber, too sound to be easily broken.
It was now midnight. The weary faces of these thoughtless, naughty boys
were now and then revealed by a fitful gleam of the dying fire; the
leaves of the trees were motionless; and there was a sudden hush and
stillness in the air, as if nature, too, was weary, and had sunk into a
deathlike sleep. Presently faint mutterings were heard; the stars
disappeared, and the darkness became intense; great masses of black
clouds rolled up to the zenith, and came swiftly down on the other side;
the air freshened, and, in a moment, the tops of the giant trees bent
their proud heads, and a rustling, rushing, crashing sound came through
their branches as the wind swept by, in its fury breaking off small
twigs with a crackling noise, and hurling them with innumerable leaves
to the ground.
Suddenly a fierce, sharp flash of lightning leaped from the clouds,
instantly succeeded by a tremendous, rattling clap of thunder awakening
the boys, who, with screams of horror, started to their feet and clung
to each other in terror.
For an instant after there was a dead, solemn silence, and then came the
first great drops of rain pattering through the leaves, and again the
trees were tossed by the blast like the angry waves of a stormy sea.
And now the rain descended in torrents, forked lightning blinded the
eyes, and the crashing thunder was deafening. Heart-stricken, and wild
with terror, the unhappy gipsies clung together, the rain drenching them
to the skin; and poor little George, dizzy with fright, reeled and fell
to the ground, and the boys, in their agony, thought he was dead.
Charley, broken-hearted, fell on his knees and, with tears streaming
down his face, implored God to forgive him, and bring George back to
life, and not inflict upon him this awful--awful punishment. He felt
like a murderer. _He_ alone was to blame; _he_ had been the tempter, and
his father had truly said that there were two things that followed the
yielding to temptation--sin and repentance. He did repent. If he could
only get back home with his dear companions, he would--he _would_ be a
steady boy ever after.
With trembling hands he lifted up little George's head, and entreated
him to speak one word to him--"only one single word." A low groan, and a
faint "Oh, Harry, take me home!" issued from the childish lips, to
Charley's great joy; and his brother and the rest hung round, trying to
keep the rain off, and saying, "Don't give up, little fellow! try to
bear it a little longer; the storm is almost over."
Hark! what was that they heard? A far-off, distant shout. They listened
with painful intentness. It came faintly again: "Hol-lo!" It must be--it
was--yes--somebody was calling them; and, altogether, they gave a shrill
cry of joy! Their hearts beat wildly. The shouts sounded louder. They
hear their names called: Char-ley--Har-ry! They answer again,
trembling--their whole frames thrilling. Lights come dancing through the
trees at a distance. They are coming nearer; and the boys, taking George
in their arms, struggle through the wet branches with which the wind
has covered the ground. In another moment they can dimly discern two men
carrying lanterns, and Charley recognizes his father's voice.
"Here they are! they are found! they are safe!" and Charley, gasping for
breath, leaps into his father's arms. He feels the hot tears on his
cheek, and hears the broken voice say, "Oh, my son--my son! Thank God, I
have found you at last." Not one word of reproach; but those dreadful
tears--his father crying, and for him. He felt to his very heart's core
what a wicked, ungrateful boy he had been.
With many sobs and broken words, he implored forgiveness. If his dear
father would only love him as he did before, he would never--never
grieve him again.
Harry's father embraced his lost boys with thankful joy; and both
parents shook hands, and spoke kindly to Arthur and Richard. No word of
reproach was uttered; and George, excited by his beloved father's voice,
rallied, and seemed for the time almost well again.
The forest was very extensive, and the woods presented so little variety
that you might go round and round in a circuit for days, thinking you
were taking the most direct path out. If the little gipsies had not been
thus found, through the guidance of a divine Providence, they might, and
very probably would, have starved to death before assistance came to
them.
And now the day begins to dawn. Rosy streaks shoot up into the zenith;
and the birds sing with a rollicking gladness, as if they rejoiced over
the rescue of the weary little band of gipsies--soon to be gipsies no
longer. And, truly, they presented a most dismal and bedraggled
appearance, with their hair full of broken bits of dried leaves, their
faces streaked and disfigured with traces of tears, and their clothes
soiled and wet. Wearily they toiled through the broken and tangled
branches that lay upon the ground, and little George very soon had to be
lifted tenderly into his father's arms. His face grew flushed and his
voice hoarse, as he murmured, "Oh, papa, my throat hurts me so!" and his
father saw with anguish that his little boy was very ill, and they were
yet, as well as he could judge, some miles from home.
But how can I depict the sufferings of the poor mothers, who were left
at home mourning, watching, and waiting, and becoming paler and more
hopeless as the night slowly and painfully wore on!
The gray light of morning broke through the crevices of the closed
shutters of those desolated homes, but it made them seem only the
darker, for "_they_" had not come. And it was nearly two hours after
sunrise before an unusual stir and bustle outside sent the blood in
quick tides through the frames of these poor mothers. Suddenly they hear
a joyful shout! they rush to the windows; they see their children
coming. And now--only _now_, does the day brighten for them.
I have no words to describe the meeting. I am sure the boys will never
forget the pale, tear-stained faces, which told of so much anguish
suffered for them, or the trembling kisses they received, while a prayer
of thankfulness ascended to heaven that the lost ones were found.
Still, not a word of reproach. With a mixture of remorse and happiness,
they hastened to remove all vestige of their gipsy life, and, with clean
faces and hands, and thankful hearts, sat down to a nicely served and
most welcome breakfast.
All but poor little George. He was ill for a long, long time, and
Charlie shed many a bitter tear of self-reproach while his life was in
danger; and, when he began to get better, the repentant boy was
unwearied in coming to read pleasant stories to him, and to bring him
every nice toy of his own, and beg his mother for little delicacies to
tempt his sickly appetite.
In a few days, when Charlie had somewhat recovered his cheerfulness, his
father had a kind, friendly talk with him in his library, (see picture);
he pointed out to his son the folly and danger of yielding to every
impulse, without first finding out whether it would lead to good
results. Charlie listened to all his father said with respectful
attention, and, I am sure, he profited by his excellent advice, for all
this that I am telling you happened some years ago, and though I know
Charlie intimately, and believe that it is impossible to do right all at
once, still his past sad experience has had a wonderful effect, and when
he feels tempted, by a hasty impulse, to do any thing particularly
head-over-heels, he is sure to be arrested in time, by a still small
voice within, which whispers, REMEMBER WHAT CAME OF GIPSYING.
[Illustration: Charlie's Father talking to him.]
THE CHILD HEROINE.
On a clear balmy morning in July, six years ago, two magnificent
steamboats, the Henry Clay and the America, left Albany at the same
time, for New York. A gentle breeze just curled the waters of the noble
and beautiful Hudson River. Both boats were filled with happy-looking
people, and the bustle of departure, the laughing voices, and general
hilarity, combined with the bright, blue sky above, contributed to raise
the spirits, and fill every one with that exhilarating gladness, which
makes the mere physical sense of living and breathing a happiness.
And now the rush and roar of steam arose; the ponderous wheels make
great waves in the hitherto tranquil tide, and, with the cry of "All
aboard," the stately boats cleave their paths through the waters, and
move swiftly down the river.
Too swiftly, for they were racing, and on the Henry Clay, especially,
the captain and officers, excited and reckless, were crowding on steam,
and forcing the boat to her utmost speed. For a while some of the
passengers enjoyed the race, and urged and encouraged the officers to
"go ahead," and one comfortable, fat old lady, who was going down to
"York market, with farm produce, consisting of fat pork, butter, and
various kinds of _sass_," and who was certainly old enough and ugly
enough to know better, was in such a high state of exhilaration at the
bustle and fun of the race, that she could not keep still an instant.
She answered every body's questions she chanced to hear, whether
addressed to her or not, and when the Henry Clay fell back a very little
the foolish old soul twitched off her spectacles, set her arms a-kimbo,
and declared "she never seed sich a goosey gander of a capting," and
straightway fell into such a state of worry and excitement, that a
waggish young gentleman, standing near, solemnly advised her to do like
another silly old lady, under similar circumstances, who hobbled up to
the captain and screamed in his ears, "Capting, now don't you give it up
now; now, don't now; ef all your wood is out, capting, I've got a bar'l
of fat pork aboard--could you put that on the fire to help on the
steam?"
Swiftly the boats sped past the smiling, picturesque villages dotting
each side, and entered the bolder parts of the majestic river, where the
high banks curve sharply round into mimic bays. And now the passengers,
seeing the great danger in these sudden turns, vainly entreated the
captain of the Henry Clay to give up the race, and have a regard for
their lives. But his passions were aroused, and he turned a deaf ear to
their remonstrances; he cared nothing for their precious lives in
comparison with being beaten by his opponent; and he was only awakened
to a sense of his broken trust, by a shriek of horror and a simultaneous
crash! as the America came into violent collision with the Henry Clay.
Fortunately the damage done was not great; but the people on the Henry
Clay had not recovered from their fright and excitement, as she stopped
at Poughkeepsie to receive more passengers.
Waiting at the wharf was a tall, fair and graceful lady. She held by the
hand a sweet little girl, about ten years of age, whose large, dark,
dreamy eyes, transparent purity of complexion, and great delicacy of
form and feature, caused her to seem scarcely an inhabitant of earth,
but rather an aerial being, whom a breath of wind might melt away like a
summer cloud. Not that the little one was either sad or grave; on the
contrary, as she held her mother's hand a continual little dancing
motion, and a childish song, that came in broken snatches from her rosy
and beautiful mouth, caused many to turn and smile upon her, and rejoice
in her innocent gayety.
"Now, dear mother," said Maggie, in a sweet coaxing voice, "let us hurry
on board, or the boat will leave us. I want to see my dear father this
very night."
But the mother had a vague presentiment that made her reluctant to go.
She observed the excitement, and apparent confusion, on the crowded
boat, and if she had not thought that yielding to a presentiment was
foolish, she would have turned back. As it was, after hesitating until
the last moment, she stepped on board, trembling at she knew not what,
and her feelings of disquiet were greatly increased, when the ladies in
the saloon informed her of the disaster that had already occurred.
But little Maggie, in her childlike and happy ignorance of any thing to
fear, was delighted with all she saw. She flitted hither and thither,
with her little dancing step, and her bird-like song, now gazing at the
diamond sparkles in the river, now peering fearfully down into the
raging depths of the great iron monster who, with seething sighs and
hoarse groans, was bearing them along.
Many were the smiles and blessings that followed the dainty little lady
as she glided about, and if any sought to detain her she answered their
questions with a kind of child-like dignity, mingled with bashfulness
enchanting to behold, and then darted back to her mother, whose
melancholy eyes were always on the watch.
What is that they hear? A cry of "fire! fire! The boat is on fire!"
[Illustration: Maggie on board the Steamer.]