TWO LIVE CHILDREN.
As Dotty lay tossing on her bed, she heard the laughing, and the lively
music of the piano, and began to find she had missed a great deal by not
going down stairs.
Horace and Prudy were getting a taste of fashionable society. True,
Prudy did tire of the fixed questions, "How do you like New York? Have
you been in the Park?" asked by girls in pink, and girls in blue, and
boys in wondrous neck-ties, with hair parted very near the middle. She
was astonished when Mrs. Pragoff proposed games. How could such
exquisite children play without tearing their flounces and deranging
their criêped hair? But games were a relief to Prudy. When she was
playing she forgot her thick winter dress, and appeared like herself.
"I don't believe Dotty can get to sleep in all this noise. Here's a nice
chance to slip out, and I'll run up and see."
She was not quite sure of the room, but the words, "Is that you, Prudy?"
in an aggrieved voice, showed her the way.
"How do you feel, darling?"
"Feel? How'd _you_ feel going to bed right after dinner?"
"But you said you were sick."
"Well, yes; my--windpipe; but that's done aching. I can talk now. You
get my clothes, and I'll dress and go down stairs."
"Why, Dotty, I've excused you to Mrs. Pragoff, and it wouldn't be polite
to go now."
"Why not? Mother went down once with her head tied up in vinegar.
Besides, it shakes me all over to hear such a noise. And it's not polite
to stay away when the party's some of it for me."
Prudy resigned herself to this new mortification, and helped the child
dress.
Dotty went down stairs with such an appearance of restored health, that
Mrs. Pragoff was quite relieved, and gave up her fear of scarlet fever.
But Miss Dimple's friends were all sorry, half an hour afterwards, that
she had not staid in bed.
Among other games, they played "Key to Unlock Characters;" and here she
proved herself anything but polished in her manners. The key coming to
her as "the girl with the brightest eyes," she was told, in a whisper,
to give it to the person of whom she had such or such an opinion. The
little boys were interested to know which one of them would get it, for
it was usually considered a compliment. But Dotty did not notice any of
the boys; she quickly stepped up to a young girl with frizzes of hair
falling into her eyes, and gay streamers of ribbons flying abroad.
Little miss took the key with an affected smile and a shake of her
shaggy locks, never doubting she was receiving a great honor.
But when, at the close of the game, the players explained themselves,
Mallie Lewis was startled by these words from the little Portland
girl:--
"I was told to give the key to the most horrid-looking person in the
room, and _I did so_!"
Dotty had not stopped to reflect that "the truth should not be spoken at
all times," and is often out of place in games of amusement. But to do
her justice, she was ashamed of her rudeness the moment the words were
spoken. Prudy was blushing from the roots of her hair to the lace in her
throat. "Why hadn't Dotty given the key to Horace or herself? Then
nobody would have minded."
Ah, Prudy, your little sister, though more brilliant than you are, has
not your exquisite tact.
Mrs. Pragoff tried to laugh off this awkward blunder, but did not
succeed. The moment Dotty could catch her ear, she said, in a low
tone,--
"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Pragoff-yetski. Will it do any good to go and tell
her she made me think of a Shetland pony?"
Mrs. Pragoff laughed, and thought not. But afterwards she took Mallie
into a corner to show her some "seven-years" African flowers, and
said,--
"Mallie, dear, I wish you wouldn't veil those bright eyes under such
fuzzy little curls. That was why you got the key. Dotty Dimple isn't
used to seeing young ladies look like Shetland ponies."
Mallie's face brightened, or that part of it which was in sight. O, it
was only her hair the country child called horrid! After this she
actually allowed Dotty to sit beside her on the sofa, and look at the
fan which Mrs. Pragoff said Marie Antoinette had once owned. Miss Dimple
was remarkably polite and reserved.
"Safe as long as she stays in a corner," thought Horace; and he took
care to keep her supplied with books and pictures.
He enjoyed the party, not being overawed, as poor Prudy was. Wasn't he
as good as any of them? Better than most, for he didn't have to use an
eye-glass. "These fellows are got up cheap. What do hair-oil and
perfumery amount to?"
The boys, in their turn, looked at Horace, and decided he was
"backwoodsy." Nobody who sported a silver watch could belong to the
"first circles." However, when he allowed himself to be "Knight of the
Whistle," and hunted for the enchanted thing which everybody was
blowing, and found at last it was dangling down his own back from a
string, and they were all laughing at him, he was manly enough not to
get vexed. That carried him up several degrees in every one's esteem. In
his own, too, I confess.
As for Prudy, the girls could not help seeing she had no style; but the
boys liked her, for all that. If they had only known what their hostess
thought, there would have been some surprise.
"These little misses look to me like bonnet flowers made out of
book-muslin. Prudy, now, is a genuine, fresh moss rose bud. There is no
comparison, you dear little Prudy, between artificial and natural
flowers!"
Mrs. Pragoff was called a "finished lady." She was acquainted with some
of the best people in Europe and America. What could she see in Prudy?
The child was not to be compared with these exquisite little creatures,
who had maids to dress them, and foreign masters come to their houses
and teach them French, music, and dancing. Why, Prudy did not know
French from Hebrew; she had only learned a few tunes on the piano, and
could not sing "operatic" to save her life; her dancing was generally
done on one foot. What was the charm in Prudy?
Just one thing--_Naturalness_. She was not made after a pattern.
"It was a great risk inviting them here, and that youngest one seems
very delicate; but let what will happen, I make a note of this: I have
seen four live children."
Live children indeed! And here comes one of them now--the unaccountable
Fly, darting into the room very unexpectedly, rubbing her eyes as she
runs.
"Why, Topknot!" cried Horace, making a dash upon her; for her frock was
unfastened, and slipping off at the shoulders, and her head looked like
a last year's bird's nest.
"Scusa me," whispered the "live child," very much astonished to see such
a crowd.
"But you ought not to come down here half undressed, you little midget!"
"What if I wanted to ask you sumpin?" stammered the child, more alarmed
by her brother's sternness than by the fire of strange eyes. "'Spec' I
mus' have my froat _goggled_; have some more _poke-rime_ round it,
Hollis!" added she, in a tone loud enough to be heard by half the party.
Think of mentioning "poke-rime" in fashionable society!
"Tell her she must dance 'Little Zephyrs,' or you'll send her right
back," suggested Prudy, who was famous for thinking of the right thing
at the right time, and so making awkward affairs pass off well.
"Yes, Fly, come out in the floor, and dance 'Little Zephyrs' this
minute, or you must go back to bed."
Anything for the sake of staying down stairs. Hardly conscious of the
strange faces about her, the child flew into the middle of the room,
rubbed some more sleep out of her eyes, and began to sing,--
"Little zephyrs, light and gay,
First to tell us of the spring."
She seemed to float on air. There was not a bit of her body that was not
in motion, from the tuft of hair a-top of her head to the soles of her
twinkling boots. Now here, now there, head nodding, hands waving, feet
flying.
"Encore," cried the delighted hostess. "Please, darling, let us hear
that last verse again."
Mrs. Pragoff was curious to know what sort of jargon she made of the
lines,--
"Where the modest violets grow,
And the fair anemone."
Fly repeated it with an exquisite sweetness which charmed the whole
house:--
"Where the modest _vilets_ grow,
And the _fairy men no more know me_."
"The fairies do all know you, darling." exclaimed Mrs. Pragoff, kissing
her rapturously.
"Your feet are more light than a faery's feet,
Who dances on bubbles where brooklets meet."
"There! Dancing on bubbles!" said Prudy aside to Horace. "That's just
what I always wanted to call it, but never knew how."
On the whole it was a pleasant evening, and Mrs. Pragoff had no reason
to regret having given the little party. Everybody went to bed happy but
Dotty, who could not shut her eyes without seeing the blaze of two
rings, which burned into her brain.