The Two Story Mittens and the Little Play Mittens
"Why, Mark!" cried a cheery, laughing voice, "do you mean to sleep a week?"
Mark started up wildly and looked about him. What did it mean? He was in his own little bed, in his own little room!
"Where is the fairy Benevolence?" he said, looking perfectly bewildered.
Harry shouted with laughter. "Why, Mark, are you cracked? What has made you sleep so soundly? Father and I came here last evening, about an hour after dark, and found you fast asleep, sitting at your mother's bedside.
"'Poor, tired little chap, he has watched with his mother, till he is worn out,' said father; and he took you gently in his arms and laid you down here. Then he sat by your mother's bedside some time, to watch the effect of some famous medicine he gave her; and when she was in a pleasant sleep, he and I went home.
"But we came here this morning early, and found your mother much better, and you, you little monkey, still as sound as a top.
"I've been making your mother's room more comfortable; and Betty, mamma's maid, has brought a great basket full of all sorts of nice things for her. Come and see her; she looks real bright! she is getting well already."
Little Mark had listened, with his senses getting clearer every minute, and at last he understood, with a sigh of disappointment, that his wonderful adventures and the fairy Benevolence were only a dream. He was almost crying as he said, "Oh, Mr. Harry, if you knew what I had been dreaming, you would be sorry for me. I was so sure it was all true about the fairy Benevolence."
"So it is," laughed Harry; "only the fairy has got whiskers. Come along."
Mark suffered Harry to lead him into the other room; and then, forgetting everything and everybody, he rushed up to his mother, and bursting into tears on her neck, sobbed out, "Oh, mother! if it only could have been true, you would have been cured, and we should have been living in such a nice house! with cows, and hens, and turkeys, and all – oh! oh – !"
His mother was sitting up in the bed, and Harry's father was mixing a pleasant drink for her. Mark looked up as Harry said: "Come, Mark, don't cry so: here is a fairy who will help you, and your mother too." When the little boy saw the genial, kindly smile of the doctor, he felt comforted; and sitting down on the side of the bed, he told his wonderful dream.
It was listened to with the deepest interest; and when he had finished, the doctor patted him on the head, and said, "Never mind, my fine little fellow! if we can't give you a grand house and a snuff box full of servants, and a thistle which drops out of it all the clothes you want, I think we can cure your mother; and when she is well, we will find her something better to do than making shirts at ten cents apiece; and you shall go to school, and learn to be a great scholar; and I don't see the first thing to prevent your having a good chance to become, one of these days, the President of the United States. So hurrah!"
The kind doctor was as good as his word. The poor widow recovered rapidly under his excellent care, which did her heart more good than her body, for it was both sweet and strange to receive so much kindness. Good Samaritans are very scarce nowadays.
When she was well enough to go out, she found that her rent was paid, a load of wood was piled away in the wood shed, half a barrel of flour was in the pantry, and some nice hams were hanging up. Plenty of work at good prices soon poured in. Little Mark was sent to the district school, for now he had comfortable clothes and shoes on his poor little feet; and really, as he told his mother one happy evening – "After all, dear mother, I like my waking fairy Benevolence best – whiskers and all!"
A few evenings after the last story had been read, the little mother drew from her pocket quite a thick roll of paper, saying: "Here is something from Aunt Fanny, with a proposal that will surprise you."
"What can it be?" cried the children with eagerness.
"She wants you to act a play."
"We act a play! Who ever heard of such a thing?"
"Yes; she has partly written, partly translated a little play, and here is her letter with it."
"My Darling Children;
"Don't you wish, you could get on faster than ever with your mittens? Well, here, is a plan that came into my head a few days ago, and I have been arranging it very industriously.
"You must go right to work to learn the parts in this little play. I do not approve of some parts of it, because a deceit was practised to bring one of the boys to a sense of his selfish and undutiful conduct. This was 'doing evil that good may come,' and was very wrong. If your mother were to punish you by deceiving you, you would doubt her ever after; and for a child to doubt a parent is, I should think, one of the most miserable feelings in the world.
"With this very important exception, the little play is pretty good. And this is what your mother and I will do: When you are perfect in your parts, we will have a private rehearsal. Then we will invite about fifty of our friends to witness this elegant entertainment, for which they must pay one pair of mittens apiece for the brave soldiers. We will give them one week to make them, which will be abundance of time; and I have no doubt but what they will think it very cheap pay for so much pleasure."
A long pause took place when the letter was finished; the children were so astonished, as well as delighted, at the new work prepared for them.
"Well!" cried Harry at last, "what would George say, if he knew the monkeys and crabs would turn actors next?"
"He would think it splendid," answered Anna. "You know the poor soldiers, who were made prisoners at that dreadful Bull Run battle, acted plays in their prisons, to keep themselves from dying of home-sickness."
"I want to act," said Willie.
"I want to act," echoed Bennie.
"Well," said the Little Mother, "let us see how many characters there are."
They all crowded round while she unrolled the paper. "Here is the mother, Mrs. Langdon. You must take that, Anna; and Harry will be Edward, your son."
"If he is the bad boy," said Anna, laughing, "I'll give him a thrashing every morning before breakfast."
"That will give you an excellent appetite," returned Harry; "for I shall run away, and you will have to catch me, first."
"Clara must be Mary Brown, Edward's nurse."
"Oh, dear little fellow," said Clara, patting Harry, "old nursey will buy you a stick of candy."
"Ago-o-o," said Harry, like a little baby, which set them all laughing.
"Johnny shall be Mr. Sherwood, the tutor, because he is naturally such a sober little fellow," said the mother; "and we will invite Gus Averill, Harry's friend, to be Morris, because he and Harry are of the same age and height, and that will be excellent. Minnie can do Jane, the maid, very nicely; and Willie and Bennie can be Patrick and Andrew, the waiter and gardener."
So it was all settled; and the next morning the children began to study their parts – the larger ones assisting the little ones – so that they learned as quickly as the best. In the evening they repeated what they knew to their mother, working at the same time on their mittens, and were just as busy and happy as good and industrious children always are.
It was really surprising how soon they became perfect, and the rehearsal went off with complete success. Harry and Anna kept their faces very well; and only Bennie and Willie grinned a little when they first came on the stage, which was the back parlor.
The company were to sit in the front parlor, and some curtains were hung up between that and the back room, and made to draw quickly aside, and drop just as quickly.
The invitations had been sent out, and were every one accepted. This is one of them:
"An Entertainment for the Benefit OF THE SOLDIERS:AT THE LITTLE MOTHER'S HOUSE, Christmas Eve, Dec. 24, 1861ADMISSION, ONE PAIR OF MITTENS."The great evening came; and the children, ready dressed for their parts, were in a tremendous flutter. Even the little wee ones were to do something. They were stationed at the parlor door with baskets, and charged not to let a soul come in, unless the pair of mittens were paid into one of the baskets. I warrant you they took very good care of that, for their eyes were as sharp as needles; and the moment the door was opened they would all cry "Mitten money! mitten money! pay your mitten money!" which made the company laugh so they could hardly get the "mitten money" out of their pockets.
After they had all arrived, and were comfortably seated, each with a beautifully written play bill, with the names of the actors upon it, the entertainment began.
MASTER EDWARD'S TRIAL; OR, DO AS YOU WOULD BE DONE BY.
A LITTLE PLAY
CHARACTERSMrs. Langdon. By Anna.
Edward, her son, thirteen years of age. By Harry.
Mary Brown, his nurse. By Clara.
Morris, Mary's son, of the same age as Edward. By Master Augustus Averill, a friend of Harry's.
Mr. Sherwood, Edward's tutor. By Johnnie.
Jane, his mother's maid. By Minnie.
Patrick, the waiter. By Willie.
Andrew, the gardener. By Bennie.
Scene — A fine House in the Country. A Parlor opening into the Garden.
Scene I. – Mrs. Langdon and Mr. SherwoodMr. Sherwood. No, madam; I have come to bid you adieu. It is impossible. I cannot, I will not stay here another day.
Mrs. Langdon. But, Mr. Sherwood, listen a moment!
Mr. S. No! I have made up my mind! I am tired of losing my time and pains with Edward!
Mrs. L. Please have a little patience. Try him once more.
Mr. S. He has already abused my patience beyond all bounds. He is wilful, ungrateful, idle, and stupid; and all the blame will fall on me, whom you have employed to educate him.
Mrs. L. Can you believe that I would blame you, who have been so kind to my son? Remember, that when my husband died, you promised me to devote yourself to my fatherless boy. Will you leave your work undone? He has talents, a good heart —
Mr. S. No, madam; you deceive yourself. His heart is bad; his character unamiable; he is proud, vain, selfish, wicked.
Mrs. L. What! wicked!
Mr. S. Yes, madam. Does he not treat your servants as if they were slaves? Does not everybody hate him?
Mrs. L. Oh, how severe you are! My dear son is young: he has pride, to be sure; and that very pride once caused you to say that you would make a great and good man of him.
Mr. S. Yes, I said so; and perhaps I might have succeeded without you —
Mrs. L. Without me! Why, what can you mean?
Mr. S. Do you wish me to be frank with you?
Mrs. L. Certainly. I shall feel obliged to you.
Mr. S. Well; it is you who spoil the effect of all my lessons. It is you who spoil Edward. Excuse me, but I must say it.
Mrs. L. I, Mr. Sherwood! I confess I love him above all other earthly possessions; but that is surely excusable. He is the image of a husband taken away from me in the first year of our marriage. You remember my grief was so excessive that I could not nourish my poor child; and by the advice and entreaties of my relatives and physician, I consented that he should be taken into the country by my humble, faithful friend, Mary Brown, who nursed him for eighteen months with her own child, while I was sent to the West Indies, and afterward to Europe, to recover my health. Edward is all I have.
Mr. S. If you love him so much, send him to boarding school.
Mrs. L. Impossible! I cannot part with him. But I will put him entirely under your control. Only stay, and you shall govern him just as you like.
Scene II. —Enter PatrickMrs. L. Patrick, where is my son?
Patrick. I don't know, ma'am.
Mrs. L. What? You don't know?
Patrick. No, ma'am. After taking his lessons this morning, he made me dress him three times. Yes, ma'am, three times! and by way of paying me for my trouble, he hit me a blow on the side of my head, and crying, "Take that, old bog-trotter" – he ran off laughing; and five minutes after that, when I was talking with Andrew on the edge of the hill at the back of the house, he came suddenly up behind and upset us both. My back is all but cracked.
[Rubs his back.Mr. S. You see how he treats your servants!
Mrs. L. Well! but he did it laughing. It was only his fun, dear little fellow! Patrick, go find him, and bring him here.
Patrick. And suppose, ma'am, he won't come?
Mrs. L. Tell him his mother wants him.
Scene III. —Enter AndrewPatrick (going out, to Andrew). Where am I to find him? Have you seen him?
Andrew. Seen who?
Patrick. Master Ned.
Andrew. Yes, I have seen him; I see a great deal too much of him; he has just chased me out of the garden with a hay fork.
Patrick. Is he there now?
Andrew. Oh yes; he tied an old hen fast by the leg to the fence, and is shooting at her with his bow and arrows.
Mrs. L. What a boy! how thoughtless! Patrick, go and get him.
[He goes out.Scene IV. —Enter JaneAndrew (twisting his hat about, and standing first on one leg, then on the other). Mrs. Langdon —
Mrs. L. Well, Andrew, what is it?
Andrew. I am your gardener, ma'am; am I not?
Mrs. L. Yes, Andrew.
Andrew. I have always tried to give you satisfaction?
Mrs. L. Certainly. You have been very faithful.
Andrew. You have fed me well, paid me well, and, what is far better, you are good and kind to me, which I like more than money, because the one you owe me, and the other you give me of your own free will.
Mrs. L. Well, Andrew —
Andrew. Well, Mrs. Langdon, I am going to leave you against my own desire. You are an excellent mistress, and I don't want to leave you, but it must be —
Mrs. L. Andrew, I am surprised! Why do you wish to leave me? Have you anything to complain of? Have I done you any injustice?
Andrew. Oh no, ma'am! You are all kindness and goodness; neither proud, scolding, nor brutal; but everybody is not like you.
Mrs. L. Do the other servants impose upon you?
Andrew. Oh dear, no, ma'am! they are good and honest.
Mrs. L. What do you complain of, then?
Andrew. Why, ma'am, since I have begun, I will go on. Every man who respects himself, takes a pride in his work. If he is a gardener, he likes to hear people say, "There is a capital garden! Those vegetable beds are very nicely kept!" Well, it makes me mad to see your money and my work all wasted and destroyed.
Mrs. L. But how?
Andrew. That's just it. I know how, and you don't.
Mrs. L. Will you tell me?
Andrew. Well, it's Master Ned.
Mrs. L. Master Ned?
Andrew. Yes, ma'am. He is a perfect little Satan; he keeps me running after him, till I am out of breath, and perfectly hoarse with talking.
Mrs. L. Why! What has he done?
Andrew. The same he does every day: ten ground moles, fifteen chickens, twenty pigs, would do less injury in a year than he does in one day. He upsets the planks, tears up the walks, breaks the windows of the hot beds, tramples on the flowers, breaks down the pear trees, plays the mischief in the vegetable garden, and runs off with my tools. I can't stop him; and when I say, "Master Ned, you must not hinder me so in my work; if you want to turn double somersets, go and do it in your dear mamma's parlor; go and plague Mr. Sherwood, or Patrick, or, still better, torment Jane, and leave me to plant my cabbages." Do you know how he answers? By cracking me over the shoulders with his switch, and crying out, "Look out, old potato top, or I'll tumble you into the pond." I might as well ask the river to run up hill. And look here, ma'am, see this picture (shows picture) he drew of me, watering the garden in a thunder storm, as if I ever did such a thing! or looked like that, either!
Mr. S. In a short time, no one will be able to live with him.
Mrs. L. Dear me! It is nothing but his high spirits and love of mischief! But I own you are not unreasonable, Andrew. I don't want my son to tease you, much less ill-treat you. I will forbid him, before you, from going in the garden.
Andrew. Good! Only do that, and I will give him my finest flowers, and my best fruits, if he will only keep away.
Mrs. L. (sighing). I seem to have made twenty excuses for my son in ten minutes; but you shall be satisfied.
Jane. Mrs. Langdon, I must also speak to you about Master Ned.
Mrs. L. Well.
Jane. This morning he opened the cage door and let your canary fly away, and twisted poor Poll's neck because she said, "Bad boy!"
Mrs. L. Oh! oh! my parrot's neck!
Jane. Yes, ma'am.
Mr. S. Now, madam, this is not thoughtlessness: it is a case of actual badness.
Jane. Yes, and he does something as bad every day.
Andrew. Why, he is worse than Lucifer!
Jane. Every morning, ma'am, he overturns your toilet table, spills the cologne water, upsets your work box, makes your finest letter paper into boats, and puts the kitten to sleep in the crown of your best bonnet; and then, when I beg him to behave, he calls me an old cat, and a buzzard, and a red-headed crab.
Mrs. L. Why have you not told me this before?
Jane. Why, ma'am, I have; but it has always ended by his being excused and I scolded.
Mrs. L. Stay here. You shall see if I excuse him! He might change his clothes ten times, pull up a plant or two, pick a few flowers, or even trouble you at your work. I don't see anything so very dreadful in all that. But to twist my parrot's neck! Oh! —
Scene V. —Enter PatrickMrs. L. Well, Patrick —
Patrick (rubbing his legs and making wry faces). He is coming, ma'am —
Mrs. L. What's the matter?
Patrick. Master Ned has been breaking a stick over my legs.
Mrs. L. (very angry). The child's a demon! I am outrageous! I am furious!
Mr. S. Control yourself, madam! do not fly so suddenly from extreme indulgence to severity; do not correct a child when you are in a passion.
Mrs. L. You may be right, sir, but I shall punish him as he deserves.
Andrew. Please don't beat him, ma'am. Here he comes.
Scene VI. —Enter Edward, who runs up to his mother, and is about to kiss herEdward. Were you asking for me, mamma? dear, pretty mamma!
Mrs. L. Stand back, sir! I don't kiss a bad boy!
Edward. A bad boy! Why, mamma, what have I done?
Mrs. L. Do you dare to pretend that you do not know? Look at Andrew, Patrick, and Jane!
Edward. I see them. Have they been complaining of me?
Mrs. L. Yes, and I am astonished at what they tell me.
Edward. The mean things! Mamma, they —
Mrs. L. Take care, sir! Don't add lying to your other crimes.
Edward (looking angry). But what do they say I have done? You scamp of a turnip top, Andrew! is it you who are trying to rob me of my mother's love? Such a good boy as I am, too!
Andrew. You a good boy! about as much as the old gray donkey is a robin redbreast. No! you are a nuisance, and ought to live up in the air in a balloon by yourself. You have ruined my garden; and whenever I beg you to stop, you answer me with your switch over my legs.
Edward. Oh, mamma, that is too cruel! I only wish to make you a bouquet, when Andrew comes up, yelling like a tiger, "Don't touch those violets! Let that pansy alone! Stop! you shan't take a rose!" Well, what can I do? So I dug up a little plot, pulling out a few vegetables, so as to raise some flowers for you myself. Then Andrew screams out, "What have you done? You have pulled out all my onions!" Then I take another place, and old Sourcrout bawls, "The beets are planted there." I declare it's too bad! I wish to cultivate the earth, because Mr. Sherwood says the most respectable men in the world are farmers; and Andrew, mad as fury, comes and drives me away. Suppose I do spoil some of his stupid cabbages; if I could present you with a flower raised by my own hand, it would be worth all his cabbage heads, and his own too.
Mrs. L. The darling! How he loves me! Andrew, you are a brute!
Andrew. Thank you, ma'am. That's what I call justice.
Mrs. L. My dear son was only seeking to gratify me, and you did very wrong to hinder him. Dear child! he was willing to work like a farmer to please me.
Andrew. I'm dumb! If you wish it, he may scratch up the whole garden, and empty it into the duck pond; he may break down fifty trees a day; he may have a mass meeting of the dogs, pigs, chickens, ducks, turkeys, and the old gray donkey, in the best flower beds; and end by inviting Farmer Green's bull Sampson to dance a hornpipe through the glass into the conservatory. Nothing now will astonish me.
Mrs. L. That will do. My son, I forgive your capers in the garden, but I have a more serious charge against you. How can you excuse yourself for letting my canary fly away? and above all, why did you twist my poor Poll's neck?
Edward. Well, mamma, you would have done the same. I did open the door of the canary's cage. He was poking his poor little bill through the bars, and I was so sorry for him! I thought he wanted to go to his mother, who, perhaps, might be perched up in the tree opposite, and so I gave him his liberty. Mr. Sherwood has often told me that kindness to animals is one of the finest virtues.
Mrs. L. Oh! was twisting my parrot's neck another proof of your kindness? What had the poor bird done to you?
Edward. Nothing to me, mamma; but the wicked little squinting thing had bitten Jane's finger, when she was kindly giving him some sugar; and she cried, and seeing the tears rolling down her cheeks, I got very angry, quite in a rage. I am very sorry, but I did not think that Jane would have been the one to accuse me.
Mrs. L. There, Jane! you are an ungrateful creature! You have tried to poison my mind against my son!
Jane. But, Mrs. Langdon —
Mrs. L. Be silent! Your affair is settled. But, Edward, when Patrick came to call you, why did you break a stick over his legs?
Edward. It was very wrong in me, mamma; but I had just gathered some splendid roses for you: they were on the ground, and the clumsy fellow trampled upon them without seeing them. It put me in such a passion, I did whack him once or twice. I beg his pardon, mamma.
Mrs. L. He should ask yours, you dear boy! I order you all to apologize to my son, or I shall discharge you. You first, Jane. My son would not for twenty gardens, or poll parrots, do a mean thing or tell a lie; he shall be respected and obeyed as I am; and those who don't like it can leave.
Andrew (ironically). I beg your pardon, Master Edward, for the good switching you so kindly gave me; I beg your pardon for the damage you did to the garden; you will oblige me by continuing to tumble everything topsy-turvy, and break all the rest.
Patrick. Forgive me, Master Edward, for all the pretty little capers you cut up.
Edward. Oh, certainly. Mamma, they are good sort of people, after all; and I hope you will excuse their coming to complain of me.
Mrs. L. To oblige you, my dear son, I will. You see, all of you, how amiable he is. And now remember, the very first complaint he makes of you, I will discharge you. Leave the room.
Andrew to Patrick (going out). Here's a pretty how-d'ye-do! He has made his mother believe that black is white.
Scene VIIMrs. L. You see, my son, though I do not wish the servants to be disrespectful to you, I require you to treat them with kindness. They are human beings like you.
Edward (contemptuously). Like me! I should think not.
Mr. S. Yes, sir! They are not rich, to be sure, or born of a high family, nor is it likely that their heads will ever burst with the knowledge a fine, thorough education gives; but they are capable of every good and noble quality of the heart. Do you understand?
Edward. Yes, Mr. Sherwood.
Mrs. L. Try to make everybody love you.
Edward. Dear mamma, I don't care for any love but yours.
Mr. S. But you must care for the respect and friendship of others; which, as Addison says, "improves happiness and abates misery, by doubling our joys and dividing our griefs."
Edward (sneeringly). He talks like a book, don't he, mamma?
Mrs. L. He does, indeed; and if you love me, you will profit by his advice and lessons. Perhaps you owe more to him than to me. Love him, and be grateful to him, for his constant endeavor to cultivate your virtues and talents.
