Cinderella; or, The Little Glass Slipper and Other Stories Part 6

"Yes," said Laura, "when"--then she stopped and smiled.

"When what?" asked Arthur.

"When he has a girl to show him how," laughed Laura, as she danced out of the room with the cranberry strings.

CHRISTMAS IN CALIFORNIA.

"To think that this is Christmas Day!"

Said Harold to his aunt, "I know it really is, and yet, Believe it--well, I can't!

I've had a tree, my stocking, too, This morning full I found, But how can I believe it With no snow upon the ground?

Look at the sea so bright and blue, And feel the soft, warm air, And there are roses all in bloom, And lilies, I declare!

I think that California Is lovely, but it's queer, How different Christmas is at home From what it is out here."

"Ah, Harold!" gently said his aunt, "No matter where you go, In country strewn with flowers like this, Or clad in ice and snow, The birthday of the Christ-child is The same in every place, And happy greetings in His name, Bring smiles to every face."

A TROUBLESOME CALL.

We were going, on Sat.u.r.day, ever so far,-- My mamma and I,--to the Dollies' Bazaar, Where fifty wax dollies,--the loveliest show, Went walking about when they wound 'em, you know.

You wouldn't believe half the things they could do: Why, one said "Good morning," as plainly as you.

One played the piano, and one, dressed in lace, Walked up to a mirror and powdered her face.

Well, when we were ready we stepped in the hall, And there was a lady a-coming to call.

She said she just chanced to be pa.s.sing that way, And she really had only a minute to stay.

We waited and waited, and hoped she would go, Till I saw it was almost the time for the show, For I heard the clocks striking all over the town, And I knew that the dollies would all be run down.

And so I just said, "I should s'pose, Mrs. Black, Your little girl wonders why don't you come back."

That's all that I spoke, every 'dentical word; But she said, "Little girls should be seen and not heard."

I guess that's a proverb, so maybe 'tis true; But, if people won't see, what can little girls do?

My mamma looked queer, but that ended the call, And we went to the Dollies' Bazaar, after all.

BERTIE'S CORN-POPPER

Bertie had the desire of his heart,--a corn-popper! He had wanted it for a long time,--three weeks, at least. Mamma brought it when she came home from the city, and gave it to him for his very own. A bushel of corn, ready popped, would not have been half so good. There was all the delight of popping in store for the long winter evenings.

Bertie could hardly wait to eat his supper before he tried his corn-popper. It proved to be a very good one. He popped corn that evening, and the next, and the next. He fed all the family, gave some to all his playmates, and carried a bag of pop-corn to school for his teacher.

Trip, the s.h.a.ggy, little, yellow dog, came in for a share, and Mintie too. Who or what was Mintie?

Mintie was a bantam biddy, very small, white as snow, and very pretty.

She had been left an orphan chick, and for a while kept in the house, near the kitchen fire. She had been Bertie's especial charge, and he fed and tended her faithfully.

As she grew older she would rove about with the larger hens, but was very tame, and always liked the house. She would come in very often.

When Bertie happened to pop corn in the daytime she was pretty apt to be around, and pick up the kernels he threw to her.

One night he left his corn-popper on the kitchen table. It was open, and two or three small kernels were still in it.

Early next morning, long before Bertie was dressed, Mintie came into the kitchen. She flew up on the table, and helped herself to the corn in the popper. The girl was busy getting breakfast, and did not mind much about her. Presently she went down cellar, and Mintie had the room to herself.

When Bertie came down to breakfast there was a white egg in the corn-popper! It was so small that it looked almost like a bird's; but it was Mintie's first egg.

Bertie clapped his hands; he was very much pleased.

"Mamma! mamma!" he shouted. "See this pretty egg! Mintie put it into my popper, and must have meant to give it to me."

And mamma said, "Very likely she did."

FIRE! FIRE!! FIRE!!!

Where is it? Where is it? Why, it is in the water! Isn't that funny? But you see it isn't a real fire, but only a fire-fish. [*] Sweet creature, isn't he? Suppose you were a little, innocent mermaid, swimming alone for the first time; how would you feel if you were to meet this fellow darting towards you with his great red mouth open? Why, you would scream with fright, and swim to your mother as fast as you could, and catch hold of her tail for protection. At least, that is what I should do if I were a mermaid. But Mrs. Mermaid won't tell you that the fire-fish will not hurt you unless you hurt him first, in which case he will p.r.i.c.k you dreadfully with his long, sharp spines.

* Project Gutenberg ed. note: The picture is of a fish also known as a scorpionfish.

I never see his picture without thinking of a red Indian in his warpaint and feathers. Perhaps--who knows?-perhaps when Indians are greedy, and eat too much fish, they may turn into fire-fish, and have to swim about forever under water, and never see a green forest again. If you are an Indian I advise you to be careful, my dear.

n.o.body knows why this fish has such enormous, wing-like fins. Wise men used to think that he could raise himself out of the water with them, like the flying-fish; but it is now proved that he cannot, and there seems to be no reason why a set of plain, small fins would not serve him just as well for swimming. He prefers warm water to cold; so he lives in the tropical seas, swimming about the coasts of India, Africa, and Australia. The natives of Ceylon call him Gini-maha, and they think he is very good to eat. They take great care in catching him, for they are very much afraid of him, thinking that his sharp spines are poisoned, and can inflict a deadly wound. But in this they are too hard upon the fellow. He can p.r.i.c.k them deeply and painfully, and he will if they meddle with him; but he is a perfectly respectable fish, and would not think of such a cowardly thing as poisoning anybody.

THE DOLLS AND THE OTHER DOLLS.

"Mamma," little Nellie asked, "is it right to give away things that have been given to you?"

Her mamma replied that it might be quite right sometimes; and she said, "But I should feel sorry if I had made a little friend a present she did not value, and so was glad to part with it."

"O mamma!" said Nellie, "you know how I value my dollies, every one, that my dear aunts and cousins sent me because I was sick. Now I am well again. To-morrow is New-Year's. Some sick little girls in the hospital want dollies. Could I, if I knew which one to choose, keep only one for myself, and send the whole five of them for those poor children who haven't any?"

Her mamma liked the plan. She gave Nellie a box, and Nellie began kissing her babies, and laying them, one after another, in the box.

There were two of nearly the same size, that were very dear to this little mother. She called them twins. They wore white frocks and blue kid boots. They had real blonde hair and their eyes would open and shut.

These lovely twins Nellie held in her arms a long time before she could decide which to part with. When she did place one in the box, to be her own no more, a tear was on the doll's cheek. I do not think the drop came from dolly's eye.