Some Little People Part 7

When breakfast was over that morning the mother went to carry some sewing home, and while she was gone 'Lisbeth thought she would go out too. This was very wrong; very wrong indeed, but 'Lisbeth did not wait to think about that. She took a basket when she went out, and she took her seven pence. She felt herself very important indeed, though really she was n.o.body but a disobedient little girl. She came to a cake shop where all kinds of cakes were to be bought.

"I'm going to keep store," said 'Lisbeth to the shopman, "and I want some wonderful nice cakes."

"You do, do you?" said the shopman; "let me see your money."

"Seven pence," said 'Lisbeth, displaying it on the counter; "I want to spend it all."

"You do, do you? Where's your store?"

"In my basket," said 'Lisbeth, but there was nothing in her basket but a bit of brown paper.

"What would you like to buy with your seven pence?" asked the shopman.

"A great many things," said 'Lisbeth; "but I think I will buy some of these cakes."

"Humph," said the shopman; "pick out nine of 'm."

'Lisbeth picked them out. They were cakes of different shapes; quite a stock for seven pence, and no mistake.

'Lisbeth arranged the cakes along the bottom of the basket in two rows; four in one row and five in the other. Then she started off. She never was more pleased in her life. She was more sure than ever that she was somebody, that she was somebody important. She expected that every one of those cakes would be gone before she had time to look around. She was surprised to find that instead of everybody stopping to look at them, n.o.body stopped to look at them at all. She was surprised to find everybody going by as though there was a pot of gold, at the other end of the street, which they were hurrying on to get, while they did not so much as glance at her, or at the cakes in her basket. This would never do. She would walk up and ask them to buy. So she walked up and asked them, but they did not hear her, or did not want to hear her, and did not stop walking as fast as they could, except one lady with two little girls who bought two for two pence.

'Lisbeth thought these were nice little girls; she wished afterward she had asked them to buy four for four pence. n.o.body else bought any. She walked and walked, and stood; and the mother came home and wondered where she was, and looked out of the window, and out of the door, and listened on the stairs, but could make nothing of it at all; and the fact was, that when the mother was listening on the stairs, and looking out of the doors, and sighing to herself about ever having come to London, 'Lisbeth was sound asleep, at the corner of the street, seated on the sidewalk with her back against the wall, and her basket standing beside her, and the mother might as well have listened for her feet as for the buzzing of a china b.u.mble-bee with gla.s.s legs.

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CHAPTER XII.

'Lisbeth was asleep. She was tired enough to sleep well. She was better off asleep than awake; had you asked her she would have told you so. As she slept she dreamed, and as she dreamed the forms in the basket became living things, and the pence in her pocket changed to pounds, and things which were not became to her as though they were.

In fact 'Lisbeth doubted that she was 'Lisbeth, and who knows but had she dreamed long enough she might have been the queen herself?

The bird, in the basket, stood on its gingerbread legs, which were changed to real bird's legs, and it sung to her sweeter than the bird at the mile-stone sung on the post. The little dog forgot that it was gingerbread, and barked and sprung about, and shone like satin in its pretty black coat; it barked in a charming fashion. The cat? it was beautiful as only cats in dreams can be, as it sat on the handle of the basket; it was a beautiful picture to behold.

But what amused and delighted her more than the bird or the cat or the dog, was the real live elephant which floated in the air without wings, and the two charming little angels, with little bra.s.s crowns, who sung sweeter than the bird itself, and blew about like thistle-down, and astonished her more than all the shows of London. But the most delightful gingerbread of all was the gingerbread parrot, which was no more a gingerbread, but a real, true, live, green and gold parrot which tapped at her hat and called, "Come, Lady 'Lisbeth, here is a coach and four, to ride to your door."

Then 'Lisbeth woke up, and when she saw that the parrot and the angels and the elephant, and the dog and cat, and even the bird, which had been singing on the bottom of the basket were all gingerbread, she flew up in a pa.s.sion and threw them all to the ground, and had them all to pick up again.

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When she went home she told her mother everything that had happened, and the mother told her something that was going to happen, and they had a great deal to say to each other. I think I would have said more to her than her mother did, but she said all she wanted to, which was possibly enough. But when she told 'Lisbeth what was going to happen, she expected to see 'Lisbeth fly up in a great pa.s.sion; instead of this, however, 'Lisbeth began laughing, and laughed so hard that her mother had to pat her on the back to make her stop.

In fact, when the mother was living with her children in the old home, and suddenly grew poorer, she had concluded to go to London, where she might sew, she thought, for large prices, and so get rich faster, but when, after she got to London, she found the prices were little, and her money was growing less, and her boys were getting spoiled, and 'Lisbeth was getting to do so many things she should not do, she wished she had never seen London.

Then she began thinking that it would be just as easy not to see it any more, as it had been to come a hundred miles to see it. Then she concluded not to see it any more, and this was what she told 'Lisbeth when they both had so much to say to each other.

The next morning 'Lisbeth awoke with the impression that something very pleasant had happened, or was about to happen.

She forgot to help her mother clear away the breakfast dishes, and sat on the three-legged stool in the corner quite by herself, with her face to the wall. The mother saw her sitting there as she popped her head in the door, but she would not call her; she began to think she was grieving about leaving London, yet she might have known better by the delight of her morning embrace, if by nothing else. At any rate she would let her alone; she would let her think it out. So she cleared up the dishes and brushed up the floor, and put in the st.i.tches, and packed her parcel and said "good-by" to 'Lisbeth, for she was going to the shop.

'Lisbeth was yet on the stool when her mother went out of the door.

"Bother!" she exclaimed, twirling about as she found herself alone.

"'Lisbeth Lillibun you are a humbug, you are indeed. You are a humbug and no mistake; here you have been to London all this time and made only two pence, and seven gingerbreads, and here is your mother troubled for a bit of money to get back to the old place. Why is it you cannot help her?"

Had 'Lisbeth remained sitting on the stool she would have continued talking to herself, which might have resulted in no harm, and might have kept her quiet and good, like a pleasant, dutiful child till the mother came, but 'Lisbeth leaped off of the stool as a thought came into her mind which might never have come there had she not leaped the moment she did.

There was one trait in 'Lisbeth which is not in everybody. When 'Lisbeth concluded to do a thing she did it; she did not wait until the next week or the next month, she did not even wait until the next day. You will say this was very clever and nice of 'Lisbeth to be so much in earnest; and so it might have been had she mixed the earnestness with the right kind of consideration for her mother's wishes. Indeed, in that case she would have been such a very fine girl that ten chances to one there would never have been any story about her at all; but she did not mix her earnestness with anything but her own judgment, and she made just as real a mistake as you would make should you mix your lemonade with salt, instead of sugar--it was the wrong kind of mixture altogether.

When I say of 'Lisbeth that when she had a thing to do, she did it, that she did not wait until the next week, or next month, or next year, you will say: "How very delightful; how very much nicer and better 'Lisbeth must have been than most other people;" but when I tell you that she thought she knew what was best to be done so much better than anybody else, that she did what she thought best without asking her mother, you will know in a minute that 'Lisbeth was not as "nice" as a great many other people. How could she be? Why, she could not be at all.

Well when 'Lisbeth thought the thought as she leaped off the stool, she did not wait until the next day to do what she thought about doing, nor till the next hour. She did not wait to consult her mother. As usual, she mixed her own judgment with her earnestness, instead of making use of her mother's judgment, and that was the cause of the confusion.

Children's earnestness directed by the mother's judgment is a very different thing from children's earnestness directed by the children's judgment; there is as much difference between the two as there is between lemonade mixed with sugar and lemonade mixed with salt.

'Lisbeth thought it would be pleasant to get everything pulled down, and turned inside out, and packed up ready to leave London; it would be that much done toward starting, it would be a great help, it would be delightful. Had she waited for mother's judgment she would have learned that mother would not get off from London for two months at any rate, that the things must not be pulled down until it was time to pack them up, that it would not be time to pack them up until just before they started. But 'Lisbeth mixed her earnestness with her own judgment.

CHAPTER XIII.

'Lisbeth said to herself: "Who knows but we shall go to-day or to-morrow, if mother gets the money; she said she would go when she got the money."

'Lisbeth had found something to do at last.

Gorham had gone with the mother to help carry her parcel, and d.i.c.kon was playing outside. d.i.c.kon's two feet had come in, but they had gone out again. They so often went out after they had come in that this was nothing uncommon. At first 'Lisbeth did not care about it; it made no difference to her that they had gone out, she began work by herself. She was a fast worker, an earnest worker, a worker who made things fly when she set about making them fly. I do not mean that she made them really fly up with wings, but she made them get from one place to another so fast that we may say she made them fly.

She made the dishes fly out of the closets; the platters, the pots, and the patty pans; the stewpans, and spiders, and skillets; the boilers and broilers, and dippers; the gla.s.s jars, the stone jars, the basins; the boxes and bundles and baskets; a pretty job she was making of it, and, in the middle of it all, her face shone like a young sun, she was so delightfully busy.

Suddenly 'Lisbeth remembered that she was working very hard, that d.i.c.kon was not working hard, that he was doing nothing but playing on the stairs; this was not pleasant to remember.

"Do come here, d.i.c.kon," called 'Lisbeth, over the railing, and d.i.c.kon came.

"Pull down everything very fast," commanded 'Lisbeth; "mother is going from London dreadful quick, the minute she gets the money; I shall pack things and get ready."

d.i.c.kon did not like to pull them down; he did not approve of packing, he wanted to play.

"You are a miserable boy, d.i.c.kon, worse than most any boy to leave me here by my lone self."

d.i.c.kon looked around and began to think so too.

"P'haps mother don't want to be packed."

"Yes, she does; she does very much indeed; bring the things here, d.i.c.kon; pull'm all down here."