The Two Story Mittens and the Little Play Mittens Part 2

Oh! I forgot one thing. The white wigs, you know. Well, the boys picked them up to examine them; and, what do you think the queer old things were made of? Why, nothing but a sheet of white wadding.

How they did laugh! and how surprised they were! for they looked so respectable! just like the bushy horse hair wigs you see hanging in Mr.

Isabeau the hair dresser's windows; and I, for one, the very next time I go to a fancy party, mean to make a wig of white wadding, for three cents, for that was all Henry's and Mary's cost.

Won't Lillie be surprised when she sees this story in print! I'm quite certain she will laugh and kiss me, and say, Why, Aunt f.a.n.n.y! _You_ were not at the party; how _did_ you hear? Then I shall look very mischievous and say, "Ah! that's telling!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: Portrait of Miss Florence.]

But there's one thing I must tell, though I am very nearly certain you have guessed it already. Miss Florence was the very doll Lillie's mother had bought in the summer time, and Helen, the kind sister, had made every one of the beautiful things in the little trunk. To show you how handsome they all were, I have had Miss Florence's portrait taken in an everyday dress, and begged the printer to put it in this book. Don't it make a flourish? And was not Helen a perfect darling of a sister?

Don't you wish she was yours? I do.

"There! what do you think of that story?" said the little mother, as she rolled up the ma.n.u.script.

"Oh, it is the best of all! They are all the best stories!" cried the children. "How we wish we knew Lillie and her beautiful doll!"

They gathered round their mother, and admired her picture, which Aunt f.a.n.n.y had sent with the MS.; and counted the flounces, and thought her feet were "such darlings!" and then exclaimed again, "Oh, I wish we knew her!"

"Wouldn't you rather know Harry, the little old gentleman in the wig?"

asked a voice at the door.

The children turned quickly round, and saw Aunt f.a.n.n.y standing at the door laughing at them.

They fell upon her with screams of delight, and, without meaning to, immediately upset her upon the carpet; for she is a little woman, with not a grain of bodily strength; all her strength is in her heart. So there she sat, so weak from laughing, that she could not help herself; while the children cried, "Oh, Aunt f.a.n.n.y, we beg your pardon! did we hurt you? we only meant to love you."

Then they all got hold of her, and began to pull her up different ways; in consequence of which, down she came again, and half a dozen of the children with her.

"Oh!" she cried, "if you don't stop, you will push me through the carpet and floor, and make me fall plump on top of the cook's head in the kitchen. Come, let's all sit here, while I tell you something, and recover my breath."

This invitation suited them exactly. Down they all dropped, with Aunt f.a.n.n.y in the middle. The little ones tumbled over themselves, and lighted on their heads at first; but after a good deal of laughing and nestling up close together, they were tolerably quiet.

"Well," said Aunt f.a.n.n.y, "I always knew you were perfect monkeys for cutting capers; but I did not know till now, that you were also a family of crabs."

"Crabs!" cried the children laughing.

"Yes, pulling me up, and trying to make me walk two ways at once, like a crab: very good fun for a crab, but it brought me flat, as you see, and has nearly frightened out of my head a fine story I have heard, about the consequences of an odd speech your friend Harry, the little old gentleman in the story of Lillie, made to a poor little boy."

"Oh dear, do tell it!" they cried; "try to get it back in your head again; we want to hear it so much."

"Well, will you get up and sit in chairs, and work like beavers at your mittens, if I do?"

"Oh, yes! yes!" They sprang up, and in a surprisingly short time the crochet needles were glancing in the gas light; while the mittens grew wonderfully.

It was a new pleasure to hear a story directly from her lips, especially as she had brought two or three pictures to ill.u.s.trate it, which added greatly to their enjoyment.

It was rather late to begin one, but the little mother for once consented to let the small ones of the family sit up; and Aunt f.a.n.n.y began the wonderful story of

THE FAIRY BENEVOLENCE.

THE FAIRY BENEVOLENCE.

THERE never was a more loving son than little Mark. He was only seven years old. Yet already he was of great use to his mother, who was a very poor widow, as poor as could be, and she had to work, without ever resting, from morning till night, to get food and clothes for herself and her dear child.

Oh, that terrible st.i.tch, st.i.tch, st.i.tching! It must never stop; for all she got for making a whole shirt was ten cents, and with her utmost efforts she could only finish two in a day.

At last, what with crying and sitting up half the nights in the cold to finish her sewing, the poor widow fell very ill. What was to be done?

There was no money to pay a physician, the rent was coming due, and little Mark was almost crazy with grief. He sat by his mother's bedside and bathed her head, and did all he knew how to do.

They lived in a small hut, far away from the village, to which the poor widow had to take her work every week, from which it was conveyed to the great city of New York. There the shirts were sold for so much money, that the man who got them made for the shamefully small price of ten cents, rode in his carriage and lived in splendor. Ah! how I wish this wicked man, who was starving many a poor woman in the same way, could have been made to feel cold, and hunger, and thirst, till he nearly died. I think, after that he would begin to have a conscience--don't you?

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Why, what is the matter, little fellow?"]

One afternoon, while his mother was in a troubled slumber, little Mark went and sat down outside the cottage. A kind farmer had been felling trees, and one of these he had given to Mark's mother, promising to send one of the farm lads that evening to saw and split it for her.

Mark sat down on the log and leaned sadly upon his hand, and every little while he wiped away a tear that rolled down his cheek.

Presently a tall, handsome boy walked past. It was Harry, the one who personated the little old gentleman in the true story of "The Party Lillie gave to Miss Florence." His father had a country seat in the neighborhood, and Harry often took long walks in search of adventures.

"Why, what is the matter, little fellow?" he asked.

Mark raised his tearful eyes, and seeing a kind face, told his pitiful story.

"Oh, don't be down-hearted," cried Harry. "Why, don't you know the fairies are not all dead yet? Now, there's the fairy Benevolence; just you ask her, good and loud, to help you, and see if she won't do it;"

and he patted the little boy encouragingly on the head, slipped a quarter of a dollar--all the money he had with him--in his hand, and walked quickly away.

Harry's father was a skilful physician, with one of the largest and most loving hearts I ever knew; and when Harry told Mark to call upon the fairy for a.s.sistance, his idea was that the fairy this time would come in the shape of a rather stout gentleman, with the pleasantest smile and finest set of snow-white teeth that ever were seen. He had a kind, delicate way of doing a service, which made it better to take, and did more good than all the medicine in Mr. Hegeman's apothecary shop.

Very soon little Mark got up and went into the cottage. His mother was still sleeping. It was now sunset, and the shadows began to deepen and darken in the room. Mark sat down by the bedside, and commenced thinking of what Harry had told him. He was a little bit of a fellow, you know, and of course would believe what such a great boy would say. So he concluded it must be true that the fairies were still to be found; and at last his longing grew so intense that he cried aloud, "Oh, Fairy Benevolence! come quickly, and make my poor mother well."

A sweet strain of music seemed to float in the air; the poor, whitewashed wall of the cottage opened in the middle, through which a beautiful lady entered, with a wreath of flowers round her head, and a wand of ivory in her hand.

"Well, my little friend," said she in a soft voice, "what do you want of me?"

Mark was almost speechless with astonishment and admiration; but he managed to say, "Oh, lady, if you are the fairy Benevolence, save my poor mother."

"It is not in my power, my good child. You must do it yourself. You can, if you have the courage to go where I tell you, and hunt for a certain plant. It grows on the top of a mountain, and is called 'The Plant of Life.' The juice of that plant will cure your mother the moment she tastes of it."

"I will go this instant," he cried; "but who will take care of my mother?"

"Trust her to me, my dear boy, while you are absent. She shall have everything she wants."

"Oh, thank you," said Mark; "now I will go."