More Mittens; with The Doll's Wedding and Other Stories

My dear little friend!
And never pretend
You don't comprehend;
But just condescend,
For a very good end,
That face to unbend,
Those fingers extend;
And, smiling, commend
And, frowning, defend
This book that I send.
Say, "Sir, your opinion
You're asked to suspend."

VII

Then I'll say, "Where'er
You go, and, whene'er
At 'Clear Comfort,' whate'er
You do, and howe'er,
The writer will ne'er
From her inmost heart tear
Little Peter; but wear
A sweet souvenir there
Of her little friend dear,
Which no one shall share
As long as she's here."

This "Pottery" pleased Peter very much, and he kept his sisters busy reading the stories in the little book to him.

As Peter is only six years old at present, I cannot possibly tell you the whole of his history; but I will keep my eye upon him all this coming year, and next Christmas, if you like, I will make another story about his funny doings and sayings; or, if you prefer, you can make his acquaintance, personally, in that charming place called Clear Comfort.

THE STORY TOLD TO WILLIE

"Oh, dear mamma!" said Willie, one pleasant summer's afternoon, "do, please, tell me a story – ah, d-o!" and the little fellow put up his rosy mouth and kissed his mother; well knowing that she could not resist his entreaty, backed by so sweet a bribe. What mother can?

"Oh, you little rogue!" answered his mother, returning the caress, "I have told you every story I can recollect, at least twenty times each. Why not run out in the garden with your nice new ball, lying there on the floor, and see how high you can throw it up in the air? You must take more exercise in the open air, my dear little Willie. Let us make a bargain. If you will play half an hour, and come in with a pair of rosy cheeks, I will try to have a story ready for you – a new story."

"Oh, delightful!" cried Willie, and – accustomed to give his mother instant obedience – he caught up his ball and ran off, to obey her, with a sweet, pleasant expression in his face.

Dear little children, it makes such a wonderful difference how you obey your parents. If a boy is requested by his mother to leave his play and go upon an errand for her, and he goes slowly, making dreadful faces, and muttering to himself, "Dear me, why couldn't she send some one else; I hate to go!" do you think he gives his mother as much pleasure as when he says, "Yes, mamma, of course I will!" and runs off to do her bidding with two pleasant dimples in his cheeks? Which is the best way? I think Willie knew. Do you?

Willie was an only child. He had large blue eyes, fair curling hair, and dimpled cheeks; but I am sorry to say his cheeks were pale, for his constitution was very delicate, and, though a frolicksome little fellow, he very soon tired of play, and his greatest pleasure was to sit by his mother and listen to some interesting story.

Solomon has written in the Good Book that "even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure, and whether it be right." Children should never forget this. Willie tried to remember it; for he was so obedient, so thoughtful, and so loving, that I am sure, if he is permitted to live, he will grow up a good man.

While Willie was playing, his kind mother, true to her promise, went into the next room, where was a large book-case, to try and find some story that would interest and amuse her little son. Presently she opened a book, in which she chanced upon a story which she thought she could so simplify to his childish understanding as to interest him exceedingly. At this moment, Willie came bounding in – a delicate bloom on his cheeks, and his blue eyes sparkling.

"Well, dear mamma," he cried eagerly, and catching his breath, "I have played ball till my breath is as short as my nose. Is that enough?"

"Quite enough," said his mother, laughing. "Come and sit down, and in a few minutes, I hope, your breath will grow as long as your arm. I think I have a very nice story for you. It is about a fox and some other animals. It was written by a great author. As it is written, it will be almost too old for a little fellow like you, but I will make it younger if I can."

"Oh, that will be excellent!" said Willie, sitting down by his mother and rubbing his hands in a great state of delight. "A fox – only think! Will he talk? I hope he will; and I hope there will be giants and fairies, and – and very good children, and very bad boys, and – oh, every thing!"

His mother laughed again, and said, "There are only animals in this story, but it is very long."

"That's perfect," cried Willie, "I could listen to stories all day and all night; I hope this will last twice as long as possible – I mean," continued he, as his mother laughed at "possible," "very long, indeed, you know."

And now he settled himself on his little bench by the side of his mother, and, folding his hands, fixed his blue eyes upon her face as she began:

THE WOOING OF MASTER FOX

"Once upon a time two very respectable cats, of very old family, had an only daughter, so amiable and beautiful that she was quite the belle of the place."

"How 'belle?'" said Willie.

"Why, she was the best and most beautiful young lady, and received all the presents and attentions."

"Oh, yes!" said Willie.

"Her skin was of the most delicate tortoiseshell; her paws were smoother than velvet; and her fine, white whiskers were twelve inches long, at the least; and then, above all, her eyes, instead of being green, were a lovely hazel, and so gentle that it was quite astonishing in a cat.

"When she was about two years and a half old she was left an orphan – poor thing! with a large fortune. Of course, she had a great many lovers who wanted to marry her; but, without troubling you with all the rest, I will come at once to the two rivals – the dog and the fox.

"Now Beppo, the dog, was a handsome, honest, straightforward, affectionate fellow; and he knew it, for he said:

"'I don't wonder at my cousin's refusing Bruin the bear, and Gauntgrim the wolf. To be sure, they give themselves great airs, and call themselves "noble;" but what then? – Bruin is always in the sulks, and Gauntgrim always in a passion. A cat, of any sense, would lead a miserable life with them. As for me, I am very good-tempered – when I am not put out; and I have no fault, that I know of, except that of being angry, and growling when I am disturbed at my meals. I am young and very good-looking, fond of play and amusement; and, altogether, as amiable a husband as a cat could find in a summer's day. If she marries me, well and good; if not, I hope I shan't be so much in love as to forget that there are other cats in the world.'

"So saying, Beppo threw his tail over his back, and set off to see the cat, as gay as a lark in the spring.

"But the fox had heard him talking to himself – for a fox is always meanly peeping about, into holes and corners, and listening where he has no business – and he burst out a-laughing as soon as Beppo was out of sight.

"'Ho – ho, my fine fellow!' said he, 'not quite so fast, if you please; you've got the fox for a rival, let me tell you.'

"Now, the fox is a beast that can never do any thing without a mean trick; and the cunning fellow was determined to put Beppo's nose out of joint by arriving at the cat's house first. But this was no easy matter; for though Reynard – "

"Reynard?" said Willie.

"That was the fox's name. Reynard could run faster than Beppo for a little way, but he was no match for him in a long journey. 'However,' said Reynard to himself, 'those good-natured creatures are never very wise; I think I know how to fix him.' With that the fox trotted off, by a short cut in the woods, and, getting before the dog, laid himself down by a hole in the earth, and began to make such a dismal howling that you could have heard him a mile off.

"Beppo, on hearing this dismal noise, was terribly frightened. 'See now,' said he, 'if the poor fox has not got himself into some scrape. Those cunning creatures are always in mischief; I'm thankful it never comes into my head to be cunning,' and the good-natured fellow ran off as fast as he could, to see what was the matter with the fox.

"'Oh dear! Oh murder!' cried Reynard, 'what shall I do, what shall I do? my poor little sister has gotten into this hole, and I can't get her out; she'll certainly be smothered,' and he burst out a howling again, more piteously than before.

"'But, my dear Reynard,' said Beppo, 'why don't you go in after your sister?'

"'Ah! oh! you may well ask that,' said the fox; 'but in trying to get in, don't you perceive that I have sprained my back, and can't stir? O dear me! what shall I do if my poor little sister gets smothered?'

"'Pray don't vex yourself,' answered Beppo, 'I'll get her out in an instant;' and with that he forced himself, with great difficulty, into the hole.

"No sooner did the fox see that poor Beppo was fairly in, than he rolled a great stone to the mouth of the hole, and fitted it so tight that Beppo, not being able to turn round and scratch against it with his fore paws, was made a close prisoner, poor fellow.