_ TEA was over, and the little guests made ready to go home. Cousin
Tom, declining Mrs. Legrange's invitation to dinner on plea of
another engagement, delighted Miss Minnie Wall's heart by offering
to wait upon her home, but rather injured the effect of his
politeness by taking Willy and Jerry Noble upon the other side, and
talking pegtop with them as glibly as he talked opera with the young
lady.
As for the rest, some went alone, some with their nurses, some with
each other. Little Bessie Rider was the last; and, when the nurse
did not come for her as had been promised, Mrs. Legrange bid Susan
lead her home, leaving 'Toinette in the drawing-room till her
return.
"And I must go and lie down a little before I dress for dinner,"
continued she to 'Toinette. "So, Sunshine, I shall leave you here
alone, if you will promise not to touch anything you should not, or
to go too near the fire."
The little girl promised; and, with a lingering kiss, her mother
left her.
Alone in the twilight, 'Toinette sat for a while upon the rug,
watching the bright coals as they tinkled through the grate, or
rushed in roaring flame up the chimney.
"I wish I was a fire-fairy, and lived in that big red hole right in
the middle of the fire," thought 'Toinette. "Then I would wear such
a beautiful dress just like gold, and a wreath on my head all
blazing with fire; and I would dance a-tiptoe away up the chimney
and into the sky: and perhaps I should come to heaven; no, to the
sun. I wonder if the sun is heaven for the fire-fairies, and I
wonder if they dance in the sunset."
So 'Toinette jumped up, and, running to one of the long windows, put
her little eager face close to the glass, and looked far away across
the square, and down the long street beyond, to the beautiful
western sky, all rosy and golden and purple with the sunset-clouds;
while just above them a great white star stood trembling in the deep
blue, as if frightened at finding itself out all alone in the night.
"No," thought 'Toinette; "I don't want to be a fire-fairy, and dance
in the sunset: I want to be a--a angel, I guess, and live in that
beautiful star. Then I'd have a dress all white and shining like
mamma's that she wore to the ball. But mamma said the little girl in
the story was naughty to like her pretty dress, and she weared a
gingham one when she was good. Guess I won't be any fairy. I'll be
Finnikin Fine, and wear a gingham gown and apron. I'll tell papa to
carry away the bracelets too. I'm going to be good like Merry that
weared a sun-bonnet."
Eager to commence the proposed reform, 'Toinette tugged at the
bracelet upon her left shoulder until she broke the clasp and tore
the pretty lace of her under-sleeve.
"Dear, dear, what a careless child!" exclaimed the little girl,
remembering the phrase so often repeated to her. "But it ain't any
matter, I guess," added she, brightening up; "for I shan't have any
under-sleeve to my gingham dress. Susan's aunt doesn't."
'Toinette paused, with her hand upon the other bracelet trying to
remember whether Susan, or the little girl who came to see her, was
the aunt. The question was not settled, when the sound of music in
the street below attracted 'Toinette's attention. Clinging to the
window-ledge so as to see over the iron railing of the balcony, she
peeped down, and saw a small dark man walking slowly by the house,
turning the crank of a hand-organ which he carried at his side. Upon
the organ was perched a monkey, dressed in a red coat with gilt
buttons, a little cocked hat, and blue trousers. He was busily
eating a seed-cake; pausing now and then to look about him in a sort
of anxious way, chattering all the while as if he thought some one
wanted to take it away from him.
'Toinette had never before seen a monkey; and she stared at this one
in great surprise and delight, taking him for a little man, and his
inarticulate chattering for words in some foreign language such as
she had sometimes heard spoken.
The music also suited the little girl's ear better than the best
strains of the Italian opera would have done; and altogether she was
resolved to see and hear more both of the monkey and the music.
"Mamma's asleep, and Susan gone out; so I can't ask leave, but I'll
only stay a little tiny minute, and tell the little man what is his
name, and what he is saying," reasoned the pretty runaway, primly
wrapping herself in her mother's breakfast-shawl left lying upon the
sofa, and tying her handkerchief over her head.
"Now I's decent, and the cold won't catch me," murmured she,
regarding herself in the mirror with much satisfaction, and then
running softly down stairs. Susan, thinking she should be back
directly, had left the catch-latch of the front-door fastened up: so
'Toinette had only to turn the great silver handle of the other
latch; and this, by putting both hands to it and using all her
strength, she finally succeeded in doing, although she could not
close the door behind her. Leaving it ajar, 'Toinette ran down the
steps, and looked eagerly along the square until she discovered the
hand-organ man with his monkey just turning the corner, and flew
after him as fast as her little feet would carry her. But, with all
her haste, the man had already turned another corner before she
overtook him, and was walking, more quickly than he had yet done,
down a narrow street. He was not playing now; but the monkey, who
had finished his cake, was climbing over his master's shoulders,
running down his arms and back, chattering, grinning, making faces,
and evidently having a little game of romps on his own account.
'Toinette, very much amused, tripped along behind, talking as fast
as the monkey, and asking all manner of questions, to none of which
either monkey or man made any reply; while all the time the
beautiful rosy light was fading out of the west, and the streets
were growing dark and crowded; and as the organ-grinder, followed by
'Toinette, turned from one into another, each was dirtier and
narrower and more disagreeable than the last.
All at once, the man, after hesitating for a moment, dashed across
the street, and into a narrow alley opposite. Two or three
dirt-carts were passing at the same time; and 'Toinette, afraid to
follow, stood upon the edge of the sidewalk, looking wistfully after
him, and beginning to wonder if she ought not to be going home.
While she wondered, a number of rude boys came rushing by; and,
either by accident or malice, the largest one, in passing the little
girl, pushed her so roughly, that she stumbled off the sidewalk
altogether, and fell into the gutter.
A little hurt, a good deal frightened, and still more indignant,
'Toinette picked herself up, and looked ruefully at the mud upon her
pretty dress, but would not allow herself to cry, as she longed to
do.
"If I'd got my gingham dress on, it wouldn't do so much harm,"
thought she, her mind returning to the story she had that afternoon
heard; and then all at once an anxious longing for home and mother
seized the little heart, and sent the tiny feet flying up the narrow
street as fast as they could move. But, at the corner, 'Toinette,
who never had seen the street before, took the wrong turn; and,
although she ran as fast as she could, every step now led her
farther from home, and deeper into the squalid by-streets and
alleys, among which she was lost. _