“O, do not make troubles out of nothing, my little lass,” said Mr. Mason, “I dare say you will find something to do, though it is a wet day: beside don’t you know, that we should not complain when things are not just as we wish them to be?”
It was no wonder if poor Phebe felt rather low spirited at the prospect of a rainy day, with neither playfellows nor playthings to amuse her. It was really not much better than being at home. She followed Mrs. Mason into the dairy; but the wind and rain, beating in through the open wire-work of the window, made it so damp and chilly, that she was soon tired of standing there. Phebe thought that of all Mrs. Mason’s old-fashioned ways this was the oddest; to have a window without any glass in it! “How I wonder you do not have glass instead of wire in that window; it would be so much warmer,” said Phebe, holding her hand against her ear, that the wind might not blow into it.
“That’s the very reason why we’ve wire instead of glass, my dear,” said Mrs. Mason, laughing; “for, if we had not a great deal of air, the milk would not keep sweet.”
“O would not it, I did not know that,” said Phebe; who just now recollected what her Mamma had very often told her; that children should never attempt to teach grown people.
She returned to the kitchen again, and stood for sometime at the window, looking into the farm yard; but there was nothing to be seen but a few cows, standing as still as Phebe, and seeming not much happier.
“How I should like to have that to play with,” said Phebe, pointing to a large glass case which stood over the mantle-piece; “but I suppose I must not.”
This glass case was indeed enough to tempt any little girl, especially one who like Phebe had not any thing to do. It contained, among other things, two smiling wax dolls, drest in stiff silk frocks, with some gold lace at the bottom,—a number of shells,—a white mouse,—a peach,—and a cucumber; some in wax and some in stone, all nicely arranged, among large bunches of artificial flowers. But Mrs. Mason could not consent to have this taken down and pulled to pieces, and the mantle-piece being very high, poor Phebe’s neck ached long before she had looked at it as much as she wished.
“Dear me,” said Mrs. Mason, laying down her work, “I’ve just thought of something that will be the very thing for you. I’ve got a doll up stairs, if I’m not mistaken, that I’ve had ever since I was such another as you—how glad I am I happened to think of it.” So she went up stairs directly, in search of it; and Phebe followed close behind, wishing she would walk rather faster.
“O what a frightful looking thing!” exclaimed Phebe, as soon as she saw it; and perhaps most other little girls might have thought the same; though certainly Phebe should not have appeared so discontented, when Mrs. Mason was trying to please her. It was a large black doll, drest in a coarse white frock, which had grown very yellow and dusty with lying by. The waist was very long, with tight sleeves coming just below the elbows; and the doll had a row of pink beads round its black neck.
“I do not like it at all,” said Phebe: “I wonder you should have kept it so long; what ugly things old-fashioned people used to like!”