In the meantime there had been a lively scene at John Peerybingle’s, for little Mrs. Peerybingle naturally couldn’t think of going anywhere without the baby; and to get the baby ready took time.
Not that there was so much of the baby, but there was so much to do about it, and it all had to be done by easy stages. For instance, when the baby was got, by hook or by crook, to a certain point in dressing, and you might have supposed that another touch or two would finish him off, and turn him out a tiptop baby, he was unexpectedly extinguished in a warm nightgown, and hustled off to bed; where he simmered, so to speak, between sheets and blankets, for the best part of an hour.
From this place of inaction, he was recalled, shining very much, and roaring violently, to partake of his luncheon. After which, he went to sleep again.
Then Mrs. Peerybingle took the opportunity to make herself look as fine as possible, and Miss Slowboy put on her best bib-and-tucker.
By this time, the baby, being all alive again, was dressed by the united efforts of Mrs. Peerybingle and Miss Slowboy, and put into his cream-colored coat and flannel cap; and so, in course of time, they all three got to the door, where John’s old horse stood tearing up the road with impatient autographs, and from where Boxer might be seen a little distance down the road, looking back, tempting the horse to come on without orders.
If you think that Mrs. Peerybingle needed a chair or anything of that kind to help her climb into the cart, you are mistaken, or you don’t know John Peerybingle, for before you could have seen him, he lifted her from the ground; and there she was in place, fresh and rosy, saying, “Oh, John, how can you!”
“All ready?” asked John, starting off, after Miss Slowboy and the baby were in place.
“John, you’ve got the basket with the veal-and-ham-pie and other things?” asked Dot. “If you haven’t, you must turn around again this very minute.”
“You’re a nice little article,” replied the carrier, “to be talking about turning round after keeping me a full quarter of an hour behind my time.”
“I am sorry for it, John,” said Dot, “but I really could not think of going to Bertha’s—I would not do it, John, on any account—without the veal-and-ham-pie and things. Whoa!” This last word was addressed to the horse, who didn’t mind at all.