"I'd like to give you a week's warning, ma'am, the place don't suit me," said the red-faced cook, with her arms akimbo.
"Don't be impertinent, Skillet! You can go tomorrow, if you wish, but till then behave yourself," and Mrs. Prance retired with dignity.
Dressing her tired countenance in smiles, she went to welcome her undesired guests, and thank them for "this unexpected pleasure." Mr. William Wisp and Mr. Robin Goodfellow were two very elegant little gentlemen, with ruffled shirt-fronts, eye-glasses, and curled-up mustaches, quite splendid to behold. They chatted with their host and hostess in the most affable manner, affecting not to see that Mr. Prance's face grew more and more stern every minute, and that poor Mrs. Prance cast despairing glances at the clock, which plainly said "half-past three."
It really was becoming awkward, when Buttons announced, "Dinner, ma'am," and the cloud lifted suddenly from the faces of all. Skillet had done her best, fearing she wouldn't get her wages if she didn't; and the first course did very well.
Greasy warm water, flavored with pepper, was so like a French soup no one knew the difference, and everybody took a few sips and pretended to like it; but to airy creatures, fed on sun and dew, it wasn't nice, of course. There was no fish, for the tin ones melted in the frying-pan; and there was no time to get any more. The wooden leg of mutton got burnt in the oven, and the painted vegetables were not very satisfactory, though they looked quite fine. Mr. Prance frowned as he chipped away at the meat, and Mrs. Prance wanted to sob behind her napkin as he gave her a black look, saying sternly,—
"Mrs. P., your cook is unbearable. I desire that you will dismiss her at once."
"I have, my dear," meekly answered his wife; and then good-natured Mr. Wisp struck in with a droll anecdote, while every one pecked at the painted feast, and was glad when the pudding came.
Here was another blow; for instead of leaving the pea in its skin, and sending it up a nice, round little pudding, Skillet had taken the skin off as if it was the cloth it was boiled in, and nothing remained but a mealy ruin. Mrs. Prance groaned, and then coughed to hide the sound of woe, and served out her dish with the calmness of despair. The jelly didn't go round, the cook had eaten so much on the sly; and when the wine came, Mr. Prance looked disgusted, it was so weak. However, the nuts and raisins were all right; and after one sip of currant-water, in answer to the gentlemen when they drank her health, unhappy Mrs. Prance left the table, wishing that she never had been born.
Trip was a clever little sprite, and entered into the spirit of her part so heartily that she really dropped a tear or two as she sat alone in her fine drawing-room. Presently the gentlemen came to say good-by, for they were going to try Prance's horses. Tired Mrs. Prance wished her husband would ask her to join them,—a drive would be so refreshing; but he only nodded grimly, and went away without a word. Mrs. Prance immediately took to her bed, for she was to have a party in the evening, and feared she never would live through it if she didn't rest.
But very little repose did the poor lady get that afternoon, for the children acted as if possessed. Flibberty-Gibbet fell off his rocking-horse and broke the bridge of his nose. Midget set her little dress a-fire, and frightened every one out of their wits. Poppet ran out of the back gate, and was lost for a whole hour; while Weewee, the baby, had a fit, owing to Mrs. Byelow's giving him a pickle when he cried for it. If poor, dear Mrs. Prance was hustled off her bed once that afternoon, she was a dozen times, and at last gave it up entirely, whipped the children all round, scolded every servant in the house, had a good cry and a strong cup of tea, and felt better.