“Drop your shoe,” whispered Mrs. Jo’s voice as the lady was about to sit down.
“Oh, I fordot!” and, taking off one of the silvery slippers, Cinderella planted it carefully in the middle of the stage, said to Rob, “Now you must try and tatch me,” and ran away, while the Prince, picking up the shoe, obediently trotted after her.
The third scene, as everybody knows, is where the herald comes to try on the shoe. Teddy, still in coachman’s dress, came in blowing a tin fish-horn melodiously, and the proud sisters each tried to put on the slipper. Nan insisted on playing cut off her toe with a carving-knife, and performed that operation so well that the herald was alarmed, and begged to be “welly keerful.” Cinderella then was called, and came in with the pinafore half on, slipped her foot into the slipper, and announced, with satisfaction,—
“I am the Pinsiss.”
Daisy wept, and begged pardon; but Nan, who liked tragedy, improved upon the story, and fell in a fainting-fit upon the floor, where she remained comfortably enjoying the rest of the play. It was not long, for the Prince ran in, dropped upon his knees, and kissed the hand of Goldilocks with great ardor, while the herald blew a blast that nearly deafened the audience. The curtain had no chance to fall, for the Princess ran off the stage to her father, crying, “Didn’t I do it well?” while the Prince and herald had a fencing-match with the tin horn and wooden sword.
“It was beautiful!” said every one; and, when the raptures had a little subsided, Nat came out with his violin in his hand.
“Hush! hush!” cried all the children, and silence followed, for something in the boy’s bashful manner and appealing eyes made every one listen kindly.
The Bhaers thought he would play some of the old airs he knew so well, but, to their surprise, they heard a new and lovely melody, so softly, sweetly played, that they could hardly believe it could be Nat. It was one of those songs without words that touch the heart, and sing of all tender home-like hopes and joys, soothing and cheering those who listen to its simple music. Aunt Meg leaned her head on Demi’s shoulder, Grandmother wiped her eyes, and Mrs. Jo looked up at Mr. Laurie, saying, in a choky whisper,—
“You composed that.”
“I wanted your boy to do you honor, and thank you in his own way,” answered Laurie, leaning down to answer her.