“And the cricket band struck up; and then Lucy Ann stood upon a mushroom she had had brought up in the garden for a stool, so she looked very tall and big, and she said, ‘Look at me,’ and everybody looked at her with all his eyes; ‘I am going to say something.’
“‘I’m not going to dance with any of you,’ she said; ‘for, you see, I cannot dance with all; I should be quite tired out, there are so many of you. But I must dance; so I am going to wait for my prince, for of course some one will come;’ and she smoothed down her pink gauze gown in great contentment, and fluttered her pink feather fan. ‘Now begin; I shall wait for my prince;’ and she hopped off from her mushroom stool, and the cricket band struck up their liveliest tune; and while Lucy Ann sat down by a little clump of violets at the very end of her garden, every single one of the party folks began to dance.
“Now, there was in the wood one person who didn’t happen to be invited to that party. Lucy Ann didn’t know he was there, so she couldn’t send him an invitation you see. And he had only arrived that day, being on his way to another place when he succeeded in running away from a cruel master; and when he saw the nice cool wood, he thought he would stop awhile and get rested. And then he overheard the chatter about the party, though nobody saw him; and after that he made up his mind he would stay and see it all from an overhanging tree.”
“I know what it was,” piped Phronsie in a gleeful voice; “he was a”—
“Hush—hush!” cried Ben, springing forward, and “Don’t tell, Pet,” from Polly as she rushed on.
“And when he heard Lucy Ann say that about her prince, and waiting for him to come and dance with her, he said to himself,—
“‘Why shouldn’t I be the prince?’ and the next minute he was combing his hair, and prinking up, and then he was ready.”
“Oh! oh!” screamed all those who hadn’t heard the story in the little snow-house; and Joel kept nudging Van and saying, “Didn’t I tell you it was a prime one?”
“Well, it was getting pretty late now, you know, for the prince was so anxious to look nice, he took a good deal of time to prink up; and Lucy Ann began to look sad, and she called Betserilda, who had to stand perfectly still behind the clump of violets. ‘I am really afraid I shall have to cry,’ said Lucy Ann; ‘for my prince doesn’t come, and I don’t know what to do, for my tears will make it so wet in the garden that they will all get cold;’ and just then up came the prince, his cap in his hand, along the stairway, and there was the sweetest, dearest little monkey you ever saw in a red coat, standing before her!” cried Polly, with a sudden flourish, and jumping to her feet.