FISH POND
were pinned, while standing near were fishing rods and lines, with hooks made out of wire. With these the children were to fish, throwing the lines over the curtain and into a box filled with toys of various kinds, which a boy fastened upon the hooks as fast as they came over.
At last everything was ready. The drapery had been taken from the windows and the pictures from the walls; the furniture had been removed from the rooms, which looked bare and empty enough, I assure you. There were curtains before the doors of the library where the tableaux were to be, and on the piano stood the big shoe where Louise was to sit and sell her three dozen dolls. There were loaves and loaves of cake in the kitchen, which served as the restaurant, and gallons of ice-cream in the freezers. And all over the town the excited children were getting ready, and watching for the sun to set and the clock to point the hour when it was time for them to start.
CHAPTER VI.
THE NIGHT OF THE FAIR.
It seemed a very inhospitable thing to close the doors of one’s house, and let in only those who paid for the admittance; but it had been decided that such should be the rule, and so at precisely six o’clock every door was locked, and the boys who were to tend them waited with an air of great importance for the ring which was to herald the first arrival, and put the first dime in their box. They had not long to wait, for the children were prompt to time, and came in groups of half-dozens, and dozens, and scores, until the boys who kept the doors became confused and bewildered, and gladly gave up their post to some one who was older, and could better stem the tide of human beings pouring in so fast, and filling the lower rooms till there was hardly a place to stand. It was a great jam,—the greatest which had ever been in town. Four hundred people were present, and, in an inconceivably short space of time, the tables upstairs were cleared, and then the crowd came surging down to the parlors, and gathered round the candy-table, which was emptied in a few moments,—for the little peddlers, Lily and Kitty and Jennie and Lena and Ada and Emma and Nellie, did their part well, and no one could refuse to buy when asked by so beautiful little girls. There were pictures, too, contributed by one of our finest artists, and these sold rapidly, until only two were left,—one of Horace Greeley, and another of some scene in Germany.
Then came the tableaux. The first, called the “Red, White, and Blue,” was a group of three little girls,—Lizzie, Susie, and Lulu,—each wearing a white dress, and a sash of the color she represented, ornamented with stars. Around them were gathered the children,—three of whom sang the popular air, “Red, White, and Blue,” while all joined in the chorus,—the boys’ voices rising loud and shrill with their “Three cheers for the Red, White, and Blue!”
I wish you could have seen the next tableau, called the “Bridal of Tom Thumb,” where Maria, in her long tarletan dress and flowing veil, with the orange blossoms in her hair, stood for Lavinia Warren: and little Maggie Holmes, only three years old, represented Minnie,—her soft, blue eyes looking shyly out from under their long lashes at the people, who set up loud shouts of laughter at the sight of the comical-looking party. There was Wallie, as Tom Thumb, in his swallow-tailed coat, with his white vest and white cravat, just putting the ring on Maria’s finger; while beside him was Little Josey Allen, similarly attired, and making the drollest figure you ever saw, as, with his thumb in his white vest, he stood erect and still,—making a better Commodore than the Commodore himself,—while Willie Campbell, in surplice made of a sheet, was supposed to perform the ceremony. As you may imagine, Maria and Maggie, Wallie and Josey, were the stars of the evening; but the poor little girls, in their long, trailing dresses, were almost as helpless as the ladies of China are with their little feet; and they had to be carried around in gentlemen’s arms, and shown to the people who had been unable to see them distinctly.
“Santa Claus” came next; and Mason, with his white hair, and beard, and furs, made a capital St. Nick, and elicited peals of laughter as he drove in his eight reindeer, each with pasteboard horns tied on his head, and his name pinned on his back in large capitals. There were Dasher and Dancer, and Prancer and Vixen. There were Comet and Cupid, and Dunder and Blitzen; and the little bells about their necks made a soft, tinkling sound, as they shook their horned heads, and pranced in imitation of deer, while waiting for their master to fill the sleeping children’s stockings with toys. Then, with a bound, St. Nick sprang into his sleigh, and the little cortege passed on through the parlor and hall and sitting-room and dining-room, and so out of sight.
There was a post-office, too, and the mail was drawn by eight little boys, with red plumes on their heads, and driven again by Mason, who showed great skill in the management of his horses and reindeer. Close beside the boys ran little Sammie Field, with the words “This-is-a-Colt,” pinned on his back; and I assure you that kicking colt attracted quite as much attention as the eight plumed horses did. The letters, which sold for five and ten cents each, made a great deal of fun, and added to the general hilarity of the evening.