Bubbles are pretty things, but the keeping them in air grows wearisome after a while. About this time the rainbow bubble set afloat by the kind Fairy for the sleeping Prince began to misbehave itself. Contrary winds seized it; it flew wildly, now here, now there; and, instead of sailing steadily, it was first up, then down, then up again, but more down than up. Prince John blew his hardest and did his best to keep it from sinking; for he knew, as we all do, that once let a bubble touch the earth, and all is over,—its glittering wings collapse,—they fly no more.
So the weeks went on. Unconscious of trouble, the children dug and planted in their little gardens. Each new leaf and shoot was a wonder and a delight to them. Bertha's plants flourished less than the others, because of a habit she had of digging them all up daily to see how the roots were coming on; but, except for that, all went well, and the bluest of skies stretched itself over the heads of the small gardeners. In the City, where Papa's office was, the sky was not blue at all. High winds were blowing, stormy black clouds shut out the sun. Bubbles were sinking and bursting on every side, and men's hearts were heavy and anxious. Prince John did his best. He watched his bubble anxiously, and followed it far. It was fairy-blessed, as I said, and its wings were stronger than bubble's wings usually are; but at last the day came when it could soar no longer. The pretty shining sphere hovered, sank, touched a rock, and in a minute—hey! presto!—there was no bubble there; it had utterly disappeared, and Prince Frisbie, with a very sober face, walked home to tell his wife that he had lost every thing they had in the world. This was not a pleasant or an easy thing to do, as you can readily imagine.
The children never forgot this evening. They used to vaguely refer to it among themselves as "That time, you know." Papa came in very quiet and pale, and shut himself up with Mamma. She—poor soul!—was much distressed, and sobbed and cried. They heard her as they came downstairs dressed for the evening, and it frightened them. Papa, coming out after a while, found them huddled together in a dismayed little group in the corner of the entry.
"O Papa! is it any thing dreadful?" asked May. "Is Mamma sick?"
"No, not sick, darling, but very much troubled about something. Come with me and I will explain it to you." Then Papa led them into the dining-room; and, with Bertha on his knee and the others close to him, he told them that he had lost a great deal of money (almost all he had), and they would have to sell the place, and go and live in a little house somewhere,—he didn't yet know exactly where.
The children had looked downcast enough when Papa commenced, but at this point their faces brightened.
"A really little house?" exclaimed May. "O Papa! do you know, I'm glad. Little houses are so pretty and cunning, I always wanted to live in one. Susie Brown's Papa does, and Susie can go into the kitchen whenever she likes, and she toasts the bread for tea, and does all sorts of things. Do you suppose that I may toast the bread when we go to live in our little house, Papa?"
"I daresay Mamma will be glad of your help in a great many ways," replied Papa.
"Shall we be poor, very poor indeed?" demanded Bertha anxiously.
"Pretty poor for the present, I am afraid," replied her Father.