We well knew—for didn't we go out twice to look?—how splendidly the light streamed through the two windows and the eight holes. Why, the chickens knew it, too, on their perches, for they opened one sleepy eye after another, solemnly changed legs, and dozed off again. Those long rays of light, playing truant, ran down the lane and flashed into the very eyes of naughty Billy Quinn, who was going home from a visit, whistling, and with his hands in his pockets.
Of course the dolls arrived promptly, and took off their shawls in the best bedroom, which was that convenient shelf that was turned into anything on short notice. The baby-dolls had to go early to bed under the table, and you can imagine how much pleasanter it is to say, "Bed-time, children!" than to have it said to you. Mrs. Green was a perfect little Mrs. Herod in her treatment of her children. Indeed, their yells under punishment were heart-rending; but when she was only dear Katy she was tender as one of those cooing doves.
So we ate up the ice-cream, and turned the tea-pot upside down to squeeze out the last drop of chocolate-tea. Mrs. Green was just doing this very thing when the most dreadful event happened. Crash!—bang!—clatter!—the whole world had turned upside down. Out went the lights, and everything fell together in a dismal heap; but whether up or down nobody could tell. There was a splash of cold, cold water in my face as the wash-bowl and pitcher fell and crashed beside me. Katy lay with her small nose buried in the butter-plate. The house had tumbled over!!
For a few seconds not a sound was heard, but then there was a half-stifled burst of laughter, which quickly died away as some thickly shod feet scampered down the alley. Yes, the beautiful house was tipped over, and the tea-party put out, as an extinguisher is slipped over a candle, or a hat clapped upon a butterfly. Inside, there was a confused heap, with legs uppermost,—table-legs, chair-legs, little legs clad in white stockings, and, mixed hopelessly up with these, the dolls, the dishes, the candles.
THE TEA-PARTY.
This heap, however, was silent only for a moment. Then a feeble cry struggled up through it,—a cry which, reaching the upper air, grew loud, doubled itself, became two cries, and rushed out through a window, which, having lost its way, was where the roof ought to be. Then growing fast and shrill, the cry ran toward the house, waking up the Brown baby, who at once joined in. The rooster waked suddenly, and feeling that something had happened, thought it could do no harm to crow, and that agitated his household to the last hen. Then to the cackling and crowing, Beppo added a bark of duty, and nearly turned inside out, tugging at his chain, and howling between times. The canary began his scales, and the scream grew and grew and rushed into the house through every door and window. Uncle John was reading the paper, but, hearing the fearful uproar, he dashed into the yard, turned back the house with one hand, with the other picked out from the heap of legs all the white ones, and dragged us from the wreck of our residence. It was quickly done, but not too soon, for a little flame, which was hiding under the close mass of ruins, now hopped merrily up on the tarletan skirts of Alice Isabella, the prettiest of the dolls.
While we were being taken to grandma to be cried over and comforted, and the poor old house lay on its side forgotten, that flame finished off poor dolly, ran up to the roof, ate up the red-striped curtain in the twinkling of an eye, and, in fact, made short work of the whole thing. We knew nothing of this that night, but were so honored and indulged as to make us think everything else had turned a new leaf as well as the house.
The next morning, grandma, coming into the breakfast-room, was called to the window by Uncle John, who was looking at something in the yard. There was a forlorn little figure sitting on a log among the charred embers of the burnt house. It was I, sobbing as if my heart would break, and beside me was Katy, who stood sadly by, trying with a corner of her apron to dry my tears. But her eyes were wet, too, and in the fat arms were squeezed a leg and shoe, which was all that was left of Alice Isabella.
What wicked eye had watched the festivities through the window, or what cruel heart had yielded to the temptation to turn over the house upon it all, we never knew. I heard that Billy Quinn was punished that night for coming home late to supper, and now, looking impartially at the matter over all these years, I am inclined to think it was that very Billy Quinn, and no other, who put out the tea-party.