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<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Holiday Romance, by Charles Dickens</div>
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<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Holiday Romance<br />
In Four Parts</div>
<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Charles Dickens</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 7, 1997 [eBook #809]<br />
[Most recently updated: June 8, 2021]</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div>
<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Price</div>
<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOLIDAY ROMANCE ***</div>
<h1>HOLIDAY ROMANCE<br />
In Four Parts</h1>
<h2>PART I.<br />
<span class="GutSmall">INTRODUCTORY ROMANCE PROM THE PEN OF
WILLIAM TINKLING, ESQ.</span> <a name="citation251"></a><a
href="#footnote251" class="citation">[251]</a></h2>
<p><span class="smcap">This</span> beginning-part is not made out
of anybody’s head, you know. It’s real.
You must believe this beginning-part more than what comes after,
else you won’t understand how what comes after came to be
written. You must believe it all; but you must believe this
most, please. I am the editor of it. Bob Redforth
(he’s my cousin, and shaking the table on purpose) wanted
to be the editor of it; but I said he shouldn’t because he
couldn’t. <i>He</i> has no idea of being an
editor.</p>
<p>Nettie Ashford is my bride. We were married in the
right-hand closet in the corner of the dancing-school, where
first we met, with a ring (a green one) from Wilkingwater’s
toy-shop. <i>I</i> owed for it out of my
pocket-money. When the rapturous ceremony was over, we all
four went up the lane and let off a cannon (brought loaded in Bob
Redforth’s waistcoat-pocket) to announce our
nuptials. It flew right up when it went off, and turned
over. Next day, Lieut.-Col. Robin Redforth was united, with
similar ceremonies, to Alice Rainbird. This time the cannon
burst with a most terrific explosion, and made a puppy bark.</p>
<p>My peerless bride was, at the period of which we now treat, in
captivity at Miss Grimmer’s. Drowvey and Grimmer is
the partnership, and opinion is divided which is the greatest
beast. The lovely bride of the colonel was also immured in
the dungeons of the same establishment. A vow was entered
into, between the colonel and myself, that we would cut them out
on the following Wednesday when walking two and two.</p>
<p>Under the desperate circumstances of the case, the active
brain of the colonel, combining with his lawless pursuit (he is a
pirate), suggested an attack with fireworks. This, however,
from motives of humanity, was abandoned as too expensive.</p>
<p>Lightly armed with a paper-knife buttoned up under his jacket,
and waving the dreaded black flag at the end of a cane, the
colonel took command of me at two <span
class="GutSmall">P.M.</span> on the eventful and appointed
day. He had drawn out the plan of attack on a piece of
paper, which was rolled up round a hoop-stick. He showed it
to me. My position and my full-length portrait (but my real
ears don’t stick out horizontal) was behind a corner
lamp-post, with written orders to remain there till I should see
Miss Drowvey fall. The Drowvey who was to fall was the one
in spectacles, not the one with the large lavender bonnet.
At that signal I was to rush forth, seize my bride, and fight my
way to the lane. There a junction would be effected between
myself and the colonel; and putting our brides behind us, between
ourselves and the palings, we were to conquer or die.</p>
<p>The enemy appeared,—approached. Waving his black
flag, the colonel attacked. Confusion ensued.
Anxiously I awaited my signal; but my signal came not. So
far from falling, the hated Drowvey in spectacles appeared to me
to have muffled the colonel’s head in his outlawed banner,
and to be pitching into him with a parasol. The one in the
lavender bonnet also performed prodigies of valour with her fists
on his back. Seeing that all was for the moment lost, I
fought my desperate way hand to hand to the lane. Through
taking the back road, I was so fortunate as to meet nobody, and
arrived there uninterrupted.</p>
<p>It seemed an age ere the colonel joined me. He had been
to the jobbing tailor’s to be sewn up in several places,
and attributed our defeat to the refusal of the detested Drowvey
to fall. Finding her so obstinate, he had said to her,
‘Die, recreant!’ but had found her no more open to
reason on that point than the other.</p>
<p>My blooming bride appeared, accompanied by the colonel’s
bride, at the dancing-school next day. What? Was her
face averted from me? Hah? Even so. With a look
of scorn, she put into my hand a bit of paper, and took another
partner. On the paper was pencilled, ‘Heavens!
Can I write the word? Is my husband a cow?’</p>
<p>In the first bewilderment of my heated brain, I tried to think
what slanderer could have traced my family to the ignoble animal
mentioned above. Vain were my endeavours. At the end
of that dance I whispered the colonel to come into the
cloak-room, and I showed him the note.</p>
<p>‘There is a syllable wanting,’ said he, with a
gloomy brow.</p>
<p>‘Hah! What syllable?’ was my inquiry.</p>
<p>‘She asks, can she write the word? And no; you see
she couldn’t,’ said the colonel, pointing out the
passage.</p>
<p>‘And the word was?’ said I.</p>
<p>‘Cow—cow—coward,’ hissed the
pirate-colonel in my ear, and gave me back the note.</p>
<p>Feeling that I must for ever tread the earth a branded
boy,—person I mean,—or that I must clear up my
honour, I demanded to be tried by a court-martial. The
colonel admitted my right to be tried. Some difficulty was
found in composing the court, on account of the Emperor of
France’s aunt refusing to let him come out. He was to
be the president. Ere yet we had appointed a substitute, he
made his escape over the back-wall, and stood among us, a free
monarch.</p>
<p>The court was held on the grass by the pond. I
recognised, in a certain admiral among my judges, my deadliest
foe. A cocoa-nut had given rise to language that I could
not brook; but confiding in my innocence, and also in the
knowledge that the President of the United States (who sat next
him) owed me a knife, I braced myself for the ordeal.</p>
<p>It was a solemn spectacle, that court. Two executioners
with pinafores reversed led me in. Under the shade of an
umbrella I perceived my bride, supported by the bride of the
pirate-colonel. The president, having reproved a little
female ensign for tittering, on a matter of life or death, called
upon me to plead, ‘Coward or no coward, guilty or not
guilty?’ I pleaded in a firm tone, ‘No coward
and not guilty.’ (The little female ensign being
again reproved by the president for misconduct, mutinied, left
the court, and threw stones.)</p>
<p>My implacable enemy, the admiral, conducted the case against
me. The colonel’s bride was called to prove that I
had remained behind the corner lamp-post during the
engagement. I might have been spared the anguish of my own
bride’s being also made a witness to the same point, but
the admiral knew where to wound me. Be still, my soul, no
matter. The colonel was then brought forward with his
evidence.</p>
<p>It was for this point that I had saved myself up, as the
turning-point of my case. Shaking myself free of my
guards,—who had no business to hold me, the stupids, unless
I was found guilty,—I asked the colonel what he considered
the first duty of a soldier? Ere he could reply, the
President of the United States rose and informed the court, that
my foe, the admiral, had suggested ‘Bravery,’ and
that prompting a witness wasn’t fair. The president
of the court immediately ordered the admiral’s mouth to be
filled with leaves, and tied up with string. I had the
satisfaction of seeing the sentence carried into effect before
the proceedings went further.</p>
<p>I then took a paper from my trousers-pocket, and asked,
‘What do you consider, Col. Redford, the first duty
of a soldier? Is it obedience?’</p>
<p>‘It is,’ said the colonel.</p>
<p>‘Is that paper—please to look at it—in your
hand?’</p>
<p>‘It is,’ said the colonel.</p>
<p>‘Is it a military sketch?’</p>
<p>‘It is,’ said the colonel.</p>
<p>‘Of an engagement?’</p>
<p>‘Quite so,’ said the colonel.</p>
<p>‘Of the late engagement?’</p>
<p>‘Of the late engagement.’</p>
<p>‘Please to describe it, and then hand it to the
president of the court.’</p>
<p>From that triumphant moment my sufferings and my dangers were
at an end. The court rose up and jumped, on discovering
that I had strictly obeyed orders. My foe, the admiral, who
though muzzled was malignant yet, contrived to suggest that I was
dishonoured by having quitted the field. But the colonel
himself had done as much, and gave his opinion, upon his word and
honour as a pirate, that when all was lost the field might be
quitted without disgrace. I was going to be found ‘No
coward and not guilty,’ and my blooming bride was going to
be publicly restored to my arms in a procession, when an
unlooked-for event disturbed the general rejoicing. This
was no other than the Emperor of France’s aunt catching
hold of his hair. The proceedings abruptly terminated, and
the court tumultuously dissolved.</p>
<p>It was when the shades of the next evening but one were
beginning to fall, ere yet the silver beams of Luna touched the
earth, that four forms might have been descried slowly advancing
towards the weeping willow on the borders of the pond, the now
deserted scene of the day before yesterday’s agonies and
triumphs. On a nearer approach, and by a practised eye,
these might have been identified as the forms of the
pirate-colonel with his bride, and of the day before
yesterday’s gallant prisoner with his bride.</p>
<p>On the beauteous faces of the Nymphs dejection sat
enthroned. All four reclined under the willow for some
minutes without speaking, till at length the bride of the colonel
poutingly observed, ‘It’s of no use pretending any
more, and we had better give it up.’</p>
<p>‘Hah!’ exclaimed the pirate.
‘Pretending?’</p>
<p>‘Don’t go on like that; you worry me,’
returned his bride.</p>
<p>The lovely bride of Tinkling echoed the incredible
declaration. The two warriors exchanged stony glances.</p>
<p>‘If,’ said the bride of the pirate-colonel,
‘grown-up people WON’T do what they ought to do, and
WILL put us out, what comes of our pretending?’</p>
<p>‘We only get into scrapes,’ said the bride of
Tinkling.</p>
<p>‘You know very well,’ pursued the colonel’s
bride, ‘that Miss Drowvey wouldn’t fall. You
complained of it yourself. And you know how disgracefully
the court-martial ended. As to our marriage; would my
people acknowledge it at home?’</p>
<p>‘Or would my people acknowledge ours?’ said the
bride of Tinkling.</p>
<p>Again the two warriors exchanged stony glances.</p>
<p>‘If you knocked at the door and claimed me, after you
were told to go away,’ said the colonel’s bride,
‘you would only have your hair pulled, or your ears, or
your nose.’</p>
<p>‘If you persisted in ringing at the bell and claiming
me,’ said the bride of Tinkling to that gentleman,
‘you would have things dropped on your head from the window
over the handle, or you would be played upon by the
garden-engine.’</p>
<p>‘And at your own homes,’ resumed the bride of the
colonel, ‘it would be just as bad. You would be sent
to bed, or something equally undignified. Again, how would
you support us?’</p>
<p>The pirate-colonel replied in a courageous voice, ‘By
rapine!’ But his bride retorted, ‘Suppose the
grown-up people wouldn’t be rapined?’
‘Then,’ said the colonel, ‘they should pay the
penalty in blood.’—‘But suppose they should
object,’ retorted his bride, ‘and wouldn’t pay
the penalty in blood or anything else?’</p>
<p>A mournful silence ensued.</p>
<p>‘Then do you no longer love me, Alice?’ asked the
colonel.</p>
<p>‘Redforth! I am ever thine,’ returned his
bride.</p>
<p>‘Then do you no longer love me, Nettie?’ asked the
present writer.</p>
<p>‘Tinkling! I am ever thine,’ returned my
bride.</p>
<p>We all four embraced. Let me not be misunderstood by the
giddy. The colonel embraced his own bride, and I embraced
mine. But two times two make four.</p>
<p>‘Nettie and I,’ said Alice mournfully, ‘have
been considering our position. The grown-up people are too
strong for us. They make us ridiculous. Besides, they
have changed the times. William Tinkling’s baby
brother was christened yesterday. What took place?
Was any king present? Answer, William.’</p>
<p>I said No, unless disguised as Great-uncle Chopper.</p>
<p>‘Any queen?’</p>
<p>There had been no queen that I knew of at our house.
There might have been one in the kitchen: but I didn’t
think so, or the servants would have mentioned it.</p>
<p>‘Any fairies?’</p>
<p>None that were visible.</p>
<p>‘We had an idea among us, I think,’ said Alice,
with a melancholy smile, ‘we four, that Miss Grimmer would
prove to be the wicked fairy, and would come in at the
christening with her crutch-stick, and give the child a bad
gift. Was there anything of that sort? Answer,
William.’</p>
<p>I said that ma had said afterwards (and so she had), that
Great-uncle Chopper’s gift was a shabby one; but she
hadn’t said a bad one. She had called it shabby,
electrotyped, second-hand, and below his income.</p>
<p>‘It must be the grown-up people who have changed all
this,’ said Alice. ‘<i>We</i> couldn’t
have changed it, if we had been so inclined, and we never should
have been. Or perhaps Miss Grimmer <i>is</i> a wicked fairy
after all, and won’t act up to it because the grown-up
people have persuaded her not to. Either way, they would
make us ridiculous if we told them what we expected.’</p>
<p>‘Tyrants!’ muttered the pirate-colonel.</p>
<p>‘Nay, my Redforth,’ said Alice, ‘say not
so. Call not names, my Redforth, or they will apply to
pa.’</p>
<p>‘Let ’em,’ said the colonel. ‘I
do not care. Who’s he?’</p>
<p>Tinkling here undertook the perilous task of remonstrating
with his lawless friend, who consented to withdraw the moody
expressions above quoted.</p>
<p>‘What remains for us to do?’ Alice went on in her
mild, wise way. ‘We must educate, we must pretend in
a new manner, we must wait.’</p>
<p>The colonel clenched his teeth,—four out in front, and a
piece of another, and he had been twice dragged to the door of a
dentist-despot, but had escaped from his guards. ‘How
educate? How pretend in a new manner? How
wait?’</p>
<p>‘Educate the grown-up people,’ replied
Alice. ‘We part to-night. Yes,
Redforth,’—for the colonel tucked up his
cuffs,—‘part to-night! Let us in these next
holidays, now going to begin, throw our thoughts into something
educational for the grown-up people, hinting to them how things
ought to be. Let us veil our meaning under a mask of
romance; you, I, and Nettie. William Tinkling being the
plainest and quickest writer, shall copy out. Is it
agreed?’</p>
<p>The colonel answered sulkily, ‘I don’t
mind.’ He then asked, ‘How about
pretending?’</p>
<p>‘We will pretend,’ said Alice, ‘that we are
children; not that we are those grown-up people who won’t
help us out as they ought, and who understand us so
badly.’</p>
<p>The colonel, still much dissatisfied, growled, ‘How
about waiting?’</p>
<p>‘We will wait,’ answered little Alice, taking
Nettie’s hand in hers, and looking up to the sky, ‘we
will wait—ever constant and true—till the times have
got so changed as that everything helps us out, and nothing makes
us ridiculous, and the fairies have come back. We will
wait—ever constant and true—till we are eighty,
ninety, or one hundred. And then the fairies will send
<i>us</i> children, and we will help them out, poor pretty little
creatures, if they pretend ever so much.’</p>
<p>‘So we will, dear,’ said Nettie Ashford, taking
her round the waist with both arms and kissing her.
‘And now if my husband will go and buy some cherries for
us, I have got some money.’</p>
<p>In the friendliest manner I invited the colonel to go with me;
but he so far forgot himself as to acknowledge the invitation by
kicking out behind, and then lying down on his stomach on the
grass, pulling it up and chewing it. When I came back,
however, Alice had nearly brought him out of his vexation, and
was soothing him by telling him how soon we should all be
ninety.</p>
<p>As we sat under the willow-tree and ate the cherries (fair,
for Alice shared them out), we played at being ninety.
Nettie complained that she had a bone in her old back, and it
made her hobble; and Alice sang a song in an old woman’s
way, but it was very pretty, and we were all merry. At
least, I don’t know about merry exactly, but all
comfortable.</p>
<p>There was a most tremendous lot of cherries; and Alice always
had with her some neat little bag or box or case, to hold
things. In it that night was a tiny wine-glass. So
Alice and Nettie said they would make some cherry-wine to drink
our love at parting.</p>
<p>Each of us had a glassful, and it was delicious; and each of
us drank the toast, ‘Our love at parting.’ The
colonel drank his wine last; and it got into my head directly
that it got into his directly. Anyhow, his eyes rolled
immediately after he had turned the glass upside down; and he
took me on one side and proposed in a hoarse whisper, that we
should ‘Cut ‘em out still.’</p>
<p>‘How did he mean?’ I asked my lawless friend.</p>
<p>‘Cut our brides out,’ said the colonel, ‘and
then cut our way, without going down a single turning, bang to
the Spanish main!’</p>
<p>We might have tried it, though I didn’t think it would
answer; only we looked round and saw that there was nothing but
moon-light under the willow-tree, and that our pretty, pretty
wives were gone. We burst out crying. The colonel
gave in second, and came to first; but he gave in strong.</p>
<p>We were ashamed of our red eyes, and hung about for
half-an-hour to whiten them. Likewise a piece of chalk
round the rims, I doing the colonel’s, and he mine, but
afterwards found in the bedroom looking-glass not natural,
besides inflammation. Our conversation turned on being
ninety. The colonel told me he had a pair of boots that
wanted soling and heeling; but he thought it hardly worth while
to mention it to his father, as he himself should so soon be
ninety, when he thought shoes would be more convenient. The
colonel also told me, with his hand upon his hip, that he felt
himself already getting on in life, and turning rheumatic.
And I told him the same. And when they said at our house at
supper (they are always bothering about something) that I
stooped, I felt so glad!</p>
<p>This is the end of the beginning-part that you were to believe
most.</p>
<h2>PART II.<br />
<span class="GutSmall">ROMANCE. FROM THE PEN OF MISS ALICE
RAINBIRD</span> <a name="citation258"></a><a href="#footnote258"
class="citation">[258]</a></h2>
<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was once a king, and he had a
queen; and he was the manliest of his sex, and she was the
loveliest of hers. The king was, in his private profession,
under government. The queen’s father had been a
medical man out of town.</p>
<p>They had nineteen children, and were always having more.
Seventeen of these children took care of the baby; and Alicia,
the eldest, took care of them all. Their ages varied from
seven years to seven months.</p>
<p>Let us now resume our story.</p>
<p>One day the king was going to the office, when he stopped at
the fishmonger’s to buy a pound and a half of salmon not
too near the tail, which the queen (who was a careful
housekeeper) had requested him to send home. Mr. Pickles,
the fishmonger, said, ‘Certainly, sir; is there any other
article? Good-morning.’</p>
<p>The king went on towards the office in a melancholy mood; for
quarter-day was such a long way off, and several of the dear
children were growing out of their clothes. He had not
proceeded far, when Mr. Pickles’s errand-boy came running
after him, and said, ‘Sir, you didn’t notice the old
lady in our shop.’</p>
<p>‘What old lady?’ inquired the king. ‘I
saw none.’</p>
<p>Now the king had not seen any old lady, because this old lady
had been invisible to him, though visible to Mr. Pickles’s
boy. Probably because he messed and splashed the water
about to that degree, and flopped the pairs of soles down in that
violent manner, that, if she had not been visible to him, he
would have spoilt her clothes.</p>
<p>Just then the old lady came trotting up. She was dressed
in shot-silk of the richest quality, smelling of dried
lavender.</p>
<p>‘King Watkins the First, I believe?’ said the old
lady.</p>
<p>‘Watkins,’ replied the king, ‘is my
name.’</p>
<p>‘Papa, if I am not mistaken, of the beautiful Princess
Alicia?’ said the old lady.</p>
<p>‘And of eighteen other darlings,’ replied the
king.</p>
<p>‘Listen. You are going to the office,’ said
the old lady.</p>
<p>It instantly flashed upon the king that she must be a fairy,
or how could she know that?</p>
<p>‘You are right,’ said the old lady, answering his
thoughts. ‘I am the good Fairy Grandmarina.
Attend! When you return home to dinner, politely invite the
Princess Alicia to have some of the salmon you bought just
now.’</p>
<p>‘It may disagree with her,’ said the king.</p>
<p>The old lady became so very angry at this absurd idea, that
the king was quite alarmed, and humbly begged her pardon.</p>
<p>‘We hear a great deal too much about this thing
disagreeing, and that thing disagreeing,’ said the old
lady, with the greatest contempt it was possible to
express. ‘Don’t be greedy. I think you
want it all yourself.’</p>
<p>The king hung his head under this reproof, and said he
wouldn’t talk about things disagreeing any more.</p>
<p>‘Be good, then,’ said the Fairy Grandmarina,
‘and don’t. When the beautiful Princess Alicia
consents to partake of the salmon,—as I think she
will,—you will find she will leave a fish-bone on her
plate. Tell her to dry it, and to rub it, and to polish it
till it shines like mother-of-pearl, and to take care of it as a
present from me.’</p>
<p>‘Is that all?’ asked the king.</p>
<p>‘Don’t be impatient, sir,’ returned the
Fairy Grandmarina, scolding him severely.
‘Don’t catch people short, before they have done
speaking. Just the way with you grown-up persons. You
are always doing it.’</p>
<p>The king again hung his head, and said he wouldn’t do so
any more.</p>
<p>‘Be good, then,’ said the Fairy Grandmarina,
‘and don’t! Tell the Princess Alicia, with my
love, that the fish-bone is a magic present which can only be
used once; but that it will bring her, that once, whatever she
wishes for, <span class="GutSmall">PROVIDED SHE WISHES FOR IT AT
THE RIGHT TIME</span>. That is the message. Take care
of it.’</p>
<p>The king was beginning, ‘Might I ask the reason?’
when the fairy became absolutely furious.</p>
<p>‘<i>Will</i> you be good, sir?’ she exclaimed,
stamping her foot on the ground. ‘The reason for
this, and the reason for that, indeed! You are always
wanting the reason. No reason. There! Hoity
toity me! I am sick of your grown-up reasons.’</p>
<p>The king was extremely frightened by the old lady’s
flying into such a passion, and said he was very sorry to have
offended her, and he wouldn’t ask for reasons any more.</p>
<p>‘Be good, then,’ said the old lady, ‘and
don’t!’</p>
<p>With those words, Grandmarina vanished, and the king went on
and on and on, till he came to the office. There he wrote
and wrote and wrote, till it was time to go home again.
Then he politely invited the Princess Alicia, as the fairy had
directed him, to partake of the salmon. And when she had
enjoyed it very much, he saw the fish-bone on her plate, as the
fairy had told him he would, and he delivered the fairy’s
message, and the Princess Alicia took care to dry the bone, and
to rub it, and to polish it, till it shone like
mother-of-pearl.</p>
<p>And so, when the queen was going to get up in the morning, she
said, ‘O, dear me, dear me; my head, my head!’ and
then she fainted away.</p>
<p>The Princess Alicia, who happened to be looking in at the
chamber-door, asking about breakfast, was very much alarmed when
she saw her royal mamma in this state, and she rang the bell for
Peggy, which was the name of the lord chamberlain. But
remembering where the smelling-bottle was, she climbed on a chair
and got it; and after that she climbed on another chair by the
bedside, and held the smelling-bottle to the queen’s nose;
and after that she jumped down and got some water; and after that
she jumped up again and wetted the queen’s forehead; and,
in short, when the lord chamberlain came in, that dear old woman
said to the little princess, ‘What a trot you are! I
couldn’t have done it better myself!’</p>
<p>But that was not the worst of the good queen’s
illness. O, no! She was very ill indeed, for a long
time. The Princess Alicia kept the seventeen young princes
and princesses quiet, and dressed and undressed and danced the
baby, and made the kettle boil, and heated the soup, and swept
the hearth, and poured out the medicine, and nursed the queen,
and did all that ever she could, and was as busy, busy, busy as
busy could be; for there were not many servants at that palace
for three reasons: because the king was short of money, because a
rise in his office never seemed to come, and because quarter-day
was so far off that it looked almost as far off and as little as
one of the stars.</p>
<p>But on the morning when the queen fainted away, where was the
magic fish-bone? Why, there it was in the Princess
Alicia’s pocket! She had almost taken it out to bring
the queen to life again, when she put it back, and looked for the
smelling-bottle.</p>
<p>After the queen had come out of her swoon that morning, and
was dozing, the Princess Alicia hurried up-stairs to tell a most
particular secret to a most particularly confidential friend of
hers, who was a duchess. People did suppose her to be a
doll; but she was really a duchess, though nobody knew it except
the princess.</p>
<p>This most particular secret was the secret about the magic
fish-bone, the history of which was well known to the duchess,
because the princess told her everything. The princess
kneeled down by the bed on which the duchess was lying,
full-dressed and wide awake, and whispered the secret to
her. The duchess smiled and nodded. People might have
supposed that she never smiled and nodded; but she often did,
though nobody knew it except the princess.</p>
<p>Then the Princess Alicia hurried down-stairs again, to keep
watch in the queen’s room. She often kept watch by
herself in the queen’s room; but every evening, while the
illness lasted, she sat there watching with the king. And
every evening the king sat looking at her with a cross look,
wondering why she never brought out the magic fish-bone. As
often as she noticed this, she ran up-stairs, whispered the
secret to the duchess over again, and said to the duchess
besides, ‘They think we children never have a reason or a
meaning!’ And the duchess, though the most
fashionable duchess that ever was heard of, winked her eye.</p>
<p>‘Alicia,’ said the king, one evening, when she
wished him good-night.</p>
<p>‘Yes, papa.’</p>
<p>‘What is become of the magic fish-bone?’</p>
<p>‘In my pocket, papa!’</p>
<p>‘I thought you had lost it?’</p>
<p>‘O, no, papa!’</p>
<p>‘Or forgotten it?’</p>
<p>‘No, indeed, papa.’</p>
<p>And so another time the dreadful little snapping pug-dog, next
door, made a rush at one of the young princes as he stood on the
steps coming home from school, and terrified him out of his wits;
and he put his hand through a pane of glass, and bled, bled,
bled. When the seventeen other young princes and princesses
saw him bleed, bleed, bleed, they were terrified out of their
wits too, and screamed themselves black in their seventeen faces
all at once. But the Princess Alicia put her hands over all
their seventeen mouths, one after another, and persuaded them to
be quiet because of the sick queen. And then she put the
wounded prince’s hand in a basin of fresh cold water, while
they stared with their twice seventeen are thirty-four, put down
four and carry three, eyes, and then she looked in the hand for
bits of glass, and there were fortunately no bits of glass
there. And then she said to two chubby-legged princes, who
were sturdy though small, ‘Bring me in the royal rag-bag: I
must snip and stitch and cut and contrive.’ So these
two young princes tugged at the royal rag-bag, and lugged it in;
and the Princess Alicia sat down on the floor, with a large pair
of scissors and a needle and thread, and snipped and stitched and
cut and contrived, and made a bandage, and put it on, and it
fitted beautifully; and so when it was all done, she saw the king
her papa looking on by the door.</p>
<p>‘Alicia.’</p>
<p>‘Yes, papa.’</p>
<p>‘What have you been doing?’</p>
<p>‘Snipping, stitching, cutting, and contriving,
papa.’</p>
<p>‘Where is the magic fish-bone?’</p>
<p>‘In my pocket, papa.’</p>
<p>‘I thought you had lost it?’</p>
<p>‘O, no, papa.’</p>
<p>‘Or forgotten it?’</p>
<p>‘No, indeed, papa.’</p>
<p>After that, she ran up-stairs to the duchess, and told her
what had passed, and told her the secret over again; and the
duchess shook her flaxen curls, and laughed with her rosy
lips.</p>
<p>Well! and so another time the baby fell under the grate.
The seventeen young princes and princesses were used to it; for
they were almost always falling under the grate or down the
stairs; but the baby was not used to it yet, and it gave him a
swelled face and a black eye. The way the poor little
darling came to tumble was, that he was out of the Princess
Alicia’s lap just as she was sitting, in a great coarse
apron that quite smothered her, in front of the kitchen-fire,
beginning to peel the turnips for the broth for dinner; and the
way she came to be doing that was, that the king’s cook had
run away that morning with her own true love, who was a very tall
but very tipsy soldier. Then the seventeen young princes
and princesses, who cried at everything that happened, cried and
roared. But the Princess Alicia (who couldn’t help
crying a little herself) quietly called to them to be still, on
account of not throwing back the queen up-stairs, who was fast
getting well, and said, ‘Hold your tongues, you wicked
little monkeys, every one of you, while I examine
baby!’ Then she examined baby, and found that he
hadn’t broken anything; and she held cold iron to his poor
dear eye, and smoothed his poor dear face, and he presently fell
asleep in her arms. Then she said to the seventeen princes
and princesses, ‘I am afraid to let him down yet, lest he
should wake and feel pain; be good, and you shall all be
cooks.’ They jumped for joy when they heard that, and
began making themselves cooks’ caps out of old
newspapers. So to one she gave the salt-box, and to one she
gave the barley, and to one she gave the herbs, and to one she
gave the turnips, and to one she gave the carrots, and to one she
gave the onions, and to one she gave the spice-box, till they
were all cooks, and all running about at work, she sitting in the
middle, smothered in the great coarse apron, nursing baby.
By and by the broth was done; and the baby woke up, smiling, like
an angel, and was trusted to the sedatest princess to hold, while
the other princes and princesses were squeezed into a far-off
corner to look at the Princess Alicia turning out the saucepanful
of broth, for fear (as they were always getting into trouble)
they should get splashed and scalded. When the broth came
tumbling out, steaming beautifully, and smelling like a nosegay
good to eat, they clapped their hands. That made the baby
clap his hands; and that, and his looking as if he had a comic
toothache, made all the princes and princesses laugh. So
the Princess Alicia said, ‘Laugh and be good; and after
dinner we will make him a nest on the floor in a corner, and he
shall sit in his nest and see a dance of eighteen
cooks.’ That delighted the young princes and
princesses, and they ate up all the broth, and washed up all the
plates and dishes, and cleared away, and pushed the table into a
corner; and then they in their cooks’ caps, and the
Princess Alicia in the smothering coarse apron that belonged to
the cook that had run away with her own true love that was the
very tall but very tipsy soldier, danced a dance of eighteen
cooks before the angelic baby, who forgot his swelled face and
his black eye, and crowed with joy.</p>
<p>And so then, once more the Princess Alicia saw King Watkins
the First, her father, standing in the doorway looking on, and he
said, ‘What have you been doing, Alicia?’</p>
<p>‘Cooking and contriving, papa.’</p>
<p>‘What else have you been doing, Alicia?’</p>
<p>‘Keeping the children light-hearted, papa.’</p>
<p>‘Where is the magic fish-bone, Alicia?</p>
<p>‘In my pocket, papa.’</p>
<p>‘I thought you had lost it?’</p>
<p>‘O, no, papa!’</p>
<p>‘Or forgotten it?’</p>
<p>‘No, indeed, papa.’</p>
<p>The king then sighed so heavily, and seemed so low-spirited,
and sat down so miserably, leaning his head upon his hand, and
his elbow upon the kitchen-table pushed away in the corner, that
the seventeen princes and princesses crept softly out of the
kitchen, and left him alone with the Princess Alicia and the
angelic baby.</p>
<p>‘What is the matter, papa?’</p>
<p>‘I am dreadfully poor, my child.’</p>
<p>‘Have you no money at all, papa?’</p>
<p>‘None, my child.’</p>
<p>‘Is there no way of getting any, papa?’</p>
<p>‘No way,’ said the king. ‘I have tried
very hard, and I have tried all ways.’</p>
<p>When she heard those last words, the Princess Alicia began to
put her hand into the pocket where she kept the magic
fish-bone.</p>
<p>‘Papa,’ said she, ‘when we have tried very
hard, and tried all ways, we must have done our very, very
best?’</p>
<p>‘No doubt, Alicia.’</p>
<p>‘When we have done our very, very best, papa, and that
is not enough, then I think the right time must have come for
asking help of others.’ This was the very secret
connected with the magic fish-bone, which she had found out for
herself from the good Fairy Grandmarina’s words, and which
she had so often whispered to her beautiful and fashionable
friend, the duchess.</p>
<p>So she took out of her pocket the magic fish-bone, that had
been dried and rubbed and polished till it shone like
mother-of-pearl; and she gave it one little kiss, and wished it
was quarter-day. And immediately it <i>was</i> quarter-day;
and the king’s quarter’s salary came rattling down
the chimney, and bounced into the middle of the floor.</p>
<p>But this was not half of what happened,—no, not a
quarter; for immediately afterwards the good Fairy Grandmarina
came riding in, in a carriage and four (peacocks), with Mr.
Pickles’s boy up behind, dressed in silver and gold, with a
cocked-hat, powdered-hair, pink silk stockings, a jewelled cane,
and a nosegay. Down jumped Mr. Pickles’s boy, with
his cocked-hat in his hand, and wonderfully polite (being
entirely changed by enchantment), and handed Grandmarina out; and
there she stood, in her rich shot-silk smelling of dried
lavender, fanning herself with a sparkling fan.</p>
<p>‘Alicia, my dear,’ said this charming old fairy,
‘how do you do? I hope I see you pretty well?
Give me a kiss.’</p>
<p>The Princess Alicia embraced her; and then Grandmarina turned
to the king, and said rather sharply, ‘Are you
good?’ The king said he hoped so.</p>
<p>‘I suppose you know the reason <i>now</i>, why my
god-daughter here,’ kissing the princess again, ‘did
not apply to the fish-bone sooner?’ said the fairy.</p>
<p>The king made a shy bow.</p>
<p>‘Ah! but you didn’t <i>then</i>?’ said the
fairy.</p>
<p>The king made a shyer bow.</p>
<p>‘Any more reasons to ask for?’ said the fairy.</p>
<p>The king said, No, and he was very sorry.</p>
<p>‘Be good, then,’ said the fairy, ‘and live
happy ever afterwards.’</p>
<p>Then Grandmarina waved her fan, and the queen came in most
splendidly dressed; and the seventeen young princes and
princesses, no longer grown out of their clothes, came in, newly
fitted out from top to toe, with tucks in everything to admit of
its being let out. After that, the fairy tapped the
Princess Alicia with her fan; and the smothering coarse apron
flew away, and she appeared exquisitely dressed, like a little
bride, with a wreath of orange-flowers and a silver veil.
After that, the kitchen dresser changed of itself into a
wardrobe, made of beautiful woods and gold and looking glass,
which was full of dresses of all sorts, all for her and all
exactly fitting her. After that, the angelic baby came in,
running alone, with his face and eye not a bit the worse, but
much the better. Then Grandmarina begged to be introduced
to the duchess; and, when the duchess was brought down, many
compliments passed between them.</p>
<p>A little whispering took place between the fairy and the
duchess; and then the fairy said out loud, ‘Yes, I thought
she would have told you.’ Grandmarina then turned to
the king and queen, and said, ‘We are going in search of
Prince Certainpersonio. The pleasure of your company is
requested at church in half an hour precisely.’ So
she and the Princess Alicia got into the carriage; and Mr.
Pickles’s boy handed in the duchess, who sat by herself on
the opposite seat; and then Mr. Pickles’s boy put up the
steps and got up behind, and the peacocks flew away with their
tails behind.</p>
<p>Prince Certainpersonio was sitting by himself, eating
barley-sugar, and waiting to be ninety. When he saw the
peacocks, followed by the carriage, coming in at the window it
immediately occurred to him that something uncommon was going to
happen.</p>
<p>‘Prince,’ said Grandmarina, ‘I bring you
your bride.’ The moment the fairy said those words,
Prince Certainpersonio’s face left off being sticky, and
his jacket and corduroys changed to peach-bloom velvet, and his
hair curled, and a cap and feather flew in like a bird and
settled on his head. He got into the carriage by the
fairy’s invitation; and there he renewed his acquaintance
with the duchess, whom he had seen before.</p>
<p>In the church were the prince’s relations and friends,
and the Princess Alicia’s relations and friends, and the
seventeen princes and princesses, and the baby, and a crowd of
the neighbours. The marriage was beautiful beyond
expression. The duchess was bridesmaid, and beheld the
ceremony from the pulpit, where she was supported by the cushion
of the desk.</p>
<p>Grandmarina gave a magnificent wedding-feast afterwards, in
which there was everything and more to eat, and everything and
more to drink. The wedding-cake was delicately ornamented
with white satin ribbons, frosted silver, and white lilies, and
was forty-two yards round.</p>
<p>When Grandmarina had drunk her love to the young couple, and
Prince Certainpersonio had made a speech, and everybody had
cried, Hip, hip, hip, hurrah! Grandmarina announced to the king
and queen that in future there would be eight quarter-days in
every year, except in leap-year, when there would be ten.
She then turned to Certainpersonio and Alicia, and said,
‘My dears, you will have thirty-five children, and they
will all be good and beautiful. Seventeen of your children
will be boys, and eighteen will be girls. The hair of the
whole of your children will curl naturally. They will never
have the measles, and will have recovered from the whooping-cough
before being born.’</p>
<p>On hearing such good news, everybody cried out ‘Hip,
hip, hip, hurrah!’ again.</p>
<p>‘It only remains,’ said Grandmarina in conclusion,
‘to make an end of the fish-bone.’</p>
<p>So she took it from the hand of the Princess Alicia, and it
instantly flew down the throat of the dreadful little snapping
pug-dog, next door, and choked him, and he expired in
convulsions.</p>
<h2>PART III.<br />
<span class="GutSmall">ROMANCE. FROM THE PEN OF LIEUT.-COL.
ROBIN REDFORTH</span> <a name="citation266"></a><a
href="#footnote266" class="citation">[266]</a></h2>
<p><span class="smcap">The</span> subject of our present
narrative would appear to have devoted himself to the pirate
profession at a comparatively early age. We find him in
command of a splendid schooner of one hundred guns loaded to the
muzzle, ere yet he had had a party in honour of his tenth
birthday.</p>
<p>It seems that our hero, considering himself spited by a
Latin-grammar master, demanded the satisfaction due from one man
of honour to another.—Not getting it, he privately withdrew
his haughty spirit from such low company, bought a second-hand
pocket-pistol, folded up some sandwiches in a paper bag, made a
bottle of Spanish liquorice-water, and entered on a career of
valour.</p>
<p>It were tedious to follow Boldheart (for such was his name)
through the commencing stages of his story. Suffice it,
that we find him bearing the rank of Capt. Boldheart, reclining
in full uniform on a crimson hearth-rug spread out upon the
quarter-deck of his schooner ‘The Beauty,’ in the
China seas. It was a lovely evening; and, as his crew lay
grouped about him, he favoured them with the following
melody:</p>
<blockquote><p>O landsmen are folly!<br />
O pirates are jolly!<br />
O diddleum Dolly,<br />
Di!</p>
<p> <i>Chorus</i>.—Heave
yo.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The soothing effect of these animated sounds floating over the
waters, as the common sailors united their rough voices to take
up the rich tones of Boldheart, may be more easily conceived than
described.</p>
<p>It was under these circumstances that the look-out at the
masthead gave the word, ‘Whales!’</p>
<p>All was now activity.</p>
<p>‘Where away?’ cried Capt. Boldheart, starting
up.</p>
<p>‘On the larboard bow, sir,’ replied the fellow at
the masthead, touching his hat. For such was the height of
discipline on board of ‘The Beauty,’ that, even at
that height, he was obliged to mind it, or be shot through the
head.</p>
<p>‘This adventure belongs to me,’ said
Boldheart. ‘Boy, my harpoon. Let no man
follow;’ and leaping alone into his boat, the captain rowed
with admirable dexterity in the direction of the monster.</p>
<p>All was now excitement.</p>
<p>‘He nears him!’ said an elderly seaman, following
the captain through his spy-glass.</p>
<p>‘He strikes him!’ said another seaman, a mere
stripling, but also with a spy-glass.</p>
<p>‘He tows him towards us!’ said another seaman, a
man in the full vigour of life, but also with a spy-glass.</p>
<p>In fact, the captain was seen approaching, with the huge bulk
following. We will not dwell on the deafening cries of
‘Boldheart! Boldheart!’ with which he was received,
when, carelessly leaping on the quarter-deck, he presented his
prize to his men. They afterwards made two thousand four
hundred and seventeen pound ten and sixpence by it.</p>
<p>Ordering the sail to be braced up, the captain now stood
W.N.W. ‘The Beauty’ flew rather than floated
over the dark blue waters. Nothing particular occurred for
a fortnight, except taking, with considerable slaughter, four
Spanish galleons, and a snow from South America, all richly
laden. Inaction began to tell upon the spirits of the
men. Capt. Boldheart called all hands aft, and said,
‘My lads, I hear there are discontented ones among
ye. Let any such stand forth.’</p>
<p>After some murmuring, in which the expressions, ‘Ay, ay,
sir!’ ‘Union Jack,’ ‘Avast,’
‘Starboard,’ ‘Port,’
‘Bowsprit,’ and similar indications of a mutinous
undercurrent, though subdued, were audible, Bill Boozey, captain
of the foretop, came out from the rest. His form was that
of a giant, but he quailed under the captain’s eye.</p>
<p>‘What are your wrongs?’ said the captain.</p>
<p>‘Why, d’ye see, Capt. Boldheart,’ replied
the towering manner, ‘I’ve sailed, man and boy, for
many a year, but I never yet know’d the milk served out for
the ship’s company’s teas to be so sour as ‘tis
aboard this craft.’</p>
<p>At this moment the thrilling cry, ‘Man overboard!’
announced to the astonished crew that Boozey, in stepping back,
as the captain (in mere thoughtfulness) laid his hand upon the
faithful pocket-pistol which he wore in his belt, had lost his
balance, and was struggling with the foaming tide.</p>
<p>All was now stupefaction.</p>
<p>But with Capt. Boldheart, to throw off his uniform coat,
regardless of the various rich orders with which it was
decorated, and to plunge into the sea after the drowning giant,
was the work of a moment. Maddening was the excitement when
boats were lowered; intense the joy when the captain was seen
holding up the drowning man with his teeth; deafening the
cheering when both were restored to the main deck of ‘The
Beauty.’ And, from the instant of his changing his
wet clothes for dry ones, Capt. Boldheart had no such devoted
though humble friend as William Boozey.</p>
<p>Boldheart now pointed to the horizon, and called the attention
of his crew to the taper spars of a ship lying snug in harbour
under the guns of a fort.</p>
<p>‘She shall be ours at sunrise,’ said he.
‘Serve out a double allowance of grog, and prepare for
action.’</p>
<p>All was now preparation.</p>
<p>When morning dawned, after a sleepless night, it was seen that
the stranger was crowding on all sail to come out of the harbour
and offer battle. As the two ships came nearer to each
other, the stranger fired a gun and hoisted Roman colours.
Boldheart then perceived her to be the Latin-grammar
master’s bark. Such indeed she was, and had been
tacking about the world in unavailing pursuit, from the time of
his first taking to a roving life.</p>
<p>Boldheart now addressed his men, promising to blow them up if
he should feel convinced that their reputation required it, and
giving orders that the Latin-grammar master should be taken
alive. He then dismissed them to their quarters, and the
fight began with a broadside from ‘The Beauty.’
She then veered around, and poured in another. ‘The
Scorpion’ (so was the bark of the Latin-grammar master
appropriately called) was not slow to return her fire; and a
terrific cannonading ensued, in which the guns of ‘The
Beauty’ did tremendous execution.</p>
<p>The Latin-grammar master was seen upon the poop, in the midst
of the smoke and fire, encouraging his men. To do him
justice, he was no craven, though his white hat, his short gray
trousers, and his long snuff-coloured surtout reaching to his
heels (the self-same coat in which he had spited Boldheart),
contrasted most unfavourably with the brilliant uniform of the
latter. At this moment, Boldheart, seizing a pike and
putting himself at the head of his men, gave the word to
board.</p>
<p>A desperate conflict ensued in the hammock-nettings,—or
somewhere in about that direction,—until the Latin-grammar
master, having all his masts gone, his hull and rigging shot
through, and seeing Boldheart slashing a path towards him, hauled
down his flag himself, gave up his sword to Boldheart, and asked
for quarter. Scarce had he been put into the
captain’s boat, ere ‘The Scorpion’ went down
with all on board.</p>
<p>On Capt. Boldheart’s now assembling his men, a
circumstance occurred. He found it necessary with one blow
of his cutlass to kill the cook, who, having lost his brother in
the late action, was making at the Latin-grammar master in an
infuriated state, intent on his destruction with a
carving-knife.</p>
<p>Capt. Boldheart then turned to the Latin-grammar master,
severely reproaching him with his perfidy, and put it to his crew
what they considered that a master who spited a boy deserved.</p>
<p>They answered with one voice, ‘Death.’</p>
<p>‘It may be so,’ said the captain; ‘but it
shall never be said that Boldheart stained his hour of triumph
with the blood of his enemy. Prepare the cutter.’</p>
<p>The cutter was immediately prepared.</p>
<p>‘Without taking your life,’ said the captain,
‘I must yet for ever deprive you of the power of spiting
other boys. I shall turn you adrift in this boat. You
will find in her two oars, a compass, a bottle of rum, a small
cask of water, a piece of pork, a bag of biscuit, and my Latin
grammar. Go! and spite the natives, if you can find
any.’</p>
<p>Deeply conscious of this bitter sarcasm, the unhappy wretch
was put into the cutter, and was soon left far behind. He
made no effort to row, but was seen lying on his back with his
legs up, when last made out by the ship’s telescopes.</p>
<p>A stiff breeze now beginning to blow, Capt. Boldheart gave
orders to keep her S.S.W., easing her a little during the night
by falling off a point or two W. by W., or even by W.S., if she
complained much. He then retired for the night, having in
truth much need of repose. In addition to the fatigues he
had undergone, this brave officer had received sixteen wounds in
the engagement, but had not mentioned it.</p>
<p>In the morning a white squall came on, and was succeeded by
other squalls of various colours. It thundered and
lightened heavily for six weeks. Hurricanes then set in for
two months. Waterspouts and tornadoes followed. The
oldest sailor on board—and he was a very old one—had
never seen such weather. ‘The Beauty’ lost all
idea where she was, and the carpenter reported six feet two of
water in the hold. Everybody fell senseless at the pumps
every day.</p>
<p>Provisions now ran very low. Our hero put the crew on
short allowance, and put himself on shorter allowance than any
man in the ship. But his spirit kept him fat. In this
extremity, the gratitude of Boozey, the captain of the foretop,
whom our readers may remember, was truly affecting. The
loving though lowly William repeatedly requested to be killed,
and preserved for the captain’s table.</p>
<p>We now approach a change of affairs. One day during a
gleam of sunshine, and when the weather had moderated, the man at
the masthead—too weak now to touch his hat, besides its
having been blown away—called out,</p>
<p>‘Savages!’</p>
<p>All was now expectation.</p>
<p>Presently fifteen hundred canoes, each paddled by twenty
savages, were seen advancing in excellent order. They were
of a light green colour (the savages were), and sang, with great
energy, the following strain:</p>
<blockquote><p>Choo a choo a choo tooth.<br />
Muntch, muntch. Nycey!<br />
Choo a choo a choo tooth.<br />
Muntch, muntch. Nycey!</p>
</blockquote>
<p>As the shades of night were by this time closing in, these
expressions were supposed to embody this simple people’s
views of the evening hymn. But it too soon appeared that
the song was a translation of ‘For what we are going to
receive,’ &c.</p>
<p>The chief, imposingly decorated with feathers of lively
colours, and having the majestic appearance of a fighting parrot,
no sooner understood (he understood English perfectly) that the
ship was ‘The Beauty,’ Capt. Boldheart, than he fell
upon his face on the deck, and could not be persuaded to rise
until the captain had lifted him up, and told him he
wouldn’t hurt him. All the rest of the savages also
fell on their faces with marks of terror, and had also to be
lifted up one by one. Thus the fame of the great Boldheart
had gone before him, even among these children of Nature.</p>
<p>Turtles and oysters were now produced in astonishing numbers;
and on these and yams the people made a hearty meal. After
dinner the chief told Capt. Boldheart that there was better
feeding up at the village, and that he would be glad to take him
and his officers there. Apprehensive of treachery,
Boldheart ordered his boat’s crew to attend him completely
armed. And well were it for other commanders if their
precautions—but let us not anticipate.</p>
<p>When the canoes arrived at the beach, the darkness of the
night was illumined by the light of an immense fire.
Ordering his boat’s crew (with the intrepid though
illiterate William at their head) to keep close and be upon their
guard, Boldheart bravely went on, arm in arm with the chief.</p>
<p>But how to depict the captain’s surprise when he found a
ring of savages singing in chorus that barbarous translation of
‘For what we are going to receive,’ &c., which
has been given above, and dancing hand in hand round the
Latin-grammar master, in a hamper with his head shaved, while two
savages floured him, before putting him to the fire to be
cooked!</p>
<p>Boldheart now took counsel with his officers on the course to
be adopted. In the mean time, the miserable captive never
ceased begging pardon and imploring to be delivered. On the
generous Boldheart’s proposal, it was at length resolved
that he should not be cooked, but should be allowed to remain
raw, on two conditions, namely:</p>
<p>1. That he should never, under any circumstances, presume to
teach any boy anything any more.</p>
<p>2. That, if taken back to England, he should pass his life in
travelling to find out boys who wanted their exercises done, and
should do their exercises for those boys for nothing, and never
say a word about it.</p>
<p>Drawing the sword from its sheath, Boldheart swore him to
these conditions on its shining blade. The prisoner wept
bitterly, and appeared acutely to feel the errors of his past
career.</p>
<p>The captain then ordered his boat’s crew to make ready
for a volley, and after firing to re-load quickly.
‘And expect a score or two on ye to go head over
heels,’ murmured William Boozey; ‘for I’m
a-looking at ye.’ With those words, the derisive
though deadly William took a good aim.</p>
<p>‘Fire!’</p>
<p>The ringing voice of Boldheart was lost in the report of the
guns and the screeching of the savages. Volley after volley
awakened the numerous echoes. Hundreds of savages were
killed, hundreds wounded, and thousands ran howling into the
woods. The Latin-grammar master had a spare night-cap lent
him, and a long-tail coat, which he wore hind side before.
He presented a ludicrous though pitiable appearance, and serve
him right.</p>
<p>We now find Capt. Boldheart, with this rescued wretch on
board, standing off for other islands. At one of these, not
a cannibal island, but a pork and vegetable one, he married (only
in fun on his part) the king’s daughter. Here he
rested some time, receiving from the natives great quantities of
precious stones, gold dust, elephants’ teeth, and sandal
wood, and getting very rich. This, too, though he almost
every day made presents of enormous value to his men.</p>
<p>The ship being at length as full as she could hold of all
sorts of valuable things, Boldheart gave orders to weigh the
anchor, and turn ‘The Beauty’s’ head towards
England. These orders were obeyed with three cheers; and
ere the sun went down full many a hornpipe had been danced on
deck by the uncouth though agile William.</p>
<p>We next find Capt. Boldheart about three leagues off Madeira,
surveying through his spy-glass a stranger of suspicious
appearance making sail towards him. On his firing a gun
ahead of her to bring her to, she ran up a flag, which he
instantly recognised as the flag from the mast in the back-garden
at home.</p>
<p>Inferring from this, that his father had put to sea to seek
his long-lost son, the captain sent his own boat on board the
stranger to inquire if this was so, and, if so, whether his
father’s intentions were strictly honourable. The
boat came back with a present of greens and fresh meat, and
reported that the stranger was ‘The Family,’ of
twelve hundred tons, and had not only the captain’s father
on board, but also his mother, with the majority of his aunts and
uncles, and all his cousins. It was further reported to
Boldheart that the whole of these relations had expressed
themselves in a becoming manner, and were anxious to embrace him
and thank him for the glorious credit he had done them.
Boldheart at once invited them to breakfast next morning on board
‘The Beauty,’ and gave orders for a brilliant ball
that should last all day.</p>
<p>It was in the course of the night that the captain discovered
the hopelessness of reclaiming the Latin-grammar master.
That thankless traitor was found out, as the two ships lay near
each other, communicating with ‘The Family’ by
signals, and offering to give up Boldheart. He was hanged
at the yard-arm the first thing in the morning, after having it
impressively pointed out to him by Boldheart that this was what
spiters came to.</p>
<p>The meeting between the captain and his parents was attended
with tears. His uncles and aunts would have attended their
meeting with tears too, but he wasn’t going to stand
that. His cousins were very much astonished by the size of
his ship and the discipline of his men, and were greatly overcome
by the splendour of his uniform. He kindly conducted them
round the vessel, and pointed out everything worthy of
notice. He also fired his hundred guns, and found it
amusing to witness their alarm.</p>
<p>The entertainment surpassed everything ever seen on board
ship, and lasted from ten in the morning until seven the next
morning. Only one disagreeable incident occurred.
Capt. Boldheart found himself obliged to put his cousin Tom in
irons, for being disrespectful. On the boy’s
promising amendment, however, he was humanely released after a
few hours’ close confinement.</p>
<p>Boldheart now took his mother down into the great cabin, and
asked after the young lady with whom, it was well known to the
world, he was in love. His mother replied that the object
of his affections was then at school at Margate, for the benefit
of sea-bathing (it was the month of September), but that she
feared the young lady’s friends were still opposed to the
union. Boldheart at once resolved, if necessary, to bombard
the town.</p>
<p>Taking the command of his ship with this intention, and
putting all but fighting men on board ‘The Family,’
with orders to that vessel to keep in company, Boldheart soon
anchored in Margate Roads. Here he went ashore well-armed,
and attended by his boat’s crew (at their head the faithful
though ferocious William), and demanded to see the mayor, who
came out of his office.</p>
<p>‘Dost know the name of yon ship, mayor?’ asked
Boldheart fiercely.</p>
<p>‘No,’ said the mayor, rubbing his eyes, which he
could scarce believe, when he saw the goodly vessel riding at
anchor.</p>
<p>‘She is named “The Beauty,”’ said the
captain.</p>
<p>‘Hah!’ exclaimed the mayor, with a start.
‘And you, then, are Capt. Boldheart?’</p>
<p>‘The same.’</p>
<p>A pause ensued. The mayor trembled.</p>
<p>‘Now, mayor,’ said the captain,
‘choose! Help me to my bride, or be
bombarded.’</p>
<p>The mayor begged for two hours’ grace, in which to make
inquiries respecting the young lady. Boldheart accorded him
but one; and during that one placed William Boozey sentry over
him, with a drawn sword, and instructions to accompany him
wherever he went, and to run him through the body if he showed a
sign of playing false.</p>
<p>At the end of the hour the mayor re-appeared more dead than
alive, closely waited on by Boozey more alive than dead.</p>
<p>‘Captain,’ said the mayor, ‘I have
ascertained that the young lady is going to bathe. Even now
she waits her turn for a machine. The tide is low, though
rising. I, in one of our town-boats, shall not be
suspected. When she comes forth in her bathing-dress into
the shallow water from behind the hood of the machine, my boat
shall intercept her and prevent her return. Do you the
rest.’</p>
<p>‘Mayor,’ returned Capt. Boldheart, ‘thou
hast saved thy town.’</p>
<p>The captain then signalled his boat to take him off, and,
steering her himself, ordered her crew to row towards the
bathing-ground, and there to rest upon their oars. All
happened as had been arranged. His lovely bride came forth,
the mayor glided in behind her, she became confused, and had
floated out of her depth, when, with one skilful touch of the
rudder and one quivering stroke from the boat’s crew, her
adoring Boldheart held her in his strong arms. There her
shrieks of terror were changed to cries of joy.</p>
<p>Before ‘The Beauty’ could get under way, the
hoisting of all the flags in the town and harbour, and the
ringing of all the bells, announced to the brave Boldheart that
he had nothing to fear. He therefore determined to be
married on the spot, and signalled for a clergyman and clerk, who
came off promptly in a sailing-boat named ‘The
Skylark.’ Another great entertainment was then given
on board ‘The Beauty,’ in the midst of which the
mayor was called out by a messenger. He returned with the
news that government had sent down to know whether Capt.
Boldheart, in acknowledgment of the great services he had done
his country by being a pirate, would consent to be made a
lieutenant-colonel. For himself he would have spurned the
worthless boon; but his bride wished it, and he consented.</p>
<p>Only one thing further happened before the good ship
‘Family’ was dismissed, with rich presents to all on
board. It is painful to record (but such is human nature in
some cousins) that Capt. Boldheart’s unmannerly Cousin Tom
was actually tied up to receive three dozen with a rope’s
end ‘for cheekiness and making game,’ when Capt.
Boldheart’s lady begged for him, and he was spared.
‘The Beauty’ then refitted, and the captain and his
bride departed for the Indian Ocean to enjoy themselves for
evermore.</p>
<h2>PART IV.<br />
<span class="GutSmall">ROMANCE FROM THE PEN OF MISS NETTIE
ASHFORD</span> <a name="citation274"></a><a href="#footnote274"
class="citation">[274]</a></h2>
<p><span class="smcap">There</span> is a country, which I will
show you when I get into maps, where the children have everything
their own way. It is a most delightful country to live
in. The grown-up people are obliged to obey the children,
and are never allowed to sit up to supper, except on their
birthdays. The children order them to make jam and jelly
and marmalade, and tarts and pies and puddings, and all manner of
pastry. If they say they won’t, they are put in the
corner till they do. They are sometimes allowed to have
some; but when they have some, they generally have powders given
them afterwards.</p>
<p>One of the inhabitants of this country, a truly sweet young
creature of the name of Mrs. Orange, had the misfortune to be
sadly plagued by her numerous family. Her parents required
a great deal of looking after, and they had connections and
companions who were scarcely ever out of mischief. So Mrs.
Orange said to herself, ‘I really cannot be troubled with
these torments any longer: I must put them all to
school.’</p>
<p>Mrs. Orange took off her pinafore, and dressed herself very
nicely, and took up her baby, and went out to call upon another
lady of the name of Mrs. Lemon, who kept a preparatory
establishment. Mrs. Orange stood upon the scraper to pull
at the bell, and give a ring-ting-ting.</p>
<p>Mrs. Lemon’s neat little housemaid, pulling up her socks
as she came along the passage, answered the ring-ting-ting.</p>
<p>‘Good-morning,’ said Mrs. Orange.
‘Fine day. How do you do? Mrs. Lemon at
home!’</p>
<p>‘Yes, ma’am.’</p>
<p>‘Will you say Mrs. Orange and baby?’</p>
<p>‘Yes, ma’am. Walk in.’</p>
<p>Mrs. Orange’s baby was a very fine one, and real wax all
over. Mrs. Lemon’s baby was leather and bran.
However, when Mrs. Lemon came into the drawing-room with her baby
in her arms, Mrs. Orange said politely,
‘Good-morning. Fine day. How do you do?
And how is little Tootleumboots?’</p>
<p>‘Well, she is but poorly. Cutting her teeth,
ma’am,’ said Mrs. Lemon.</p>
<p>‘O, indeed, ma’am!’ said Mrs. Orange.
‘No fits, I hope?’</p>
<p>‘No, ma’am.’</p>
<p>‘How many teeth has she, ma’am?’</p>
<p>‘Five, ma’am.’</p>
<p>‘My Emilia, ma’am, has eight,’ said Mrs.
Orange. ‘Shall we lay them on the mantelpiece side by
side, while we converse?’</p>
<p>‘By all means, ma’am,’ said Mrs.
Lemon. ‘Hem!’</p>
<p>‘The first question is, ma’am,’ said Mrs.
Orange, ‘I don’t bore you?’</p>
<p>‘Not in the least, ma’am,’ said Mrs.
Lemon. ‘Far from it, I assure you.’</p>
<p>‘Then pray <i>have</i> you,’ said Mrs.
Orange,—‘<i>have</i> you any vacancies?’</p>
<p>‘Yes, ma’am. How many might you
require?’</p>
<p>‘Why, the truth is, ma’am,’ said Mrs.
Orange, ‘I have come to the conclusion that my
children,’—O, I forgot to say that they call the
grown-up people children in that country!—‘that my
children are getting positively too much for me. Let me
see. Two parents, two intimate friends of theirs, one
godfather, two godmothers, and an aunt. <i>Have</i> you as
many as eight vacancies?’</p>
<p>‘I have just eight, ma’am,’ said Mrs.
Lemon.</p>
<p>‘Most fortunate! Terms moderate, I
think?’</p>
<p>‘Very moderate, ma’am.’</p>
<p>‘Diet good, I believe?’</p>
<p>‘Excellent, ma’am.’</p>
<p>‘Unlimited?’</p>
<p>‘Unlimited.’</p>
<p>‘Most satisfactory! Corporal punishment dispensed
with?’</p>
<p>‘Why, we do occasionally shake,’ said Mrs. Lemon,
‘and we have slapped. But only in extreme
cases.’</p>
<p>‘<i>Could</i> I, ma’am,’ said Mrs.
Orange,—‘<i>could</i> I see the
establishment?’</p>
<p>‘With the greatest of pleasure, ma’am,’ said
Mrs. Lemon.</p>
<p>Mrs. Lemon took Mrs. Orange into the schoolroom, where there
were a number of pupils. ‘Stand up, children,’
said Mrs. Lemon; and they all stood up.</p>
<p>Mrs. Orange whispered to Mrs. Lemon, ‘There is a pale,
bald child, with red whiskers, in disgrace. Might I ask
what he has done?’</p>
<p>‘Come here, White,’ said Mrs. Lemon, ‘and
tell this lady what you have been doing.’</p>
<p>‘Betting on horses,’ said White sulkily.</p>
<p>‘Are you sorry for it, you naughty child?’ said
Mrs. Lemon.</p>
<p>‘No,’ said White. ‘Sorry to lose, but
shouldn’t be sorry to win.’</p>
<p>‘There’s a vicious boy for you,
ma’am,’ said Mrs. Lemon. ‘Go along with
you, sir. This is Brown, Mrs. Orange. O, a sad case,
Brown’s! Never knows when he has had enough.
Greedy. How is your gout, sir?’</p>
<p>‘Bad,’ said Brown.</p>
<p>‘What else can you expect?’ said Mrs. Lemon.
‘Your stomach is the size of two. Go and take
exercise directly. Mrs. Black, come here to me. Now,
here is a child, Mrs. Orange, ma’am, who is always at
play. She can’t be kept at home a single day
together; always gadding about and spoiling her clothes.
Play, play, play, play, from morning to night, and to morning
again. How can she expect to improve?’</p>
<p>‘Don’t expect to improve,’ sulked Mrs.
Black. ‘Don’t want to.’</p>
<p>‘There is a specimen of her temper, ma’am,’
said Mrs. Lemon. ‘To see her when she is tearing
about, neglecting everything else, you would suppose her to be at
least good-humoured. But bless you! ma’am, she is as
pert and flouncing a minx as ever you met with in all your
days!’</p>
<p>‘You must have a great deal of trouble with them,
ma’am,’ said Mrs. Orange.</p>
<p>‘Ah, I have, indeed, ma’am!’ said Mrs.
Lemon. ‘What with their tempers, what with their
quarrels, what with their never knowing what’s good for
them, and what with their always wanting to domineer, deliver me
from these unreasonable children!’</p>
<p>‘Well, I wish you good-morning, ma’am,’ said
Mrs. Orange.</p>
<p>‘Well, I wish you good-morning, ma’am,’ said
Mrs. Lemon.</p>
<p>So Mrs. Orange took up her baby and went home, and told the
family that plagued her so that they were all going to be sent to
school. They said they didn’t want to go to school;
but she packed up their boxes, and packed them off.</p>
<p>‘O dear me, dear me! Rest and be thankful!’
said Mrs. Orange, throwing herself back in her little
arm-chair. ‘Those troublesome troubles are got rid
of, please the pigs!’</p>
<p>Just then another lady, named Mrs. Alicumpaine, came calling
at the street-door with a ring-ting-ting.</p>
<p>‘My dear Mrs. Alicumpaine,’ said Mrs. Orange,
‘how do you do? Pray stay to dinner. We have
but a simple joint of sweet-stuff, followed by a plain dish of
bread and treacle; but, if you will take us as you find us, it
will be <i>so</i> kind!’</p>
<p>‘Don’t mention it,’ said Mrs.
Alicumpaine. ‘I shall be too glad. But what do
you think I have come for, ma’am? Guess,
ma’am.’</p>
<p>‘I really cannot guess, ma’am,’ said Mrs.
Orange.</p>
<p>‘Why, I am going to have a small juvenile party
to-night,’ said Mrs. Alicumpaine; ‘and if you and Mr.
Orange and baby would but join us, we should be
complete.’</p>
<p>‘More than charmed, I am sure!’ said Mrs.
Orange.</p>
<p>‘So kind of you!’ said Mrs. Alicumpaine.
‘But I hope the children won’t bore you?’</p>
<p>‘Dear things! Not at all,’ said Mrs.
Orange. ‘I dote upon them.’</p>
<p>Mr. Orange here came home from the city; and he came, too,
with a ring-ting-ting.</p>
<p>‘James love,’ said Mrs. Orange, ‘you look
tired. What has been doing in the city to-day?’</p>
<p>‘Trap, bat, and ball, my dear,’ said Mr. Orange,
‘and it knocks a man up.’</p>
<p>‘That dreadfully anxious city, ma’am,’ said
Mrs. Orange to Mrs. Alicumpaine; ‘so wearing, is it
not?’</p>
<p>‘O, so trying!’ said Mrs. Alicumpaine.
‘John has lately been speculating in the peg-top ring; and
I often say to him at night, “John, <i>is</i> the result
worth the wear and tear?”’</p>
<p>Dinner was ready by this time: so they sat down to dinner; and
while Mr. Orange carved the joint of sweet-stuff, he said,
‘It’s a poor heart that never rejoices. Jane,
go down to the cellar, and fetch a bottle of the Upest
ginger-beer.’</p>
<p>At tea-time, Mr. and Mrs. Orange, and baby, and Mrs.
Alicumpaine went off to Mrs. Alicumpaine’s house. The
children had not come yet; but the ball-room was ready for them,
decorated with paper flowers.</p>
<p>‘How very sweet!’ said Mrs. Orange.
‘The dear things! How pleased they will
be!’</p>
<p>‘I don’t care for children myself,’ said Mr.
Orange, gaping.</p>
<p>‘Not for girls?’ said Mrs. Alicumpaine.
‘Come! you care for girls?’</p>
<p>Mr. Orange shook his head, and gaped again.
‘Frivolous and vain, ma’am.’</p>
<p>‘My dear James,’ cried Mrs. Orange, who had been
peeping about, ‘do look here. Here’s the supper
for the darlings, ready laid in the room behind the
folding-doors. Here’s their little pickled salmon, I
do declare! And here’s their little salad, and their
little roast beef and fowls, and their little pastry, and their
wee, wee, wee champagne!’</p>
<p>‘Yes, I thought it best, ma’am,’ said Mrs.
Alicumpaine, ‘that they should have their supper by
themselves. Our table is in the corner here, where the
gentlemen can have their wineglass of negus, and their
egg-sandwich, and their quiet game at beggar-my-neighbour, and
look on. As for us, ma’am, we shall have quite enough
to do to manage the company.’</p>
<p>‘O, indeed, you may say so! Quite enough,
ma’am,’ said Mrs. Orange.</p>
<p>The company began to come. The first of them was a stout
boy, with a white top-knot and spectacles. The housemaid
brought him in and said, ‘Compliments, and at what time was
he to be fetched!’ Mrs. Alicumpaine said, ‘Not
a moment later than ten. How do you do, sir? Go and
sit down.’ Then a number of other children came; boys
by themselves, and girls by themselves, and boys and girls
together. They didn’t behave at all well. Some
of them looked through quizzing-glasses at others, and said,
‘Who are those? Don’t know them.’
Some of them looked through quizzing-glasses at others, and said,
‘How do?’ Some of them had cups of tea or
coffee handed to them by others, and said, ‘Thanks;
much!’ A good many boys stood about, and felt their
shirt-collars. Four tiresome fat boys <i>would</i> stand in
the doorway, and talk about the newspapers, till Mrs. Alicumpaine
went to them and said, ‘My dears, I really cannot allow you
to prevent people from coming in. I shall be truly sorry to
do it; but, if you put yourself in everybody’s way, I must
positively send you home.’ One boy, with a beard and
a large white waistcoat, who stood straddling on the hearth-rug
warming his coat-tails, <i>was</i> sent home. ‘Highly
incorrect, my dear,’ said Mrs. Alicumpaine, handing him out
of the room, ‘and I cannot permit it.’</p>
<p>There was a children’s band,—harp, cornet, and
piano,—and Mrs. Alicumpaine and Mrs. Orange bustled among
the children to persuade them to take partners and dance.
But they were so obstinate! For quite a long time they
would not be persuaded to take partners and dance. Most of
the boys said, ‘Thanks; much! But not at
present.’ And most of the rest of the boys said,
‘Thanks; much! But never do.’</p>
<p>‘O, these children are very wearing!’ said Mrs.
Alicumpaine to Mrs. Orange.</p>
<p>‘Dear things! I dote upon them; but they ARE
wearing,’ said Mrs. Orange to Mrs. Alicumpaine.</p>
<p>At last they did begin in a slow and melancholy way to slide
about to the music; though even then they wouldn’t mind
what they were told, but would have this partner, and
wouldn’t have that partner, and showed temper about
it. And they wouldn’t smile,—no, not on any
account they wouldn’t; but, when the music stopped, went
round and round the room in dismal twos, as if everybody else was
dead.</p>
<p>‘O, it’s very hard indeed to get these vexing
children to be entertained!’ said Mrs. Alicumpaine to Mrs.
Orange.</p>
<p>‘I dote upon the darlings; but it is hard,’ said
Mrs. Orange to Mrs. Alicumpaine.</p>
<p>They were trying children, that’s the truth.
First, they wouldn’t sing when they were asked; and then,
when everybody fully believed they wouldn’t, they
would. ‘If you serve us so any more, my love,’
said Mrs. Alicumpaine to a tall child, with a good deal of white
back, in mauve silk trimmed with lace, ‘it will be my
painful privilege to offer you a bed, and to send you to it
immediately.’</p>
<p>The girls were so ridiculously dressed, too, that they were in
rags before supper. How could the boys help treading on
their trains? And yet when their trains were trodden on,
they often showed temper again, and looked as black, they
did! However, they all seemed to be pleased when Mrs.
Alicumpaine said, ‘Supper is ready, children!’
And they went crowding and pushing in, as if they had had dry
bread for dinner.</p>
<p>‘How are the children getting on?’ said Mr. Orange
to Mrs. Orange, when Mrs. Orange came to look after baby.
Mrs. Orange had left baby on a shelf near Mr. Orange while he
played at beggar-my-neighbour, and had asked him to keep his eye
upon her now and then.</p>
<p>‘Most charmingly, my dear!’ said Mrs.
Orange. ‘So droll to see their little flirtations and
jealousies! Do come and look!’</p>
<p>‘Much obliged to you, my dear,’ said Mr. Orange;
‘but I don’t care about children myself.’</p>
<p>So Mrs. Orange, having seen that baby was safe, went back
without Mr. Orange to the room where the children were having
supper.</p>
<p>‘What are they doing now?’ said Mrs. Orange to
Mrs. Alicumpaine.</p>
<p>‘They are making speeches, and playing at
parliament,’ said Mrs. Alicumpaine to Mrs. Orange.</p>
<p>On hearing this, Mrs. Orange set off once more back again to
Mr. Orange, and said, ‘James dear, do come. The
children are playing at parliament.’</p>
<p>‘Thank you, my dear,’ said Mr. Orange, ‘but
I don’t care about parliament myself.’</p>
<p>So Mrs. Orange went once again without Mr. Orange to the room
where the children were having supper, to see them playing at
parliament. And she found some of the boys crying,
‘Hear, hear, hear!’ while other boys cried ‘No,
no!’ and others, ‘Question!’
‘Spoke!’ and all sorts of nonsense that ever you
heard. Then one of those tiresome fat boys who had stopped
the doorway told them he was on his legs (as if they
couldn’t see that he wasn’t on his head, or on his
anything else) to explain, and that, with the permission of his
honourable friend, if he would allow him to call him so (another
tiresome boy bowed), he would proceed to explain. Then he
went on for a long time in a sing-song (whatever he meant), did
this troublesome fat boy, about that he held in his hand a glass;
and about that he had come down to that house that night to
discharge what he would call a public duty; and about that, on
the present occasion, he would lay his hand (his other hand) upon
his heart, and would tell honourable gentlemen that he was about
to open the door to general approval. Then he opened the
door by saying, ‘To our hostess!’ and everybody else
said ‘To our hostess!’ and then there were
cheers. Then another tiresome boy started up in sing-song,
and then half a dozen noisy and nonsensical boys at once.
But at last Mrs. Alicumpaine said, ‘I cannot have this
din. Now, children, you have played at parliament very
nicely; but parliament gets tiresome after a little while, and
it’s time you left off, for you will soon be
fetched.’</p>
<p>After another dance (with more tearing to rags than before
supper), they began to be fetched; and you will be very glad to
be told that the tiresome fat boy who had been on his legs was
walked off first without any ceremony. When they were all
gone, poor Mrs. Alicumpaine dropped upon a sofa, and said to Mrs.
Orange, ‘These children will be the death of me at last,
ma’am,—they will indeed!’</p>
<p>‘I quite adore them, ma’am,’ said Mrs.
Orange; ‘but they DO want variety.’</p>
<p>Mr. Orange got his hat, and Mrs. Orange got her bonnet and her
baby, and they set out to walk home. They had to pass Mrs.
Lemon’s preparatory establishment on their way.</p>
<p>‘I wonder, James dear,’ said Mrs. Orange, looking
up at the window, ‘whether the precious children are
asleep!’</p>
<p>‘I don’t care much whether they are or not,
myself,’ said Mr. Orange.</p>
<p>‘James dear!’</p>
<p>‘You dote upon them, you know,’ said Mr.
Orange. ‘That’s another thing.’</p>
<p>‘I do,’ said Mrs. Orange rapturously.
‘O, I <span class="GutSmall">DO</span>!’</p>
<p>‘I don’t,’ said Mr. Orange.</p>
<p>‘But I was thinking, James love,’ said Mrs.
Orange, pressing his arm, ‘whether our dear, good, kind
Mrs. Lemon would like them to stay the holidays with
her.’</p>
<p>‘If she was paid for it, I daresay she would,’
said Mr. Orange.</p>
<p>‘I adore them, James,’ said Mrs. Orange,
‘but <span class="GutSmall">SUPPOSE</span> we pay her,
then!’</p>
<p>This was what brought that country to such perfection, and
made it such a delightful place to live in. The grown-up
people (that would be in other countries) soon left off being
allowed any holidays after Mr. and Mrs. Orange tried the
experiment; and the children (that would be in other countries)
kept them at school as long as ever they lived, and made them do
whatever they were told.</p>
<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2>
<p><a name="footnote251"></a><a href="#citation251"
class="footnote">[251]</a> Aged eight.</p>
<p><a name="footnote258"></a><a href="#citation258"
class="footnote">[258]</a> Aged seven.</p>
<p><a name="footnote266"></a><a href="#citation266"
class="footnote">[266]</a> Aged nine.</p>
<p><a name="footnote274"></a><a href="#citation274"
class="footnote">[274]</a> Aged half-past six.</p>
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