University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.
THE CHILDREN OF MERRIGOLAND.

Once upon a time, in the pleasant country of Merrigoland,
all the fathers and mothers, the uncles and aunts, the
grandpas and grandmas, in fact, all the grown-up people
of every sort, were invited to the governor's house to spend
a week; and all the cooks and chambermaids, and nurses
and waiters, and coachmen and gardeners, in Merrigoland,
were invited to go and wait upon them: so there was nobody
left at home in any of the houses but the children;
not even the babies; for their mothers had carried them in
their arms to the governor's house.

“What fun!” shouted the children. “We can do every
thing we have a mind to now.”

“We'll eat all the cake and pies and preserves and candies
in the country,” said Patty Pettitoes.

“We'll swing on all the gates, and climb all the cherry-trees,
and chase all the roosters, and play ball against the
parlor-windows,” said Tom Tearcoat.

“We'll lie down on the sofas, and read stories all day,
and go to sleep before the fire at night,” said Dowsabelle
Dormouse.

“We'll dress up in all our mothers' clothes, and put on
their rings and breastpins,” said little Finnikin Fine, pushing
a chair in front of the looking-glass, and climbing up to
look at herself.

“We'll get our stockings dirty, and tear our frocks, and
tumble our hair, and not wash our hands at dinner-time,
nor put on our eating-aprons,” said Georgie Tearcoat, Tom's
younger sister.

“Yes, yes: we'll all do just as we like best for a whole
week; for father and mother said we might!” shouted all the
children in Merrigoland, and then laughed so loud, that the
mice ran out of their holes to see what was the matter; and
the cats never noticed them, they were so busy sticking the
hair straight up on their backs, and making their tails
look like chimney-brushes; while all the birds in the pleasant
gardens of Merrigoland fluttered their wings, and
sung, —

So the children all did what they liked best, and frolicked
in the sunshine like a swarm of butterflies, or like
several hundred little kittens, until it came night; and then
they went into the houses, and put themselves to bed. But
some of them, I am afraid, forgot to say their prayers when
their mammas were not there to remind them of it.

The next morning they all jumped up, and dressed very
gayly (for children do not often lie in bed), and came down
to breakfast: but, lo and behold! there was no breakfast
ready, nor even any fire in the ranges and cooking-stoves,
and in some houses not even any shavings and kindling-wood
to make a fire; and the cows, who were mostly of a
Scotch breed, came to the bars, calling, —

and the hens all stuck their heads through the bars of the
poultry-yard fence, and cried, —
and the pigeons came flying down to the back door, murmuring,
—
and all the little children began to cry as loud as they
could, and call, —

So, altogether, the older children were just about crazy,
and felt as if they'd like to cry too. But that never would
do, of course, for nobody cries when old enough to know
better: so after running round to each others' houses, and
talking a little, they agreed they would all work together,
and that every one should do what he could do best.

So Tom Tearcoat, instead of climbing trees, and smashing
the furniture with his hatchet, went and split kindlings
in all the wood-houses; and his sister Georgie, who never
wanted to be in the house, carried them into the kitchens;
and Patty Pettitoes tried her hand at cooking, instead of
eating; and Dowsabelle Dormouse made the beds, and beat
up the sofa-pillows; and Mattie Motherly, whose chief delight
was playing at housekeeping in her baby-house, set
the tables, and put the parlors to rights. But there seemed

to be nothing that Finnikin Fine could do; for she had
never thought of any thing but dressing in all the gay
clothes she could get, and looking into the mirror until she
had worn quite a place in the carpet before it. But, at last,
some one said, —

“Oh! Finnikin may dress the little children: that will
suit her best.”

So Finnikin tried to do that. But she spent so much
time tying up the little girls' sleeves with ribbons, and parting
the little boys' hair behind, that, when breakfast-time
came, they were not half ready, and began to cry, —

So at last Finnikin followed their advice, and, when she
had dressed all the children, was so tired and hungry, that
she was glad to sit down and eat her breakfast without even
looking in the mirror once while she was at table.

But nobody knew how to milk the cows; and, although

Tom and Georgie Tearcoat tried with all their might, they
could not manage to get a drop of milk from one of them,
and no one else even tried. But, just as the children were
all wondering what they should do, little Peter Phinn, who
had been listening and looking, with his hands in the pockets
of his ragged trousers, and a broad grin on his freckled
face, said slowly, —

“I know how to milk.”

“You do! Why didn't you say so, Peter Phinn?” cried
all the children angrily.

“Oh! I didn't know as you'd want me and Merry amongst
you,” said Peter.

“Why not? Of course we do,” said Patty Pettitoes, who
was a very good-natured little girl.

“Because Finnikin Fine told Merry once she wasn't fit to
play with her, when her clothes was so poor,” said Peter.

“Did Finnikin say that?” asked Patty.

“Yes, she did, sure; and she called her a little Paddy,
and said, if she wore such an old, mean gown and bonnet,
she'd ought to keep out of the way of folks that dressed
nicer, as she did.”

Then all the children turned and looked at Finnikin Fine,
and said, —

“Oh, shame, Finnikin! for shame to talk so to good little
Merry Phinn!”

Then Finnikin hung down her head, and blushed very
much, and began to cry; but Merry Phinn went close to
her, and whispered, —

“Never mind them, honey. I'll forget it sooner than
you will, and I'll come and help you dress the children
to-morrow morning.”

“And I'll give you my new pink muslin, and my white
beads, and my bronze slippers with pink rosettes, and, and,”
began Finnikin; but Merry put her little brown hand over
her mouth, and said, laughing, —

“And, if I get all these fine things, I'd be as bad as yourself,
Finny darling. No: I'll wear my calico gown, and my
sun-bonnet, and my strong shoes; and you'll see I can get
to my work or my play without half the bother you'd make
in your finery.”

So Finnikin, still blushing, and crying a little, put her
arm round Merry's neck, and kissed her; and then she ran
and took off the rings and pins and ribbons and flowers she
had found time since breakfast to put on, and changed her
blue silk dress for a neat gingham and a white apron, and
put her hair into a net, instead of the wreath and curls it

had cost her so much trouble to arrange. And, when she
came down stairs again, all the children cried, —

“Only see how pretty Finnikin Fine is in her plain dress!
She looks like a little girl now, instead of a wax doll in a
toy-shop window.”

“Yes,” said Tom Tearcoat; “and a fellow could play
with her now in some comfort. It used to be, —

“`Dear me, you rude boy! you've gone and torn my
flounce!' or, `You've spoilt my bow!' or, `Dear me, you
troublesome creature! you've made me so nervous!”'

Every one laughed to hear Tom mimic Finnikin, he did
it so well; but, when they saw that the little girl herself was
troubled by it, they left off directly, and began to talk of
other things; and Tom came and tucked a big green apple
into her pocket, and a lump of maple-sugar into her hand.

Then Peter and Merry, who had always been used to
waiting upon themselves, and doing all the work they were
able to do, showed the other children many things which
they needed to know, and helped them in so many ways,
that the troubles of the morning were soon forgotten; and
when, after clearing away the dinner, the little people all
came out to play upon the green, they agreed to crown
Peter and Merry King and Queen of Merrigoland from

three o'clock in the afternoon until sunset, because they
were the only boy and girl in all the land who knew how
to do the work that must every day be done to make us all
comfortable. But Peter and Merry, who were very sensible
as well as very good-natured children, said, —

“No, no, no! There shall be no kings or queens in Merrigoland.
We will teach you all that we know, and you
shall teach us all that you know, and so we will help each
other; and no one shall think himself better than any one
else, or forget that none of us can do well without the help
of all the rest.”

So the children shouted, —

“Hurrah for Peter and Merry, and down with fine ways
and fine clothes!”

And then they gave three cheers so loud, that the fathers
and mothers, and grandpas and grandmas, and uncles and
aunts, and brothers and sisters, heard them, as they sat at
dinner in the governor's house; and all came trooping home
in a great hurry to see what was the matter.

But when they heard the story, and found how well the
children were going on, they said, —

“We could teach them nothing better than what they
are learning for themselves. We may let them alone.”

So they all went back to the governor's house, and spent
the rest of the week, and” —

“Tea is ready, Mrs. Legrange,” said James at the parlor-door.