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diff --git a/809-0.txt b/809-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..eca8c40 --- /dev/null +++ b/809-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2004 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Holiday Romance, by Charles Dickens + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Holiday Romance + In Four Parts + +Author: Charles Dickens + +Release Date: February 7, 1997 [eBook #809] +[Most recently updated: June 8, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: David Price + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOLIDAY ROMANCE *** + + + + + HOLIDAY ROMANCE + In Four Parts + + +PART I. +INTRODUCTORY ROMANCE PROM THE PEN OF WILLIAM TINKLING, ESQ. {251} + + +THIS 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. _He_ has no idea of being an editor. + +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_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 P.M. 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. + +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. + +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. + +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?’ + +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. + +‘There is a syllable wanting,’ said he, with a gloomy brow. + +‘Hah! What syllable?’ was my inquiry. + +‘She asks, can she write the word? And no; you see she couldn’t,’ said +the colonel, pointing out the passage. + +‘And the word was?’ said I. + +‘Cow—cow—coward,’ hissed the pirate-colonel in my ear, and gave me back +the note. + +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. + +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. + +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.) + +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. + +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. + +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?’ + +‘It is,’ said the colonel. + +‘Is that paper—please to look at it—in your hand?’ + +‘It is,’ said the colonel. + +‘Is it a military sketch?’ + +‘It is,’ said the colonel. + +‘Of an engagement?’ + +‘Quite so,’ said the colonel. + +‘Of the late engagement?’ + +‘Of the late engagement.’ + +‘Please to describe it, and then hand it to the president of the court.’ + +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. + +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. + +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.’ + +‘Hah!’ exclaimed the pirate. ‘Pretending?’ + +‘Don’t go on like that; you worry me,’ returned his bride. + +The lovely bride of Tinkling echoed the incredible declaration. The two +warriors exchanged stony glances. + +‘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?’ + +‘We only get into scrapes,’ said the bride of Tinkling. + +‘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?’ + +‘Or would my people acknowledge ours?’ said the bride of Tinkling. + +Again the two warriors exchanged stony glances. + +‘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.’ + +‘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.’ + +‘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?’ + +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?’ + +A mournful silence ensued. + +‘Then do you no longer love me, Alice?’ asked the colonel. + +‘Redforth! I am ever thine,’ returned his bride. + +‘Then do you no longer love me, Nettie?’ asked the present writer. + +‘Tinkling! I am ever thine,’ returned my bride. + +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. + +‘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.’ + +I said No, unless disguised as Great-uncle Chopper. + +‘Any queen?’ + +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. + +‘Any fairies?’ + +None that were visible. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +‘It must be the grown-up people who have changed all this,’ said Alice. +‘_We_ couldn’t have changed it, if we had been so inclined, and we never +should have been. Or perhaps Miss Grimmer _is_ 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.’ + +‘Tyrants!’ muttered the pirate-colonel. + +‘Nay, my Redforth,’ said Alice, ‘say not so. Call not names, my +Redforth, or they will apply to pa.’ + +‘Let ’em,’ said the colonel. ‘I do not care. Who’s he?’ + +Tinkling here undertook the perilous task of remonstrating with his +lawless friend, who consented to withdraw the moody expressions above +quoted. + +‘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.’ + +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?’ + +‘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?’ + +The colonel answered sulkily, ‘I don’t mind.’ He then asked, ‘How about +pretending?’ + +‘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.’ + +The colonel, still much dissatisfied, growled, ‘How about waiting?’ + +‘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 _us_ children, and we will help them out, poor +pretty little creatures, if they pretend ever so much.’ + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.’ + +‘How did he mean?’ I asked my lawless friend. + +‘Cut our brides out,’ said the colonel, ‘and then cut our way, without +going down a single turning, bang to the Spanish main!’ + +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. + +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! + +This is the end of the beginning-part that you were to believe most. + + + + +PART II. +ROMANCE. FROM THE PEN OF MISS ALICE RAINBIRD {258} + + +THERE 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. + +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. + +Let us now resume our story. + +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.’ + +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.’ + +‘What old lady?’ inquired the king. ‘I saw none.’ + +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. + +Just then the old lady came trotting up. She was dressed in shot-silk of +the richest quality, smelling of dried lavender. + +‘King Watkins the First, I believe?’ said the old lady. + +‘Watkins,’ replied the king, ‘is my name.’ + +‘Papa, if I am not mistaken, of the beautiful Princess Alicia?’ said the +old lady. + +‘And of eighteen other darlings,’ replied the king. + +‘Listen. You are going to the office,’ said the old lady. + +It instantly flashed upon the king that she must be a fairy, or how could +she know that? + +‘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.’ + +‘It may disagree with her,’ said the king. + +The old lady became so very angry at this absurd idea, that the king was +quite alarmed, and humbly begged her pardon. + +‘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.’ + +The king hung his head under this reproof, and said he wouldn’t talk +about things disagreeing any more. + +‘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.’ + +‘Is that all?’ asked the king. + +‘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.’ + +The king again hung his head, and said he wouldn’t do so any more. + +‘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, PROVIDED SHE WISHES FOR IT AT THE RIGHT TIME. +That is the message. Take care of it.’ + +The king was beginning, ‘Might I ask the reason?’ when the fairy became +absolutely furious. + +‘_Will_ 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.’ + +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. + +‘Be good, then,’ said the old lady, ‘and don’t!’ + +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. + +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. + +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!’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Alicia,’ said the king, one evening, when she wished him good-night. + +‘Yes, papa.’ + +‘What is become of the magic fish-bone?’ + +‘In my pocket, papa!’ + +‘I thought you had lost it?’ + +‘O, no, papa!’ + +‘Or forgotten it?’ + +‘No, indeed, papa.’ + +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. + +‘Alicia.’ + +‘Yes, papa.’ + +‘What have you been doing?’ + +‘Snipping, stitching, cutting, and contriving, papa.’ + +‘Where is the magic fish-bone?’ + +‘In my pocket, papa.’ + +‘I thought you had lost it?’ + +‘O, no, papa.’ + +‘Or forgotten it?’ + +‘No, indeed, papa.’ + +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. + +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. + +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?’ + +‘Cooking and contriving, papa.’ + +‘What else have you been doing, Alicia?’ + +‘Keeping the children light-hearted, papa.’ + +‘Where is the magic fish-bone, Alicia? + +‘In my pocket, papa.’ + +‘I thought you had lost it?’ + +‘O, no, papa!’ + +‘Or forgotten it?’ + +‘No, indeed, papa.’ + +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. + +‘What is the matter, papa?’ + +‘I am dreadfully poor, my child.’ + +‘Have you no money at all, papa?’ + +‘None, my child.’ + +‘Is there no way of getting any, papa?’ + +‘No way,’ said the king. ‘I have tried very hard, and I have tried all +ways.’ + +When she heard those last words, the Princess Alicia began to put her +hand into the pocket where she kept the magic fish-bone. + +‘Papa,’ said she, ‘when we have tried very hard, and tried all ways, we +must have done our very, very best?’ + +‘No doubt, Alicia.’ + +‘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. + +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 +_was_ quarter-day; and the king’s quarter’s salary came rattling down the +chimney, and bounced into the middle of the floor. + +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. + +‘Alicia, my dear,’ said this charming old fairy, ‘how do you do? I hope +I see you pretty well? Give me a kiss.’ + +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. + +‘I suppose you know the reason _now_, why my god-daughter here,’ kissing +the princess again, ‘did not apply to the fish-bone sooner?’ said the +fairy. + +The king made a shy bow. + +‘Ah! but you didn’t _then_?’ said the fairy. + +The king made a shyer bow. + +‘Any more reasons to ask for?’ said the fairy. + +The king said, No, and he was very sorry. + +‘Be good, then,’ said the fairy, ‘and live happy ever afterwards.’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘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. + +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. + +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. + +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.’ + +On hearing such good news, everybody cried out ‘Hip, hip, hip, hurrah!’ +again. + +‘It only remains,’ said Grandmarina in conclusion, ‘to make an end of the +fish-bone.’ + +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. + + + + +PART III. +ROMANCE. FROM THE PEN OF LIEUT.-COL. ROBIN REDFORTH {266} + + +THE 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. + +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. + +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: + + O landsmen are folly! + O pirates are jolly! + O diddleum Dolly, + Di! + + _Chorus_.—Heave yo. + +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. + +It was under these circumstances that the look-out at the masthead gave +the word, ‘Whales!’ + +All was now activity. + +‘Where away?’ cried Capt. Boldheart, starting up. + +‘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. + +‘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. + +All was now excitement. + +‘He nears him!’ said an elderly seaman, following the captain through his +spy-glass. + +‘He strikes him!’ said another seaman, a mere stripling, but also with a +spy-glass. + +‘He tows him towards us!’ said another seaman, a man in the full vigour +of life, but also with a spy-glass. + +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. + +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.’ + +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. + +‘What are your wrongs?’ said the captain. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +All was now stupefaction. + +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. + +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. + +‘She shall be ours at sunrise,’ said he. ‘Serve out a double allowance +of grog, and prepare for action.’ + +All was now preparation. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +They answered with one voice, ‘Death.’ + +‘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.’ + +The cutter was immediately prepared. + +‘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.’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, + +‘Savages!’ + +All was now expectation. + +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: + + Choo a choo a choo tooth. + Muntch, muntch. Nycey! + Choo a choo a choo tooth. + Muntch, muntch. Nycey! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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: + +1. That he should never, under any circumstances, presume to teach any +boy anything any more. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Fire!’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +‘Dost know the name of yon ship, mayor?’ asked Boldheart fiercely. + +‘No,’ said the mayor, rubbing his eyes, which he could scarce believe, +when he saw the goodly vessel riding at anchor. + +‘She is named “The Beauty,”’ said the captain. + +‘Hah!’ exclaimed the mayor, with a start. ‘And you, then, are Capt. +Boldheart?’ + +‘The same.’ + +A pause ensued. The mayor trembled. + +‘Now, mayor,’ said the captain, ‘choose! Help me to my bride, or be +bombarded.’ + +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. + +At the end of the hour the mayor re-appeared more dead than alive, +closely waited on by Boozey more alive than dead. + +‘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.’ + +‘Mayor,’ returned Capt. Boldheart, ‘thou hast saved thy town.’ + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + + +PART IV. +ROMANCE FROM THE PEN OF MISS NETTIE ASHFORD {274} + + +THERE 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. + +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.’ + +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. + +Mrs. Lemon’s neat little housemaid, pulling up her socks as she came +along the passage, answered the ring-ting-ting. + +‘Good-morning,’ said Mrs. Orange. ‘Fine day. How do you do? Mrs. Lemon +at home!’ + +‘Yes, ma’am.’ + +‘Will you say Mrs. Orange and baby?’ + +‘Yes, ma’am. Walk in.’ + +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?’ + +‘Well, she is but poorly. Cutting her teeth, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Lemon. + +‘O, indeed, ma’am!’ said Mrs. Orange. ‘No fits, I hope?’ + +‘No, ma’am.’ + +‘How many teeth has she, ma’am?’ + +‘Five, ma’am.’ + +‘My Emilia, ma’am, has eight,’ said Mrs. Orange. ‘Shall we lay them on +the mantelpiece side by side, while we converse?’ + +‘By all means, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Lemon. ‘Hem!’ + +‘The first question is, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Orange, ‘I don’t bore you?’ + +‘Not in the least, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Lemon. ‘Far from it, I assure you.’ + +‘Then pray _have_ you,’ said Mrs. Orange,—‘_have_ you any vacancies?’ + +‘Yes, ma’am. How many might you require?’ + +‘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. _Have_ +you as many as eight vacancies?’ + +‘I have just eight, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Lemon. + +‘Most fortunate! Terms moderate, I think?’ + +‘Very moderate, ma’am.’ + +‘Diet good, I believe?’ + +‘Excellent, ma’am.’ + +‘Unlimited?’ + +‘Unlimited.’ + +‘Most satisfactory! Corporal punishment dispensed with?’ + +‘Why, we do occasionally shake,’ said Mrs. Lemon, ‘and we have slapped. +But only in extreme cases.’ + +‘_Could_ I, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Orange,—‘_could_ I see the establishment?’ + +‘With the greatest of pleasure, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Lemon. + +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. + +Mrs. Orange whispered to Mrs. Lemon, ‘There is a pale, bald child, with +red whiskers, in disgrace. Might I ask what he has done?’ + +‘Come here, White,’ said Mrs. Lemon, ‘and tell this lady what you have +been doing.’ + +‘Betting on horses,’ said White sulkily. + +‘Are you sorry for it, you naughty child?’ said Mrs. Lemon. + +‘No,’ said White. ‘Sorry to lose, but shouldn’t be sorry to win.’ + +‘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?’ + +‘Bad,’ said Brown. + +‘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?’ + +‘Don’t expect to improve,’ sulked Mrs. Black. ‘Don’t want to.’ + +‘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!’ + +‘You must have a great deal of trouble with them, ma’am,’ said Mrs. +Orange. + +‘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!’ + +‘Well, I wish you good-morning, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Orange. + +‘Well, I wish you good-morning, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Lemon. + +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. + +‘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!’ + +Just then another lady, named Mrs. Alicumpaine, came calling at the +street-door with a ring-ting-ting. + +‘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 _so_ kind!’ + +‘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.’ + +‘I really cannot guess, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Orange. + +‘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.’ + +‘More than charmed, I am sure!’ said Mrs. Orange. + +‘So kind of you!’ said Mrs. Alicumpaine. ‘But I hope the children won’t +bore you?’ + +‘Dear things! Not at all,’ said Mrs. Orange. ‘I dote upon them.’ + +Mr. Orange here came home from the city; and he came, too, with a +ring-ting-ting. + +‘James love,’ said Mrs. Orange, ‘you look tired. What has been doing in +the city to-day?’ + +‘Trap, bat, and ball, my dear,’ said Mr. Orange, ‘and it knocks a man +up.’ + +‘That dreadfully anxious city, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Orange to Mrs. +Alicumpaine; ‘so wearing, is it not?’ + +‘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, _is_ the +result worth the wear and tear?”’ + +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.’ + +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. + +‘How very sweet!’ said Mrs. Orange. ‘The dear things! How pleased they +will be!’ + +‘I don’t care for children myself,’ said Mr. Orange, gaping. + +‘Not for girls?’ said Mrs. Alicumpaine. ‘Come! you care for girls?’ + +Mr. Orange shook his head, and gaped again. ‘Frivolous and vain, ma’am.’ + +‘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!’ + +‘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.’ + +‘O, indeed, you may say so! Quite enough, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Orange. + +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 _would_ 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, _was_ sent home. +‘Highly incorrect, my dear,’ said Mrs. Alicumpaine, handing him out of +the room, ‘and I cannot permit it.’ + +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.’ + +‘O, these children are very wearing!’ said Mrs. Alicumpaine to Mrs. +Orange. + +‘Dear things! I dote upon them; but they ARE wearing,’ said Mrs. Orange +to Mrs. Alicumpaine. + +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. + +‘O, it’s very hard indeed to get these vexing children to be +entertained!’ said Mrs. Alicumpaine to Mrs. Orange. + +‘I dote upon the darlings; but it is hard,’ said Mrs. Orange to Mrs. +Alicumpaine. + +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.’ + +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. + +‘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. + +‘Most charmingly, my dear!’ said Mrs. Orange. ‘So droll to see their +little flirtations and jealousies! Do come and look!’ + +‘Much obliged to you, my dear,’ said Mr. Orange; ‘but I don’t care about +children myself.’ + +So Mrs. Orange, having seen that baby was safe, went back without Mr. +Orange to the room where the children were having supper. + +‘What are they doing now?’ said Mrs. Orange to Mrs. Alicumpaine. + +‘They are making speeches, and playing at parliament,’ said Mrs. +Alicumpaine to Mrs. Orange. + +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.’ + +‘Thank you, my dear,’ said Mr. Orange, ‘but I don’t care about parliament +myself.’ + +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.’ + +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!’ + +‘I quite adore them, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Orange; ‘but they DO want +variety.’ + +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. + +‘I wonder, James dear,’ said Mrs. Orange, looking up at the window, +‘whether the precious children are asleep!’ + +‘I don’t care much whether they are or not, myself,’ said Mr. Orange. + +‘James dear!’ + +‘You dote upon them, you know,’ said Mr. Orange. ‘That’s another thing.’ + +‘I do,’ said Mrs. Orange rapturously. ‘O, I DO!’ + +‘I don’t,’ said Mr. Orange. + +‘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.’ + +‘If she was paid for it, I daresay she would,’ said Mr. Orange. + +‘I adore them, James,’ said Mrs. Orange, ‘but SUPPOSE we pay her, then!’ + +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. + + + + +FOOTNOTES + + +{251} Aged eight. + +{258} Aged seven. + +{266} Aged nine. + +{274} Aged half-past six. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOLIDAY ROMANCE *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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