as if they did, a magnificent coach made of half the mammoth
pumpkin, mounted on the wheels of Teddy’s wagon, painted
yellow to match the gay carriage. Perched on a seat in front sat a
jolly little coachman in a white cotton-wool wig, cocked hat,
scarlet breeches, and laced coat, who cracked a long whip and
jerked the red reins so energetically, that the gray steeds reared
finely. It was Teddy, and he beamed upon the company so affably
that they gave him a round all to himself; and Uncle Laurie said,
“If I could find as sober a coachman as that one, I would engage
him on the spot.” The coach stopped, the godmother lifted in the
Princess, and she was trundled away in state, kissing her hand to
the public, with her glass shoes sticking up in front, and her pink
train sweeping the ground behind, for, elegant as the coach was, I
regret to say that her Highness was rather a tight fit.
The next scene was the ball, and here Nan and Daisy appeared as
gay as peacocks in all sorts of finery. Nan was especially good as
the proud sister, and crushed many imaginary ladies as she swept
about the palace-hall. The Prince, in solitary state upon a
somewhat unsteady throne, sat gazing about him from under an
imposing crown, as he played with his sword and admired the
rosettes in his shoes. When Cinderella came in he jumped up, and
exclaimed, with more warmth than elegance,
“My gracious! who is that?” and immediately led the lady out to
dance, while the sisters scowled and turned up their noses in the
corner.
The stately jig executed by the little couple was very pretty, for the
childish faces were so earnest, the costumes so gay, and the steps
so peculiar, that they looked like the dainty quaint figures painted
on a Watteau fan. The Princess’s train was very much in her way,
and the sword of Prince Rob nearly tripped him up several times.
But they overcame these obstacles remarkably well, and finished
the dance with much grace and spirit, considering that neither
knew what the other was about.
“Drop your shoe,” whispered Mrs. Jo’s voice as the lady was about
to sit down.
“Oh, I fordot!” and, taking off one of the silvery slippers,
Cinderella planted it carefully in the middle of the stage, said to
Rob, “Now you must try and tatch me,” and ran away, while the
Prince, picking up the shoe, obediently trotted after her.
The third scene, as everybody knows, is where the herald comes to
try on the shoe. Teddy, still in coachman’s dress, came in blowing
a tin fish-horn melodiously, and the proud sisters each tried to put
on the slipper. Nan insisted on playing cut off her toe with a
carving-knife, and performed that operation so well that the herald
was alarmed, and begged her to be “welly keerful.” Cinderella then
was called, and came in with the pinafore half on, slipped her foot
into the slipper, and announced, with satisfaction,
“I am the Pinsiss.”
Daisy wept, and begged pardon; but Nan, who liked tragedy,
improved upon the story, and fell in a fainting-fit upon the floor,
where she remained comfortably enjoying the rest of the play. It
was not long, for the Prince ran in, dropped upon his knees, and
kissed the hand of Goldilocks with great ardor, while the herald
blew a blast that nearly deafened the audience. The curtain had no
chance to fall, for the Princess ran off the stage to her father,
crying, “Didn’t I do well?” while the Prince and herald had a
fencing-match with the tin horn and wooden sword.
“It was beautiful!” said every one; and, when the raptures had a
little subsided, Nat came out with his violin in his hand.
“Hush! hush!” cried all the children, and silence followed, for
something in the boy’s bashful manner and appealing eyes make
every one listen kindly.
The Bhaers thought he would play some of the old airs he knew so
well, but, to their surprise, they heard a new and lovely melody, so
softly, sweetly played, that they could hardly believe it could be