Sleep well, and grow fast. Here's a pretty plaything for you,"--taking from her pocket a big, beautiful bubble, and tossing it in the air. "Run fast," she said, "blow hard, follow the bubble, catch it if you can; but, above all things, keep it flying. Its name is Fortune,--a pretty name. All the little boys like to run after my bubbles. As long as it keeps up, up, all will go brightly; but if you fail to blow, or blow unwisely, and it goes down, down--well--you'll be lucky either way, my Sunday Prince; 'tis I who say so." Thereupon the Fairy kissed the sleeping child and vanished.

Only the clear eyes of the little Prince could see the rainbow bubble which hung in air above his head, and flew before, wherever he went. He began to see it when still very young, and as he grew bigger he saw it more clearly still. And he blew, blew, and the gay bubble went up, up, and all things prospered. Before long, the baby Prince was a man, and took possession of his kingdom; for in this wonderful country plenty of kingdoms are to be had, and Princes are not forced to wait until their fathers die before taking possession of their crowns. So, being a grown Prince, he began to look about for a Princess to share his throne with him. And he found a very nice little one; who, when he asked her, made a courtesy and said, "Yes, thank you," in the prettiest way possible. Then the Prince was pleased, and sent for a priest. The priest's name was Slack. He belonged to the Methodist persuasion, Otsego Conference, but he married the Prince and the Princess just as well as though he had been an archbishop. They went to live in a small palace of their own, and after awhile some little princelings came to live with them, and they were all very happy together. And the lucky Prince, being fairy-blessed, kept on being lucky. The rainbow bubble flew before; he blew strongly, wisely; it soared high, high, and all things prospered.

His kingdom increased, his treasure-bags were filled with gold. By and by the little palace grew too small for them, or they fancied it so, and another was built, a real palace this time, with lawns, and fish-ponds, and graperies, and gardens. The only trouble was--

But here come the children downstairs, so I must drop into plain prose, and tell you what already you have guessed, that the Prince I mean is their father, John Frisbie,--Prince John, if you like,--and the Princess's name was Mary Jones before she was married, but now, of course, it is Mary Frisbie. There were five of the princelings,--Jack and May and Arthur and Lulu and Bertha. The new palace was a beautiful house, with wide, lovely grounds. But since they came to live in it, Mrs. Frisbie had taken it into her head that so fine a house required manners to match, and that the things the children liked best, and had been allowed to do in the small house, were vulgar, and might not be permitted now. This was a real trouble to the little ones, for, as their mother said, they were "clear Frisbie all through;" and the thrift, energy, cleverness, and other qualities by which their father had made his fortune, were strong in them. Perhaps the Fairy had visited their cradles also. Who knows?

The girls came down crisp and fresh in their ruffled frocks, with curls smoothed, sashes tied, and their company dolls in their hands.

"Now sit down and be comfortable," said Mrs. Frisbie.

Dear me, what a number of meanings there are to that word "comfortable"!

Mrs. Frisbie thought it meant pretty clothes, pretty rooms, and nothing to do. To the boys it took the form of hard, hearty work of some sort.

Papa understood it as a cool day in his office, business brisk, but not too brisk, and an occasional cigar. May, Lulu, and Bertha would have translated it thus: "our old ginghams and our own way;" while Dinah, if asked, would have defined "comfort" as having the kitchen "clar'd up"

after a successful bake, and being free to sit down, darn stockings, and read the "Ill.u.s.trated Pirate's Manual," a newspaper she much affected on account of the blood-thirstiness of its pictures. None of these various explanations of the word mean the same thing, you see. And the drollest part is that no one can ever be made "comfortable" in any way but his own: that is impossible.

The company dolls were very fine ladies indeed; they came from Paris, and had trunks full of splendid dresses. The children did not care much for them, and liked better certain decrepit babies of rag and composition, which were thought too shabby to be allowed in the parlor.

"Where are the boys?" asked Mrs. Frisbie, when the small sisters had settled themselves.

"Jack was going to have his sale this afternoon," replied Mary. "And Arthur is auctioneer."

"His sale! What on earth is that?"

"Why, Mamma--don't you know? Jack's chickens, of course. Croppy had eleven and Top-knot nine. There's a 'corner' in chickens just now, Arthur says, because most of the other boys have lost theirs. Alfred's were sick and died, and the rats ate all of Charley Ross's, and a hawk carried off five of Howard's. Jack expects to make a lot of money, because Croppy is a Bramahpootra hen, you know, and her chicks are very valuable."

"Corner! Lot of money! Oh, dear!" sighed poor Mrs. Frisbie, "what words the boys do teach you. Where they learn them I can't imagine. Not from me."

"From Papa, I guess," explained Lulu innocently. "He used to have hens when he was little, and sell 'em. It was splendid fun, he says.

Grandmamma thinks that Jack is just Papa over again."

"All of you are," said Mrs. Frisbie. "Not one of you is a bit like me.

Can't you sit still, Bertha? What _are_ you doing there with your handkerchief?"

"Only dusting the table leg, Mamma; it wasn't quite clean."

"Dear, dear! and in your nice frock. Do let the furniture alone, child.

Ring for Bridget, if any thing wants cleaning. You're a real Meddlesome Matty, Bertha."

"O Mamma!" cried Bertha, aggrieved. "Grandmamma taught me to dust when we lived in the other house, you know. Grandmamma said it was a good thing for little girls to be useful. And I didn't meddle with any thing on the table; really I didn't, Mamma."

"Never mind, dear," said Mrs. Frisbie. "It's no great matter, only I don't like to have you do such things. Now sit still and play with your doll." She opened a book and began to read. The children crept nearer to each other and talked in low whispers.

"Let's play that Eugenie and Victoria are little girls come to make each other a visit, and Isabella is their Mamma."

"You can't! Little girls never have trains to their dresses or necklaces."

"Oh! I wish Nippy Scatch-Face and old Maria were down here," sighed Lulu.

"I'll tell you," put in May. "We'll play they are three stiff old ladies, who always wear best clothes, you know, and sit so in chairs; and that Nippy and Maria are coming to make them a visit. They needn't really come, you know. Mrs. Eugenie, sit up straight. Now listen to the hateful old thing! She's talking to Victoria."

"Sister, when are those children coming?"

"I don't know, sister," squeaked back Lulu in the character of Victoria.

"I wish they wouldn't come at all. Children are the bane of my existence."

"You horrid doll, talking that way about _my_ baby," cried Bertha, giving Victoria a shove.

"Don't, Beppie; you'll push her down," said May. Then changing her voice again, "Your manners is most awful, I'm sure," she squeaked, in the person of the irate Victoria.

All the children giggled, and Mrs. Frisbie looked up from her book.

At this moment in ran the two boys, hot, dusty, and excited,--Arthur with a handful of "fractional currency," and Jack waving a two-dollar bill.

"See!" they cried. "Four dollars and sixty-five cents. Isn't that splendid? Mr. Ashurst bought all the Croppys, and gave twenty-five cents a piece for them."

"Let us see, let us see!" cried the little girls, precipitating themselves on the money.

"Look here, now, Mary Frisbie--no s.n.a.t.c.hing!" protested Jack,--"I haven't told you the best yet. Mr. Ashurst says we're such good farmers, that he'll give us work whenever we like to take it. He says I could earn three dollars a week _now_! Think of that."

"Oh, how much!" cried Lulu, awe-struck. "What could you do with so much, Jacky?"

"Now boys,--listen to me," said their mother. "Go upstairs right away and get ready for tea. You look like real farmers' boys at this moment, I declare, so hot and dusty. I don't wonder Mr. Ashurst offered you work,--though I think it was very impertinent of him to do so. I hope you said that your father's sons didn't need to earn money in any such way."

"Why, Mamma, of course I didn't. Arthur and me like to work, and we are going to somehow just as soon as we're big enough. It's lots better fun than going to school. Besides, Papa says we may. He told us all American boys ought to work, whether their fathers are rich or poor."

"Papa likes to talk nonsense with you," said Mrs. Frisbie, biting her lips. "Go up now and dress."

There was a howl from both boys.

"O Mamma! not yet. It's too early for that horrid dressing, oh, a great deal too early, Mamma. We've got a lot to do in our chicken house.

Mayn't we go out again for a little while, just for half an hour, Mamma?"

"Well--for half an hour you may," said Mrs. Frisbie reluctantly, consulting her watch. Away clattered the boys,--the girls looking after them with envious eyes.

Presently Lulu slipped out and was gone a few minutes. She came back sparkling, with her cheeks very rosy.

"Mamma," she cried, "what _do_ you think? David says if you haven't any objections, we may each of us have a little garden down there behind the asparagus beds. He'll make them for us, Mamma, he says, and we can plant just what we like in them. O Mamma! don't have any objections--please."

"Will he really?" cried May. "I'll put peppergra.s.s in mine,--and parsley. Dinah says she never has as much parsley as she wants."

"Yes, and little green cuc.u.mbers," added Bertha,--"little teeny-weeny ones, for pickles, you know. Dinah is always wishing she could get them, but David never sends in any but big ones. O Mamma! do say yes. It'll be so nice."

"Cuc.u.mbers! peppergra.s.s! Well, you are the strangest children! Why don't you have pinks and pansies and pretty things?"

"Oh, we will, and make bouquets for you, Mamma; only we thought of the useful things first."

"Somehow you always do think of useful things first," murmured Mrs.

Frisbie. "However, have the gardens if you like. I'm sure I don't care."