Cinderella; Or The Little Glass Slipper

Well, when we were ready we stepped in the hall,
And there was a lady a-coming to call.
She said she just chanced to be passing that way,
And she really had only a minute to stay.

We waited and waited, and hoped she would go,
Till I saw it was almost the time for the show,
For I heard the clocks striking all over the town,
And I knew that the dollies would all be run down.

And so I just said, "I should s'pose, Mrs. Black,
Your little girl wonders why don't you come back."
That's all that I spoke, every 'dentical word;
But she said, "Little girls should be seen and not heard."

I guess that's a proverb, so maybe 'tis true;
But, if people won't see, what can little girls do?
My mamma looked queer, but that ended the call,
And we went to the Dollies' Bazaar, after all.

BERTIE'S CORN-POPPER

Bertie had the desire of his heart,--a corn-popper! He had wanted it for a long time,--three weeks, at least. Mamma brought it when she came home from the city, and gave it to him for his very own. A bushel of corn, ready popped, would not have been half so good. There was all the delight of popping in store for the long winter evenings.

Bertie could hardly wait to eat his supper before he tried his corn-popper. It proved to be a very good one. He popped corn that evening, and the next, and the next. He fed all the family, gave some to all his playmates, and carried a bag of pop-corn to school for his teacher.

Trip, the shaggy, little, yellow dog, came in for a share, and Mintie too. Who or what was Mintie?

Mintie was a bantam biddy, very small, white as snow, and very pretty. She had been left an orphan chick, and for a while kept in the house, near the kitchen fire. She had been Bertie's especial charge, and he fed and tended her faithfully.

As she grew older she would rove about with the larger hens, but was very tame, and always liked the house. She would come in very often. When Bertie happened to pop corn in the daytime she was pretty apt to be around, and pick up the kernels he threw to her.

One night he left his corn-popper on the kitchen table. It was open, and two or three small kernels were still in it.

Early next morning, long before Bertie was dressed, Mintie came into the kitchen. She flew up on the table, and helped herself to the corn in the popper. The girl was busy getting breakfast, and did not mind much about her. Presently she went down cellar, and Mintie had the room to herself.

When Bertie came down to breakfast there was a white egg in the corn-popper! It was so small that it looked almost like a bird's; but it was Mintie's first egg.

Bertie clapped his hands; he was very much pleased.

"Mamma! mamma!" he shouted. "See this pretty egg! Mintie put it into my popper, and must have meant to give it to me."

And mamma said, "Very likely she did."

FIRE! FIRE!! FIRE!!!

Where is it? Where is it? Why, it is in the water! Isn't tbat funny? But you see it isn't a real fire, but only a fire-fish.* Sweet creature, isn't he? Suppose you were a little, innocent mermaid, swimming alone for the first time; how would you feel if you were to meet this fellow darting towards you with his great red mouth open? Why, you would scream with fright, and swim to your mother as fast as you could, and catch hold of her tail for protection. At least, that is what I should do if I were a mermaid. But Mrs. Mermaid won't tell you that the fire-fish will not hurt you unless you hurt him first, in which case he will prick you dreadfully with his long, sharp spines.

*Project Gutenberg ed. note: The picture is of a fish also known as a scorpionfish.

I never see his picture without thinking of a red Indian in his warpaint and feathers. Perhaps--who knows?-perhaps when Indians are greedy, and eat too much fish, they may turn into fire-fish, and have to swim about forever under water, and never see a green forest again. If you are an Indian I advise you to be careful, my dear.

Nobody knows why this fish has such enormous, wing-like fins. Wise men used to think that he could raise himself out of the water with them, like the flying-fish; but it is now proved that he cannot, and there seems to be no reason why a set of plain, small fins would not serve him just as well for swimming. He prefers warm water to cold; so he lives in the tropical seas, swimming about the coasts of India, Africa, and Australia. The natives of Ceylon call him Gini-maha, and they think he is very good to eat. They take great care in catching him, for they are very much afraid of him, thinking that his sharp spines are poisoned, and can inflict a deadly wound. But in this they are too hard upon the fellow. He can prick them deeply and painfully, and he will if they meddle with him; but he is a perfectly respectable fish, and would not think of such a cowardly thing as poisoning anybody.

THE DOLLS AND THE OTHER DOLLS.

"Mamma," little Nellie asked, "is it right to give away things that have been given to you?"

Her mamma replied that it might be quite right sometimes; and she said, "But I should feel sorry if I had made a little friend a present she did not value, and so was glad to part with it."

"O mamma!" said Nellie, "you know how I value my dollies, every one, that my dear aunts and cousins sent me because I was sick. Now I am well again. To-morrow is New-Year's. Some sick little girls in the hospital want dollies. Could I, if I knew which one to choose, keep only one for myself, and send the whole five of them for those poor children who haven't any?"

Her mamma liked the plan. She gave Nellie a box, and Nellie began kissing her babies, and laying them, one after another, in the box.

There were two of nearly the same size, that were very dear to this little mother. She called them twins. They wore white frocks and blue kid boots. They had real blonde hair and their eyes would open and shut.

These lovely twins Nellie held in her arms a long time before she could decide which to part with. When she did place one in the box, to be her own no more, a tear was on the doll's cheek. I do not think the drop came from dolly's eye.

A few days after the dolls were given Nellie's mamma let her invite three little girls to play with her. Each girl brought her Christmas or her New-Year's doll; and the three dolls, with Nellie's, looked sweetly sitting together in a row.

By and by Nellie's mamma came to her room, which she had given to the party for its use that afternoon. She told the children she would give them a little supper of cakes and pears and grapes, and it would be ready as soon as Biddy could bring the ice-cream from down street.

The smiling child-visitors gathered around the kind lady, saying, "We thank you, and we love you ever so much."

Nellie said softly, "Mamma dear, I wouldn't take my dollies back if I could. I love to think they amuse the sick children. But I do wish that for just a minute we had as many at this party."

Her mamma turned to her dressing-case. It stood low enough for the smallest child to look into the mirror at the back easily. Moving off the toilet cushions and cologne-bottles, the lady put the four dolls in front of the looking-glass. Their reflection in the glass showed four more.

"Six, seven, eight," cried the girls, delighted. "And all are twins--four pairs of twins!"

After supper they made, the twins sit, and stand, and dance, bow and shake hands, before the looking-glass. So they played till dusk, when the other little girls' mammas sent to take them home, after kissing Nellie good-night.

WHY DID MAMMA CHANGE HER MIND?

Mamma Miller told Fay and Lonnie that they might have a party, so they tried to get ready for it. But the party was very different to what they expected. It always happens so about everything, if we pay no regard to one another's wishes.

Mrs. Miller said they might invite ten children.

"You write to five little girls, Fay," said she, "and Lonnie will write to the five little boys."

So they went into the library. Lonnie sat down in papa's big chair, while Fay climbed up on one arm, close beside him, and they tried to think whom they would like to come to their party.

"Make out your list first," said Lonnie. Fay did, and her brother agreed to all the girls. But as soon as Lonnie commenced writing his names, Fay began to find fault.

"I don't like boys, anyway," said Fay, "only you, Lonnie. Let's have all girls at our party."

"But it won't be my party," said Lonnie, "if you have all girls."

"I don't care, all those are horrid," pointing to his paper.

"You say that because you don't like boys." And then he told his sister that every little fellow whose name he had written was just as good as gold. And so they were just as good as Lonnie Miller, and he was one of the best boys that ever lived, so everybody said.

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