Adventures in Toyland/IX.

The next evening, as soon as the little girl came in, she went to their meeting-place by the Noah's Ark.

But the little Marionette was not to be found.

"This is too bad of her!" said the little girl. "Our last time! And after she has promised not to be late!"

Tears rose to her eyes.

"I am very much disappointed," said she as she walked up and down the shop looking for her friend.

"I shall never find her.... Why, there she is!" she exclaimed suddenly.

And she hurried up to the little Marionette, who, half-concealed by a big Drum, lay on the ground beside a Puzzle.

"You are not very kind," remarked the little girl reproachfully. "I asked you to be early, and you never came at all."

"I am very sorry," answered the little Marionette in a tired voice.

Then she sat up, and the little girl saw with much sorrow and surprise that she was quite disfigured. Her nose was broken, her eyes were crooked, and her face was quite knocked about. All the little girl's annoyance vanished, and her heart was full of pity.

"Oh, you poor dear little dolly!" she cried; "what has happened to you?"

"I have hurt myself," was the answer. "I tripped up over this Puzzle."

"I am sorry. Are you very badly hurt?" asked her little friend with pity.

"Never mind me. I promised to tell you one more story, and I shall do so," answered the little Marionette.

She spoke very sadly, and the little girl picked her up and kissed her.

"Would you not like to put off telling me a story to-day?" she asked.

"No. I should like to do so," the Marionette answered, "for it is our last meeting. Put me back on the counter and I will tell it to you."

"Shall I put you back where I found you?"

"No, take me back to our old place. I am tired of this Puzzle."

So the little girl took her to the Noah's Ark, and placed her with her back to it.

"What is your story about, dear?" the little girl asked, drawing her chair close to the counter, and bending her head close to the little Marionette, the better to hear her small voice—weaker and more tiny that evening than usual.

"About a little Marionette like myself, whose best and dearest friend left her and thought she didn't mind. And all the while she minded so very much! More than she knew how to say!"

"Poor little Marionette!" said Molly.

"It was sad, for it was only a mistake, wasn't it?" said the little Marionette lady with a sigh. "But you shall hear all about it. Listen whilst I tell you the story of:

The two little Marionette dolls had just finished their dance before an admiring throng of Toys, and the curtain had, that moment, fallen upon their last performance.

"So now," sighed the little lady Marionette to her partner; "so now the play is over. We shall never act together again. I heard the woman who owned the shop say that she was going to separate us, and sell us as ordinary Toys. She said there was so little demand for Marionettes nowadays.... But you heard that as well as I, didn't you?"

"Yes, I heard," he answered. "And more, too. She said she was going to send me away with some other Toys to a Christmas-tree. So that it will be good-bye for a long while."

The little lady Marionette patted the paniers of her pretty brocade dress and remained silent.

"You don't mind that, do you?" her partner said. "I thought you wouldn't."

"I do mind," she answered at last.

"Yes; very much I am sure," he said.

"You hurt my feelings," she replied.

"I wouldn't do that for the whole world—not for ten worlds," he answered.

She smiled.

"Oh, you smile!" he said. "Then you do not mind very much after all."

"I smile because it makes me happy to hear you speak kindly to me again," she answered.

But her answer did not please him.

"You smile at everything," he said "Nothing troubles you much."

"It troubles me that you should be going away; away from me into the wide world," she said.

"It will trouble you for half an hour, not longer," said he. "Only half an hour, that's all. I must leave you now."

"Don't," said she. "Stay."

"I can't," said he. "Good-bye."

And he went straight away without another word.

"He does not know how dear he is to my heart or he would not leave me so," said the little Marionette to herself after he had left.

Then she threw herself down on the counter and cried as if her heart were breaking. She threw herself down so violently that she broke her nose and knocked her eyes awry. But she was too miserable to care. She lay still and cried on.

At last a friend of hers came along—a friend who was a Doll of common sense and practical ways.

"What is all this about?" she asked. "Why are you crying?"

"Because half an hour may last for so long," wept the little Marionette.

"You are talking nonsense," she replied contemptuously. "Everybody knows that half an hour can only last thirty minutes."

"Not always. It may sometimes last a whole year—many years."

"Tut, tut!" replied the common-sense Doll; "you have no reasoning power. That I can see by your face. Still, if I can help you I will. What would you have me do?"

"Give me back my dream," said the Marionette. Then she covered her face with her hands and gave a great sigh.

The common-sense Doll looked even more practical than before.

"That is it, is it?" she said. "A morbid longing after a Dream. I begin to understand. Nerves,—indigestion,—too many sweet things,—I fear I cannot, then, be of much assistance. However, the General of the Tin Soldiers has a wonderful turn for doctoring, quite a natural gift. I will send him to you. He may be able to do you some good."

So she went on her way, and the little Marionette was once more alone with her sorrow and regret.

By and by, however, the General of the Tin Soldiers trotted up on his handsome black charger, and reined in before her. "My dear little lady," he said kindly, if pompously, "in what pitiful condition do I find you? Come, come, tell an old soldier, who has been through much himself, all about it." And, as she did not at once answer: "Well," he continued good-naturedly, "never mind. Do not trouble to speak, I will prescribe for you. I recognize your complaint, and have already treated with much success a large number of my Tin Soldiers suffering in the same way. This, then, is my prescription for your malady: plenty of fresh air; exercise in moderation; early hours and plain diet. But don't let your diet become monotonous. For example, a rice pudding one day, sago the next, tapioca the third. And a little gentle amusement every now and then to keep up your spirits; Christy Minstrels; a pleasant, little musical gathering of friends; and so on. Finally, a powerful tonic to put a little more color into those poor little cheeks. Kindly permit me to feel your pulse."

And so saying the General bent from his saddle and courteously took the little Marionette's hand. Then, looking much alarmed, "Galloping, galloping!" he exclaimed, "I must do likewise, and order you a tonic at the nearest chemist's without delay."

And putting spurs into his horse he rode away hurriedly.

"All that won't do me any good," said the little Marionette aloud. "I don't want that." "What do I want?" she sighed.

"A jest, my good creature," said a voice near her, and looking up she saw the Clown with his hands in his pockets dancing a double-shuffle in front of her.

"A jest," he repeated. Then as he danced and shook the bells on his cap, he chanted in time to the movement of his feet—

"Broken nose and crooked eyes,    Broken heart and mournful sighs,—     Life's a jest for a' that."

"No, it isn't; not to me," answered the little Marionette very sadly.

"It will be, by and by," he said cheerfully.

"No; not to me," she repeated.

The Clown looked at her with sympathy.

"Shall I tell you a good story?" he asked. "Quite one of my best?"

"You are very kind," said the little Marionette. "I think, though, I would rather hear it another time, if you do not mind."

"Not at all," answered the Clown as he danced away, jingling his bells as he went. "I don't mind, I'm not easily hurt. But take my advice, if the situation is not a jest in itself make a jest dove-tail into the situation. Good-bye, my little friend. Cheer up." "Cheer up!" repeated the little lady. "But it is not easy. I shall have to wait until the half-hour is over before I can do that."

After this she lay on the counter quietly, without taking notice of anything or anyone. And the other Toys, seeing she wished to be left to herself, did not disturb her.

By and by, the time when the Toys are able to talk and move about passed by, and they all became still once more: just as you are accustomed to see them. And people passed in and out, and to and fro, but the little lady Marionette lay unobserved—alone and unhappy in her corner of the counter.

"The half-hour is very long," she said. "Will it ever end? My heart is very heavy...."

The little Marionette made a long pause.

"Go on, if you please," said the little girl.

But the little lady remained silent.

"Do go on," repeated her small friend.

Yet she never answered. "What is the matter with you?" asked the little girl impatiently.

She looked closely at the Marionette as she spoke.

Why, were those tears she saw, or was it only the light shining upon the little lady's glass eyes? Glass eyes shine very easily, it is true. Still, supposing she were crying and wanted to be comforted? She would ask her.

"You are not crying, dear, are you?" said the little girl.

The little Marionette gave a great sigh.

"Perhaps," she replied gently.

"What is it about?" asked the little girl with much sympathy.

Then all at once she understood.

"I believe," she exclaimed, "you have been telling me a story about yourself! It all happened to you to-day, while I was away, didn't it?"

The little lady rubbed two tiny wax hands across her two glass eyes. "You have guessed rightly," she said in a little faltering voice.

"Oh, I am sorry!" said her little friend with great sympathy. "I have been out all the afternoon, so I never heard Auntie say she was going to send you and your partner away from each other. And fancy his going away and leaving you as he did! You poor little thing, how I wish I could do something to make you happier!"

Molly thought a moment. "I know!" she exclaimed; "you shall belong to me, my dear. I shall ask Auntie to give you to me, and you shall be my very own dolly!"

"Come with me, darling," she continued, hugging the little Marionette tightly, "and I will sing you to sleep in Auntie's big rocking-chair. I will make up a nice song all by myself and all about you. You will see then how much I love you, and you won't cry any more. When you wake up you will feel happier again."

And going into the room at the back of the shop, she drew a rocking-chair near the cheerful blaze of the bright fire and sat down, still clasping the little Marionette in her arms.

At first she rocked to and fro silently, and with a thoughtful expression. Presently she gave a sudden jerk to the rocking-chair, and sung in a shrill sweet voice, and with some energy—

"Lullaby, little dolly, lullaby, lullaby,    Your poor nose is broken, your eyes are awry,     But I'll love you and kiss you, so you must just try     Not to cry, little dolly,—lullaby, lullaby."

"Lullaby," she said more gently, and kissed her fondly. Then she began afresh, but more softly and soothingly—

"Lullaby, little dolly, lullaby, lullaby,    You know you are ugly and rather a guy,     But my arms are around you, so why should you sigh?     Just you sleep, little dolly,—lullaby, lullaby."

"Lullaby," she whispered, and kissed her again very tenderly.

"This is not poetry, only rhyme, and not very flattering rhyme either," murmured the little Marionette. "But if it is not poetry it is love.... And it brings comfort to my sore heart, which the reasoning, and the doctoring, and the jesting could not do...." She whispered something more, but very weakly. Her power of talking to a Mortal had all but left her, and the child had to put her head quite close to the little lady so as to be able to catch what she said.

"Let me always stay with you," the little Marionette just managed to whisper.

"Always, dear," said her little friend.

And then the little lady fell asleep quite happily. That at least was what the little girl thought. And if she thought so we might as well think the same.

"You want me to give you that little Marionette?" said the owner of the toy-shop to the little girl that same evening. "Very well, Molly, you shall have her."

"Oh, thank you, Auntie!" replied her little niece with much gratitude.

"There is not very much to thank me for," remarked her aunt. "She is not worth anything now. I can't imagine," she added, "how it is that she has got so knocked about."

Now the little girl had no need to imagine it, for she knew. But she kept her knowledge to herself, fearing that if she told her Aunt what had happened she would be laughed at as a fanciful child.

But we should not have laughed at her,—should we? There would have been no fancy at out the matter for us. For we know that the Toy World is a very real World indeed!