Adventures in Toyland/V.



"I am a little bit sorry for the Officer," said the little girl. "He must have been a good deal hurt. And he must have felt very silly, too," she added.

"Almost worse than being hurt, isn't it?" said the little Marionette. "Yes, I was a little sorry for him myself; but I think he deserved all he got."

"Yes; because he was a horrid bully, wasn't he?" said the little girl. "And his men, too, were as bad as he. I always used to like toy-soldiers. I never shall again."

"I should not like you to judge of all soldiers by the wooden ones I have told you of," said the Marionette. "We have had in the shop sets of wooden and tin soldiers of the highest character; gallant fellows, beloved and esteemed by all. I will tell you of them to-morrow if you like."

The little girl considered a moment.

"I think," she said at length, "I would rather hear something quite different for a change. If you do not mind," she added politely.

"Not in the least," replied the little lady. "I shall think of a story that shall have nothing to do with soldiers, good, bad, or indifferent."

So on the morrow when they met again the Marionette said:

"I have thought of quite a different sort of story to the one I told you yesterday."

"Thank you," said her little friend. "Please begin."

"Yes," she said as the little Marionette remained silent. "Yes—yes—do begin!"

"Patience, patience! I am just considering for a moment if I have the story correct in every respect. It is now some time since it happened, and one's memory is apt to play one tricks when one is telling stories of other people. But I think I remember it correctly. So I will begin without further delay the history of:

There never was a prettier dancer than the Little Dancer of the frizzy dark hair, and the blue tulle dress with silver spangles.

Forward, backward, forward, backward went her little feet with rapid, dainty movement, whilst the small musical-box—on the top of which she gracefully danced—tinkled, tinkled, tinkled out its gay little tune, and all the Toys watched her with the greatest delight.

Truly she bewitched all who saw her, and gained much admiration. But she was very modest, and not at all conceited, so that she was not only admired but also loved; which, as you will agree, is far better.

She took life very easily and happily, till it happened one day that she saw the Bicycle-man, and unfortunately fell in love with him as he went by. He was a very handsome fellow, and made a good appearance upon his bicycle.

Directly the Little Dancer saw him she loved him, and she lost no time in telling him so. She spoke without any hesitation.

"Dear heart, I love you," she said as she danced.

Now the Bicycle-man was very vain, and was therefore not a little gratified at the impression he had made. But he pretended to be much displeased.

"You should not have said that until I had first said something of the sort," replied the Bicycle-man. "It was not your place to speak first. You are very forward."

And he rode on.

The Little Dancer was much distressed.

"He is angry," she said to her friend the Little China Doll next to her, with the two long flaxen pigtails hanging down her back.

"He is angry." And she danced more slowly and less gaily.

"What of that?" said her friend, tossing her head. "It is of no consequence."

"No; it is of no consequence," repeated the Little Dancer. But she felt unhappy.

The next day the Bicycle-man passed that way again, and she danced her very best, hoping to win his heart.

"That is really not bad," he said; "not at all bad. You dance quite nicely, as dancing goes."

"Oh sweetheart, I love you!" she said, encouraged by his praise.

"I really cannot stand such remarks," said the Bicycle-man. "They make me both angry and confused."

And he went on, leaving her in tears.

"Why do you trouble about him?" said the Little China Doll. "He is not worth it. A penny Toy, indeed! You turn his head. Take no more notice of him."

"I won't," replied the Little Dancer tearfully.

So the next time he stopped to watch her dancing she did not speak to him.

"You are getting rude now," he said. "I am not sure whether that is not worse than being forward."

"What shall I say?" asked the Little Dancer. "My words do not please you."

"I should not be displeased if you were to say 'good-day'," he replied. "It would only be polite, and I never find fault with politeness."

"Good-day," she said, as she practised her steps.

"Is that all?" he inquired.

"That is all," she answered.

"I have a bit of news for you," he said. "I am thinking of marrying the doll to whom the Red House belongs. It is a comfortable house, well built, and well appointed. You shall come and have tea with us."

The Little Dancer burst into tears, and her feet moved more slowly.

"Why are you crying?" asked the Bicycle-man, with pretended surprise.

"Dear heart, Oh dear heart, I love you!" she wept.

"Well, well, so do many others," he answered. "It isn't my fault"

And mounting his bicycle he rode away.

"Don't you see you are making him terribly conceited?" said the Little China Doll. "It is absurd of you. Try to be more sensible."

"I love him so, I love him so!" sobbed the Little Dancer. "My heart is broken."

On the morrow the Bicycle-man appeared as usual.

"It is all settled," he said. "I hope to marry the doll to whom the Red House belongs, before the week is out. I fear my marriage will be a disappointment to many a lady."

The Little Dancer made no reply: she was too heart-broken to utter a sound.

"Are you not going to wish me happiness?" he asked.

But the Little Dancer still spoke not. She danced faster and faster as the tears fell from her eyes.

The Bicycle-man did not notice how quickly her tears were falling.

"Your silence is a sad want of manners," he said. "Uncivility is far from attractive."

Still the little Dancer made no answer; she could not speak, she was crying so bitterly.

"Well, good-day," he said. "It is very evident that you did not pay the extra twopence for manners."

Then he left.

"Stop dancing," said the Little China Doll to the Little Dancer. "You are not in a fit state to dance. You will kill yourself."

"I must dance till I forget, or till I die," she answered—sobbing.

And then she danced faster, faster, FASTER, till she went at quite a furious rate. Her little feet went to and fro so quickly you could hardly see them. The China Doll implored the poor Little Dancer to stop, but she did not heed her. She continued dancing, dancing, dancing all through the day, all through the evening, and far into the night. Till, at last, something within her went—Snap!

And she fell flat on the ground, and the gay little tune stopped suddenly. The clockwork within her had broken. She had danced herself to death!

The next morning the Bicycle-man came again.

"The wedding is put off—" he began. Then he saw the lifeless form of the Little Dancer, and he turned pale.

"You have killed her by your vanity," said the China Doll severely. "If you had stayed away she would have forgotten you. But you would come because it pleased your conceit to hear her say she loved you, and to hear her lament because you did not love her. She has danced herself to death in her despair. Alas! Alas! My poor friend!"

"I really believe I loved her after all," said the Bicycle-man in a sad voice. "What can I say or do to make some slight amends? Tell me."

"There is nothing to be said or done," said the China Doll. "The poor Little Dancer is dead. It is too late! Go and marry the Doll of the Red House."

"I don't want to now," he answered. "Henceforward my life shall be passed mourning for the Little Dancer who broke her heart because of me. And from this time I shall ride my bicycle sitting with my back to the handle, and with my hands behind me. It will be a most absurd position, but it will serve as a punishment to remind me of the sad end to which my vanity brought my poor little sweetheart."

And he strictly kept his resolve. At first the other Toys laughed: then they wondered; then they inquired into the meaning of so strange a performance. And when they heard the story, such of them as had heads shook them, and all said gravely:

"'Tis well and nobly meant. But it won't mend the poor Little Dancer's heart. Alas! Alack-a-day!"