Mrs. Peterkin was at the summit of bliss. "I have shaken hands with d.i.c.kens!" she exclaimed.
But she looked round to ask the little boys if they, too, had shaken hands with the great man, but not a little boy could she find.
They had been swept off in Mother Goose"s train, which had lingered on the steps to see the d.i.c.kens reception, with which the procession of characters in costume had closed. At this moment they were dancing round the barberry bush, in a corner of the balcony in Mother Goose"s quarters, their feather-dusters gayly waving in the air.
But Mrs. Peterkin, far below, could not see this, and consoled herself with the thought, they should all meet on the stage in the grand closing tableau. She was bewildered by the crowds which swept her hither and thither. At last she found herself in the Whittier Booth, and sat a long time calmly there. As Cleopatra she seemed out of place, but as her own grandmother she answered well with its New England scenery.
Solomon John wandered about, landing in America whenever he found a chance to enter a booth. Once before an admiring audience he set up his egg in the centre of the Goethe Booth, which had been deserted by its committee for the larger stage.
Agamemnon frequently stood in the background of scenes in the Arabian Nights.
It was with difficulty that the family could be repressed from going on the stage whenever the bugle sounded for the different groups represented there.
Elizabeth Eliza came near appearing in the "Dream of Fair Women," at its most culminating point.
Mr. Peterkin found himself with the "Cricket on the Hearth," in the d.i.c.kens Booth. He explained that he was Peter the Great, but always in the Russian language, which was never understood.
Elizabeth Eliza found herself, in turn, in all the booths. Every manager was puzzled by her appearance, and would send her to some other, and she pa.s.sed along, always trying to explain that she had not yet decided upon her character.
Mr. Peterkin came and took Cleopatra from the Whittier Booth.
"I cannot understand," he said, "why none of our friends are dressed in costume, and why we are."
"I rather like it," said Elizabeth Eliza, "though I should be better pleased if I could form a group with some one."
The strains of the minuet began. Mrs. Peterkin was anxious to join the performers. It was the dance of her youth.
But she was delayed by one of the managers on the steps that led to the stage.
"I cannot understand this company," he said, distractedly.
"They cannot find their booth," said another.
"That is the case," said Mr. Peterkin, relieved to have it stated.
"Perhaps you had better pa.s.s into the corridor," said a polite marshal.
They did this, and, walking across, found themselves in the refreshment-room. "This is the booth for us," said Mr. Peterkin.
"Indeed it is," said Mrs. Peterkin, sinking into a chair, exhausted.
At this moment two doves and a raven appeared,--the little boys, who had been dancing eagerly in Mother Goose"s establishment, and now came down for ice-cream.
"I hardly know how to sit down," said Elizabeth Eliza, "for I am sure Mrs. Shem never could. Still, as I do not know if I am Mrs. Shem, I will venture it."
Happily, seats were to be found for all, and they were soon arranged in a row, calmly eating ice-cream.
"I think the truth is," said Mr. Peterkin, "that we represent historical people, and we ought to have been fict.i.tious characters in books. That is, I observe, what the others are. We shall know better another time."
"If we only ever get home," said Mrs. Peterkin, "I shall not wish to come again. It seems like being on the stage, sitting in a booth, and it is so bewildering, Elizabeth Eliza not knowing who she is, and going round and round in this way."
"I am afraid we shall never reach home," said Agamemnon, who had been silent for some time; "we may have to spend the night here. I find I have lost our checks for our clothes in the cloak-room!"
"Spend the night in a booth, in Cleopatra"s turban!" exclaimed Mrs.
Peterkin.
"We should like to come every night," cried the little boys.
"But to spend the night," repeated Mrs. Peterkin.
"I conclude the Carnival keeps up all night," said Mr. Peterkin.
"But never to recover our cloaks," said Mrs. Peterkin; "could not the little boys look round for the checks on the floors?"
She began to enumerate the many valuable things that they might never see again. She had worn her large fur cape of stone-marten,--her grandmother"s,--that Elizabeth Eliza had been urging her to have made into a foot-rug. Now how she wished she had! And there were Mr.
Peterkin"s new overshoes, and Agamemnon had brought an umbrella, and the little boys had their mittens. Their india-rubber boots, fortunately, they had on, in the character of birds. But Solomon John had worn a fur cap, and Elizabeth Eliza a m.u.f.f. Should they lose all these valuables entirely, and go home in the cold without them? No, it would be better to wait till everybody had gone, and then look carefully over the floors for the checks; if only the little boys could know where Agamemnon had been, they were willing to look. Mr.
Peterkin was not sure as they would have time to reach the train.
Still, they would need something to wear, and he could not tell the time. He had not brought his watch. It was a Waltham watch, and he thought it would not be in character for Peter the Great to wear it.
At this moment the strains of "Home, Sweet Home" were heard from the band, and people were seen preparing to go.
"All can go home, but we must stay," said Mrs. Peterkin, gloomily, as the well-known strains floated in from the larger hall.
A number of marshals came to the refreshment-room, looked at them, whispered to each other, as the Peterkins sat in a row.
"Can we do anything for you?" asked one at last. "Would you not like to go?" He seemed eager they should leave the room.
Mr. Peterkin explained that they could not go, as they had lost the checks for their wraps, and hoped to find their checks on the floor when everybody was gone. The marshal asked if they could not describe what they had worn, in which case the loss of the checks was not so important, as the crowds had now almost left, and it would not be difficult to identify their wraps. Mrs. Peterkin eagerly declared she could describe every article.
It was astonishing how the marshals hurried them through the quickly deserted corridors, how gladly they recovered their garments! Mrs.
Peterkin, indeed, was disturbed by the eagerness of the marshals; she feared they had some pretext for getting the family out of the hall.
Mrs. Peterkin was one of those who never consent to be forced to anything. She would not be compelled to go home, even with strains of music. She whispered her suspicions to Mr. Peterkin; but Agamemnon came hastily up to announce the time, which he had learned from the clock in the large hall. They must leave directly if they wished to catch the latest train, as there was barely time to reach it.
Then, indeed, was Mrs. Peterkin ready to leave. If they should miss the train! If she should have to pa.s.s the night in the streets in her turban! She was the first to lead the way, and, panting, the family followed her, just in time to take the train as it was leaving the station.
The excitement was not yet over. They found in the train many of their friends and neighbors, returning also from the Carnival; so they had many questions put to them which they were unable to answer. Still Mrs. Peterkin"s turban was much admired, and indeed the whole appearance of the family; so that they felt themselves much repaid for their exertions.
But more adventures awaited them. They left the train with their friends; but as Mrs. Peterkin and Elizabeth Eliza were very tired, they walked very slowly, and Solomon John and the little boys were sent on with the pa.s.s-key to open the door. They soon returned with the startling intelligence that it was not the right key, and they could not get in. It was Mr. Peterkin"s office-key; he had taken it by mistake, or he might have dropped the house-key in the cloak-room of the Carnival.
"Must we go back?" sighed Mrs. Peterkin, in an exhausted voice. More than ever did Elizabeth Eliza regret that Agamemnon"s invention in keys had failed to secure a patent!
It was impossible to get into the house, for Amanda had been allowed to go and spend the night with a friend, so there was no use in ringing, though the little boys had tried it.
"We can return to the station," said Mr. Peterkin; "the rooms will be warm, on account of the midnight train. We can, at least, think what we shall do next."
At the station was one of their neighbors, proposing to take the New York midnight train, for it was now after eleven, and the train went through at half-past.
"I saw lights at the locksmith"s over the way, as I pa.s.sed," he said; "why do not you send over to the young man there? He can get your door open for you. I never would spend the night here."