The Spectacle Man Part 9

"I am so pleased that we asked her to do it," said Mrs. Morrison, smiling across the table at the story-teller. "I had my suspicions before, and now they are confirmed," she added.

"I am just proud of you, Lil," said Miss Moore, beaming on her friend.

"I think it is a lovely story, but couldn't you have more about the fairies, Miss Sherwin?" Frances asked.

"And about the wedding and what the bride had on," suggested Gladys.

"But did you really make it all up?" inquired Emma.

The young lady laughed. "No, I only found it between the lines of the song, and I certainly think it can be improved."

"The moral is such a fine one," remarked Mrs. Morrison.

"That faith and courage can always find a way--yes, isn't it, if one could only live up to it," said Miss Moore.

"It has given me a great deal to think about," added the Spectacle Man.

"The bridge is broke--but faith and courage will find the way; yes, I like it," and he nodded his head emphatically.

"I thought morals weren't interesting," said Frances, at which they all laughed, and Miss Sherwin said she hoped she had not made hers too prominent. "I feel very grateful to you for liking it," she added.

"I want you to elaborate it a little and send it to _The Young People's Journal_," Mrs. Morrison said.

Miss Sherwin shook her head, but Miss Moore declared she would see that it was done.

Peterkin, who had been completely forgotten in the interest of the story, created a sensation just here by catching one of his sharp lower teeth in his frill, thereby causing temporary lockjaw. He was promptly released by Miss Moore, who declared he should not be dressed up again.

After he had gone into seclusion under the sofa, and the rest of the company were eating grapes and apples, Mr. Clark took down the Toby jug from the mantel shelf.

"It seems hardly right to tell another story to-night after the beautiful one we have listened to," he said, "but this is a very short one, and I promised Frances. This brown ware is called Rockingham, and you see how the likeness of a very fat old gentleman is embossed upon it. It is said that there once lived a jolly toper named Toby Fillpot.

In the course of time he died and was buried, and then, according to an old drinking song:--

"'His body when long in the ground it had lain, And time into clay had resolved it again, A potter found out in its covert so snug, And from part of fat Toby he formed this brown jug.'

"In fact, I believe he made a number of them, and dedicated them to friends.h.i.+p, mirth, and mild ale."

"It seems to suggest d.i.c.kens; doesn't he somewhere mention a Toby jug?"

asked Mrs. Morrison.

"I don't remember, but it is likely," answered Mr. Clark.

"Was your grandfather an Englishman?" Miss Sherwin asked.

"Yes, he was English and my mother was French."

"I was sure there was French somewhere," said Mrs. Morrison.

The children thought the jug very funny and interesting, but Frances did not want to touch it after she had heard the story.

"It might really be true," she said, putting her hands behind her.

"Is this supposed to be one of the originals?" asked Miss Moore.

"Well, that is as you choose to believe. It is over one hundred years old, at any rate," was Mr. Clark's reply.

CHAPTER NINTH.

FINDING A MORAL.

In spite of her disapproval of the place where the Morrisons had gone to live, Gladys was very often there. She liked Frances, and at the house of the Spectacle Man there seemed never to be any lack of something to do. There were glorious games of "I spy" in the halls when Emma was off duty, or visits to the studio where Miss Sherwin ill.u.s.trated her stories and was delighted to have them pose for her, or if it were a rainy afternoon Mr. Clark did not object to their coming into the shop. He kept some gla.s.ses especially to lend to them on these occasions, and if business happened to be very dull he would entertain them with stories of his childhood, of which they never tired. Any chance customer must have been amused at the sight of three little girls in spectacles, seated in a row listening to the old man.

Gladys tyrannized over Emma and patronized her by turns, the latter being too timid to resent it openly; and Frances enjoyed playing the part of protector and defender. Naturally this state of affairs sometimes led to war, for Frances was quick-tempered and impulsive, and Gladys very stubborn.

One afternoon Mrs. Morrison went out, leaving the three children deeply interested in a new game. Everything went smoothly until Emma, who was sometimes rather slow in understanding things, made a wrong play that resulted in Gladys's defeat. When this was discovered Gladys in the excitement of the moment accused her of cheating, whereupon Emma began to cry and Frances became very angry.

"She didn't cheat, Gladys Bowen, you know she didn't; and you haven't any right to say so!" she exclaimed, with blazing eyes.

"She did," a.s.serted Gladys, with a dogged conviction in her tone that infuriated Frances, and sweeping the dominoes from the table she cried:--

"I'll never play with you again, never!"

"No, you will never have a chance," was the cool reply. "I won't play with either of you; and I'd be ashamed of myself if I were you, Frances."

"Oh, never mind!" urged Emma, aghast at the scene.

"I will mind. She knows it is a story--and--" Frances could get no further, her tears choked her, and rus.h.i.+ng from the room she shut the door behind her.

Mrs. Morrison, coming in, found Gladys putting on her things with an air of injured innocence quite impressive, while Emma stood helplessly looking at her. The dominoes lay scattered on the floor.

"Where is Frances?" she asked.

"In the other room; she's mad," Gladys explained briefly.

Mrs. Morrison knew it would be useless to ask questions at this stage, so she only said she was sorry, and waited till Gladys left, then went to find her daughter.

Frances was lying on the bed crying convulsively.

"What is the matter?" her mother asked gently.

The child sat up, exclaiming between her sobs, "Gladys is so hateful.

She said Emma cheated--and it's a story--and I'll never play with her again!"

"Oh, my little girl! I am so sorry," was all Mrs. Morrison said, as she left the room.

Sorry about what? Frances wondered as her anger cooled. Because Gladys had been so hateful? or was it because she had been in a pa.s.sion?--but then she had a right to be angry. As she lay quiet for a while, feeling languid, now the storm had pa.s.sed, a sense of shame stole over her.