The Two Story Mittens and the Little Play Mittens Part 7

JANE. This morning he opened the cage door and let your canary fly away, and twisted poor Poll's neck because she said, "Bad boy!"

MRS. L. Oh! oh! my parrot's neck!

JANE. Yes, ma'am.

MR. S. Now, madam, this is not thoughtlessness: it is a case of actual badness.

JANE. Yes, and he does something as bad every day.

ANDREW. Why, he is worse than Lucifer!

JANE. Every morning, ma'am, he overturns your toilet table, spills the cologne water, upsets your work box, makes your finest letter paper into boats, and puts the kitten to sleep in the crown of your best bonnet; and then, when I beg him to behave, he calls me an old cat, and a buzzard, and a red-headed crab.

MRS. L. Why have you not told me this before?

JANE. Why, ma'am, I have; but it has always ended by his being excused and I scolded.

MRS. L. Stay here. You shall see if I excuse him! He might change his clothes ten times, pull up a plant or two, pick a few flowers, or even trouble you at your work. I don't see anything so very dreadful in all that. But to twist my parrot's neck! Oh!--

SCENE V.--_Enter_ PATRICK.

MRS. L. Well, Patrick--

PATRICK (_rubbing his legs and making wry faces_). He is coming, ma'am--

MRS. L. What's the matter?

PATRICK. Master Ned has been breaking a stick over my legs.

MRS. L. (_very angry_). The child's a demon! I am outrageous! I am furious!

MR. S. Control yourself, madam! do not fly so suddenly from extreme indulgence to severity; do not correct a child when you are in a pa.s.sion.

MRS. L. You may be right, sir, but I shall punish him as he deserves.

ANDREW. Please don't beat him, ma'am. Here he comes.

SCENE VI.--_Enter_ EDWARD, _who runs up to his mother, and is about to kiss her_.

EDWARD. Were you asking for me, mamma? dear, pretty mamma!

MRS. L. Stand back, sir! I don't kiss a bad boy!

EDWARD. A bad boy! Why, mamma, what have I done?

MRS. L. Do you dare to pretend that you do not know? Look at Andrew, Patrick, and Jane!

EDWARD. I see them. Have they been complaining of me?

MRS. L. Yes, and I am astonished at what they tell me.

EDWARD. The mean things! Mamma, they--

MRS. L. Take care, sir! Don't add lying to your other crimes.

EDWARD (_looking angry_). But what do they say I have done? You scamp of a turnip top, Andrew! is it you who are trying to rob me of my mother's love? Such a good boy as I am, too!

ANDREW. You a good boy! about as much as the old gray donkey is a robin redbreast. No! you are a nuisance, and ought to live up in the air in a balloon by yourself. You have ruined my garden; and whenever I beg you to stop, you answer me with your switch over my legs.

EDWARD. Oh, mamma, that is too cruel! I only wish to make you a bouquet, when Andrew comes up, yelling like a tiger, "Don't touch those violets! Let that pansy alone! Stop! you shan't take a rose!" Well, what can I do? So I dug up a little plot, pulling out a few vegetables, so as to raise some flowers for you myself. Then Andrew screams out, "What have you done? You have pulled out all my onions!" Then I take another place, and old Sourcrout bawls, "The beets are planted there." I declare it's too bad! I wish to cultivate the earth, because Mr. Sherwood says the most respectable men in the world are farmers; and Andrew, mad as fury, comes and drives me away. Suppose I do spoil some of his stupid cabbages; if I could present you with a flower raised by my own hand, it would be worth all his cabbage heads, and his own too.

MRS. L. The darling! How he loves me! Andrew, you are a brute!

ANDREW. Thank you, ma'am. That's what I call justice.

MRS. L. My dear son was only seeking to gratify me, and you did very wrong to hinder him. Dear child! he was willing to work like a farmer to please me.

ANDREW. I'm dumb! If you wish it, he may scratch up the whole garden, and empty it into the duck pond; he may break down fifty trees a day; he may have a ma.s.s meeting of the dogs, pigs, chickens, ducks, turkeys, and the old gray donkey, in the best flower beds; and end by inviting Farmer Green's bull Sampson to dance a hornpipe through the gla.s.s into the conservatory. Nothing now will astonish me.

MRS. L. That will do. My son, I forgive your capers in the garden, but I have a more serious charge against you. How can you excuse yourself for letting my canary fly away? and above all, why did you twist my poor Poll's neck?

EDWARD. Well, mamma, you would have done the same. I did open the door of the canary's cage. He was poking his poor little bill through the bars, and I was so sorry for him! I thought he wanted to go to his mother, who, perhaps, might be perched up in the tree opposite, and so I gave him his liberty. Mr. Sherwood has often told me that kindness to animals is one of the finest virtues.

MRS. L. Oh! was twisting my parrot's neck another proof of your kindness? What had the poor bird done to you?

EDWARD. Nothing to me, mamma; but the wicked little squinting thing had bitten Jane's finger, when she was kindly giving him some sugar; and she cried, and seeing the tears rolling down her cheeks, I got very angry, quite in a rage. I am very sorry, but I did not think that Jane would have been the one to accuse _me_.

MRS. L. There, Jane! you are an ungrateful creature! You have tried to poison my mind against my son!

JANE. But, Mrs. Langdon--

MRS. L. Be silent! Your affair is settled. But, Edward, when Patrick came to call you, why did you break a stick over his legs?

EDWARD. It was very wrong in me, mamma; but I had just gathered some splendid roses for you: they were on the ground, and the clumsy fellow trampled upon them without seeing them. It put me in such a pa.s.sion, I did whack him once or twice. I beg his pardon, mamma.

MRS. L. He should ask yours, you dear boy! I order you all to apologize to my son, or I shall discharge you. You first, Jane. My son would not for twenty gardens, or poll parrots, do a mean thing or tell a lie; he shall be respected and obeyed as I am; and those who don't like it can leave.

ANDREW (_ironically_). I beg your pardon, Master Edward, for the good switching you so kindly gave me; I beg your pardon for the damage you did to the garden; you will oblige me by continuing to tumble everything topsy-turvy, and break all the rest.

PATRICK. Forgive me, Master Edward, for all the pretty little capers you cut up.

EDWARD. Oh, certainly. Mamma, they are good sort of people, after all; and I hope you will excuse their coming to complain of me.

MRS. L. To oblige you, my dear son, I will. You see, all of you, how amiable he is. And now remember, the very first complaint he makes of _you_, I will discharge you. Leave the room.

ANDREW _to_ PATRICK (_going out_). Here's a pretty how-d'ye-do! He has made his mother believe that black is white.