Miss Muffet's Christmas Party

MISS MUFFET'S CHRISTMAS PARTY

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

So every morning little Miss Muffet had three courses: first, curds and whey; second, whey and curds; third, curdled whey. She had the same things for the other meals, but the order was changed about. An experienced housekeeper tells me that the third course is impossible to prepare, as whey cannot be curdled. All I have to say is that this housekeeper had not known Mrs. Muffet. Mrs. Muffet could curdle anything. But the worst days of the year for little Miss Muffet were the holidays, for they were occasions that had to be improved. Now for a little girl to improve an occasion is about the hardest work she can do, especially when she doesn't know how. If she had been left to herself, Miss Muffet wouldn't have improved them at all, but would have left them in their natural state.

Now the way you may have heard the story is that when the kind old spider sat down beside her, it frightened Miss Muffet away. That story must be true because I myself have seen it in print, but it happened at another time, when Miss Muffet was very little indeed.

On the Christmas Eve I am telling about, she had become a very sensible little girl, and knew all about spiders, so instead of running away, she made room for him on the tuffet and said, "I am very glad to see you, Mr. Spider." Mr. Spider bowed and looked at her in a kindly way through his spectacles, but said nothing.

"I hope your family are all well; I mean the family Arachnida, sub-order, I forget the name. We've enjoyed dissecting those we could get; and you deserve a great deal of credit for the curious way in which you are put together, with your funny thorax and everything."

"Let's change the subject, Miss," said the spider, moving toward the further side of the tuffet. "This is Christmas Eve."

"Yes," answered Miss Muffet wearily. "Sixty seconds make a minute; sixty minutes make an hour. Even Christmas Eve will come to an end some time; but what's the good? For then Christmas will come, and that will never get through."

"What do you say to a party?"

Miss Muffet fairly jumped off her tuffet, for she had never had a party in her life. "Who will invite the people?"

"I will," said the spider.

"But do you think any one will come if you invite them?"

"Why not?"

"Oh! I was just thinking; some people are such 'fraid-cats; and then, you know, once, one of your family invited the fly to walk into his parlor. I don't believe the story one bit, but then, you know, Mr. Spider, it caused talk."

Mr. Spider positively blushed green. "If you have no objection, let's change the subject again. Business is business; as for flies, there is a difference of opinion about them, and we can't all live on curds and whey, Miss Muffet. But this is to be your party, and we should not invite flies but folks. How would you like to have a literary party, and invite all the people you've read about?"

"How delightful!" cried Miss Muffet gleefully. "What a dear old spider you are!"

"Let's write the invitations immediately," said Mr. Spider, taking out of his pocket a ream of the most delicate cobweb paper.

Mr. Spider was very careful and businesslike, and insisted that Miss Muffet should always put down the exact address, for it would never do to have any of the letters go to the dead-letter office. Sometimes, however, they were puzzled to find the right direction.

"Shall I address this letter to Norwich or the Moon?" asked Miss Muffet, handing him an envelope.

"Ah!" said the spider, "this is a difficult case; it's hard to reach these traveling men. Here is a gentleman residing in the Moon, who suddenly sets out for Norwich without leaving his address. Better direct the letter to 'Norwich, General Delivery,' and write in the upper left hand corner, 'If not called for in five minutes, forward to the Moon.'"

"And I suppose that Gloucester is Dr. Foster's address? That is where I last heard of him."

"No; I'm afraid we shall have to give the doctor up. He is a very peculiar man and took a prejudice against the town, and vowed he would never go that way again."

"Oh, yes, I remember," said Miss Muffet; "it was because he didn't like the way they kept the roads."

It was a difficult matter to get the correct titles for all the princes and princesses of Fairyland, and to learn the names of all the crowned heads. Of course, where their names were in the Court Directory it was easy enough, for the spider had a huge volume at his elbow; but he said that it was far from complete. All the giant-killers and the young men who married the kings' daughters were in it, but the kings themselves were often forgotten.

"'A certain king had three daughters,'" said Miss Muffet; "that's all that I know about him, but he ought to be invited. The postman will want to know which 'Certain King' it is, and what he's king of."

"The best way to do," said the spider, "would be to address a hundred letters, each to 'A Certain King,' asking His Majesty to honor your party with his presence, and to bring with him a 'Certain Queen.' Then whenever the messenger comes across a king without any particular name he can give him an invitation. If you want to be more definite, you may address each letter to 'A Certain Kingdom.'"

"But he has usually given away half of his kingdom."

"That's true," said the spider; "you had better address it to 'The Other Half.'"

Miss Muffet was troubled about the persons who had only lately risen in life.

"There is Dumbling, who went out to chop wood, and the dwarf gave him a golden goose that made everything stick to it. The king's daughter in that certain kingdom had been so serious that the king had offered her to any one who would make her laugh; and when she saw Dumbling with the goose under his arm and the maids and the parson and all the rest following after, she laughed outright. She didn't mean to, but she couldn't help it. And now Dumbling is a prince, and is living happily ever afterward. I wonder if that makes any difference in his feelings, or if he likes to be called Dumbling."

The spider said that it all depended on his wife. With such a serious person as she had been one must be careful about etiquette. Because she had laughed once was no sign that she would do it again.

"Shall you invite any plain boys and girls who live in the Every Day Country?" asked the spider.

This was a hard question, for the Muffets were an old family who had come across with Mother Goose, and at this moment Every Day Country seemed a long way off and just a bit uninteresting. But then Miss Muffet remembered how many kind friends she had found there, and answered,—

"Oh, certainly, we must send invitations to the Every Day Country, for some of the folks there are just as good as the Dreamland people, only of course they haven't had the same advantages."

So letters were sent to Prudy and Dotty Dimple and the Bodley Family, and to the Little Men and Little Women and Lord Fauntleroy and the rest. A special letter was written to the little Ruggleses, and to Tiny Tim and all the Cratchetts, for Miss Muffet knew that they were always ready to have a good time on Christmas. A message was sent to every town crier in England, asking him to make immediate proclamation in the streets that if any small boy who was a Prince and a Pauper would make himself known, he would hear something greatly to his advantage, for he was invited to Miss Muffet's Party.

The longest letter was that sent to Agamemnon Peterkin. Miss Muffet wrote it very carefully, underscoring all the important parts, and adding a map showing the way from the Peterkins' house to the palace. She asked him to bring all the family, including the little boys.

"I don't see how he can make a mistake," she said, "but he probably will. They are all so ingenious. They find out how to make mistakes that other folks would never think of."

"What about Mr. Henty's boys?" said the spider; "there are so many of them."

"There seem to be a great many of them," said Miss Muffet, "but I've sometimes thought that there may be only two, only they live in different centuries and go to different wars. Boys can do that, can't they, Mr. Spider, if they are very brave?"

The spider said he thought they could without changing their characters, but of course they would have to change their names.

So an invitation was sent to Ronald Leslie, alias Wulf, Roger, Lionel, Stanley, etc., On The Firing Line, Near Carthage, Quebec, Crécy, Waterloo, Khartoum, or wherever the Enemy may be found in force. Forward by a swift messenger, trusty and true.

"I shouldn't wonder if they might be a little late, for they may be taken prisoner, and it always takes them some time to escape."

"Shall you invite any bad boys?" asked the spider.

"No," answered Miss Muffet severely, "not as a rule; but I think we shall ask Mr. Aldrich's Bad Boy, for he is a blighted being. I think it's our duty to have him,—and then it would be such fun. And I suppose we ought to invite Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer to keep him company."

"Of course you will invite all the good boys?"

"Of course we shall invite them, as a rule. But the good boys in the books are almost too good sometimes; don't you think so, Mr. Spider? I mean almost too good to be true. But that reminds me; I suppose we should invite Rollo?"

"Yes," said the spider, "we certainly must invite Rollo; he's a worthy lad, and of an inquiring mind."

"Oh dear!" said Miss Muffet, tearing up the letter she had just written, "he's so intelligent. I'll have to write very correctly or he'll criticise the spelling; and then if I invite Rollo, I shall have to invite Jonas, too."

"Certainly," said the spider, "we must invite Jonas, and we must arrange some moral amusement. Suppose in your invitation you leave out the word 'party' and ask him to attend a 'serious symposium.' How would this do?—'Respected Sir, You are earnestly requested to attend a serious symposium at Miss Muffet's, to meet the Rev. Swiss Robinson and other persons interested in the education of youth. The Little Old Woman who lived in a Shoe will preside. There will be a number of papers, to be followed by a discussion.'"

"How good that is! Jonas would so love a discussion," said Miss Muffet.

"Shall we invite any giants?"

"No; I don't want to be exclusive, but we must draw the line somewhere. Let's draw it at giants."

"Very well," said the spider, throwing into the waste-basket the letter he had just addressed to His Majesty the King of the Brobdingnags.

At last the invitations were all written, and the kind old spider said, "Now lie down, my dear, on the tuffet and close your eyes, and I will make all the preparations and wake you in time for the party."

For a minute she did not dare to trust herself on the floor, but when she took a step she had the most delightful experience of walking on air. She went to one of the great windows. If the palace had been wonderful, how much more wonderful was the view from it. Far as the eye could reach were the shining paths of spider's-web, each one leading over hill and dale to the palace door. Now the paths were on the ground, now with bridges from grass blade to grass blade, sometimes from tree to tree; and far off she could see them spanning deep valleys among the hills. By and by she could catch glimpses of travelers on the road, some in coaches, some on foot, some on horseback, coming by twos and dozens and scores.

"They're coming to the party," said the spider.

Sure enough, there was Cinderella in her coach with the Prince sitting by her side, and Tom Sawyer trying to "hitch on" behind. And there was Alice with all the strange friends she had found in Wonderland; and a very queer set they were, for Wonderland is rather out of the world, and the fashions of the Wonderlanders were peculiar, and not at all like anything Miss Muffet had ever seen before. And then how they did act! It was a great relief to see, after the March Hare and the Cheshire Cat and the Duchess, who were skipping along in the most extraordinary manner, Mr. Robinson Crusoe. "He looks so solid and respectable," said Miss Muffet, "and so English, you know."

"Take this glass," said the spider, handing her an opera-glass. Then Miss Muffet could see very well. There were the Sultan and the Caliph and the Grand Vizier, and the silk merchants and the calenders, and the princesses of every degree,—all on camels most wonderful to behold.

"Do you see the Forty Thieves?" asked the spider uneasily. "If you do, we'd better count the spoons."

Then Miss Muffet went to the north window, and such a sight as she saw there! There was frost on all the roads, and snow on the far mountains, and the great pine forest on that side came almost to the palace doors. And such pine-trees as they were! Each one looked like a great Christmas tree. The woods were full of merry little people, with such frosty twinkles in their eyes that it did one good to look at them. They talked Swedish and German and Icelandic and all sorts of queer languages, but somehow they laughed so naturally, and were so simple and hearty, that Miss Muffet understood every word. There were hosts of brownies and elves and fairies, and intelligent white bears, and one or two reformed wolves, and an old witch who was not nearly so bad as she looked, and the Marsh King and his daughters, and an old gentleman who looked so much like Santa Claus that Miss Muffet was sure that he must be his brother. Indeed, she could not help noticing that a great many of these North Country folks bore a strong family resemblance to Santa Claus,—but perhaps it was only the way they wore their beards. When she saw them all, she was sorry that she had not invited Santa Claus himself. She hadn't asked him, because, as she told Mr. Spider, it was Christmas Eve, and it might seem suggestive. But the truth of the matter was, as I suspect, that she thought he would probably drop in of his own accord, some time in the course of the evening.

As the brisk little people from the North came up the palace steps, Miss Muffet was sure that Hans Christian Andersen must have had a party once, or how could he have described them so well? "Indeed," she said, "if I didn't know what day of the month and what year it is, I should almost think that this is 'Once upon a Time.'"

In a corner she found a delightful group of seafaring folks. Dr. Lemuel Gulliver was telling the story of one of his voyages. He was such a matter-of-fact person, and so accurate about the latitude and longitude, that Miss Muffet had the greatest confidence in him, and felt that, though he might be mistaken in regard to the main points, all the details happened exactly as he said. His story reminded Sindbad the Sailor of something that had happened to him. He told his story in a charming oriental way, but without a touch of exaggeration.

"That would have spoiled it," said Miss Muffet to Baron Munchausen, who was standing by. "Don't you like simplicity, Baron?"

The Baron bowed in a courtly, old-fashioned way, and said that he was inordinately fond of it. Miss Muffet heard a rippling, liquid sound which she at first mistook for laughter, but the Baron assured her that it was only the frozen truth beginning to thaw. This reminded him of a little incident which was wonderful to hear. Everybody was astonished except the Three Wise Men of Gotham. They remarked that if they were at liberty to tell their adventures, as seafaring men, the stories that had been told would seem quite tame; but they didn't feel at liberty, and only looked at each other so wisely that Miss Muffet wondered whether any persons could really be as wise as they looked.

A sturdy, round-faced man stood just behind the group, but took no part in the conversation. Whenever Sindbad was talking he became so excited that his eyes seemed almost to pop out of his head, but he quieted down as soon as any one else began. After a time Sindbad came over to him, and taking out his purse, gave him a handful of gold pieces.

"A hundred sequins?" asked Miss Muffet.

"Yes," said the round-faced man, "that's my regular wages."

"It must be a very large amount."

He said he had no complaint to make, though a sequin didn't go so far in Bagdad as it once did, and he had to spend a great deal in clothes.

"I knew the minute I saw you that you must be Hindbad the Porter."

"I used to be a porter before I became a professional listener. Listening isn't so hard on the back as portering, but it requires more attention and the hours are longer; that is, they seem longer. Besides, it's hard on the eyes."

"You mean on the ears," suggested Miss Muffet.

"No! on the eyes; you have to look interested."

"Oh! I understand," said Miss Muffet. "When first I heard about your being invited to dinner at Sindbad's and listening to his first tale, it seemed the very nicest thing in the world. And how unexpected it was, after you had enjoyed it, for him to hand you a hundred sequins and say, 'Take this, Hindbad, and return to your home, and come back to-morrow and hear more of my adventures.' Weren't you surprised to hear a story and get a hundred sequins besides?"

Hindbad said that he was surprised at first, but after a day or two he began to look at it more in a business way. He had always made it a rule to be thorough, for whatever was worth doing was worth doing well, and he determined to be the very best listener in Bagdad.

"You see, in my country, we have a great many gentlemen who gain wealth by having adventures. When they come back from their shipwrecks, they naturally want to tell about them; but there's so much competition that it's hard to get a hearing. When they meet with people, like those horrid Wise Men of Gotham, who prefer their own shipwrecks, they go into a decline."

His eyes filled with tears, and Miss Muffet was sure that he was one of the most sympathetic men in the world.

"Now I had a great advantage," he went on; "I never had a shipwreck of my own, so that I could not be reminded of something that would make me interrupt. And then it is easy for me to have a story seem strange. I seem to have a natural gift for it. Any one can be surprised the first time he hears an adventure, but if one is to become a professional listener he must cultivate the habit of being surprised. Now that story about the roc's egg grows upon me; indeed it does! I don't think I appreciated it at first. That's the way with all big things; it's some time before you take them in. Even Mr. Sindbad says that it didn't seem as big when he saw it as it does now when he remembers it. And whenever I hear about those huge serpents it makes me shudder, and I ask Mr. Sindbad to hurry on and tell me that he really did get away from them. I can't stand the suspense. The cannibals are frightful creatures, Miss Muffet; they say they eat people. Mr. Sindbad has a perfect genius for having accidents. They come in the most unexpected places. And then he escapes. I sometimes think that is the most wonderful part of it."

"Do you think a little girl who studied hard could learn your profession and practice in Bagdad?" asked Miss Muffet timidly. "You know I wouldn't ask for wages; I would do it just for the love of it."

Hindbad frowned darkly. "It would never do, Miss Muffet! I can't have little girls coming over on the banks of the Tigris and taking the bread out of the mouths of my family."

But when he saw that Miss Muffet was beginning to cry, he changed his tone and said, "I am sure you meant no harm, only you didn't understand about the wages. You could easily earn a hundred sequins at listening, and it isn't so hard to learn when you are young. I would give that much myself to have you listen to a queer thing that happened to me once in Bagdad. I've never told it before, for I never found any one who looked interested. It was in one of the narrowest streets down by the water-side, and it was on the darkest night of the year, when"—

Just then the spider came to take Miss Muffet away to meet some children who came from The Golden Age. Their names were Harold and Edward and Charlotte, and they said they had an Aunt Maria, who had stayed at home because she had not been invited to the party. They had walked all the way along the Roman Road, which made the spider think that they must be tired. In this he was mistaken; though they said that they were ready for the refreshments.