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Read Ebook: A Troublesome Flock: A Mother Goose Play for Children by Guptill Elizabeth F Elizabeth Frances
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Ebook has 907 lines and 30721 words, and 19 pages
Frances meets the Spectacle Man 11
A Certain Person 22
Gladys 32
They look at a Flat 40
Some New Acquaintances 50
An Informal Affair 61
A Portrait 77
The Story of the Bridge 86
Finding a Moral 106
The Portrait Again 118
Mrs. Marvin is perplexed 128
At Christmas Time 134
One Sunday Afternoon 151
Three of a Name 164
A Confidence 177
Hard Times 186
At the Loan Exhibit 198
Surprises 215
Caroline's Story 231
Overheard by Peterkin 240
The Little Girl in the Golden Doorway 249
"The Ducks and the Geese they All swim over" 257
Page
"'What is your name, baby?'" 54
"'Little girl, I wish I knew you'" 120
"She pointed out a picture, set in diamonds" 200
The Spectacle Man.
FRANCES MEETS THE SPECTACLE MAN.
"The bridge is broke, and I have to mend it, Fol de rol de ri do, fol de rol de ri do--"
sang the Spectacle Man, leaning his elbows on the show-case, with his hands outspread, and the glasses between a thumb and finger, as he nodded merrily at Frances.
Such an odd-looking person as he was! Instead of an ordinary coat he wore a velvet smoking-jacket; the top of his bald head was protected by a Scotch cap, and his fringe of hair, white like his pointed beard, was parted behind and brushed into a tuft over each ear, the ribbon ends of his cap hanging down between in the jauntiest way. It was really difficult to decide whether the back or front view of him was most cheerful.
"Will it take long?" Frances asked, with dignity, although a certain dimple refused to be repressed.
"Well, at least half an hour, if I am not interrupted; but as my clerk is out, I may have to stop to wait on a customer. Perhaps if you have other shopping to do you might call for them on your way home." If there was a twinkle in the eye of the Spectacle Man, nobody saw it except the gray cat who sat near by on the directory.
"Thank you, I think I'd better wait," replied Frances, politely, much pleased to have it supposed she was out shopping.
Perched on the high-backed chair, in her scarlet coat and cap, her hands clasped over the book, her bright eyes fixed on the busy street, it was as if a stray red bird had fluttered in, bringing a touch of color to the gray-tinted room. From her waving brown locks to the tips of her toes she was a dainty little maid, and carried herself with the air of a person of some importance.
If the Spectacle Man was interested in Frances, she was no less interested in him; neither the street nor the magazine attracted her half so much as the queer shop and its proprietor. It had once been the front parlor of the old dwelling which, with its veranda and grass-plat, still held its own in the midst of the tall business houses that closed it in on either side. Here were the show-cases, queer instruments, and cabalistic looking charts for trying the sight; over the high mantel hung a large clock, and in the grate below a coal fire nickered and purred in a lazy fashion; and through the half-open folding doors Francis had a glimpse into what seemed to be a study or library.
He had descended from the directory, which was rather circumscribed for one of his size, and curled himself comfortably on the counter; but instead of going to sleep he gently fanned his nose with the tip of his tail, and kept his yellow eyes fixed on Frances as if he too felt some curiosity about her. She was thinking how much she would like to have him in her lap when the Spectacle Man looked around and said, "The next time your grandmother breaks these frames she will have to have some new ones."
"They aren't my grandmother's, they are Mrs. Gray's. I haven't any grandmother," she answered.
"You haven't? Why, that's a coincidence; neither have I!"
Frances laughed but didn't think of anything else to say, so the conversation dropped, and the optician fell to humming:--
"The bridge is broke."
They might never have become really acquainted if, just as he was giving a final polish to the glasses, it had not begun to rain.
"What shall I do?" Frances exclaimed, rising hurriedly. "I haven't any umbrella."
The Spectacle Man walked to the window, the glasses in one hand, a piece of chamois in the other. "It may be only a shower," he said, peering out; "but it is time for the equinoctial." Then, seeing the little girl was worried, he asked how far she had to go.
"Only two blocks; we are staying at the Wentworth, but mother and father were out when I left and won't know where I am."
"Well, now, don't you worry; Dick will be in presently and I'll send him right over to the hotel to let them know where you are, and get a waterproof for you."
This made Frances feel more comfortable; and when, after putting the glasses in their case and giving her the change from Mrs. Gray's dollar, he lit the gas in the back parlor and invited her in, she almost forgot the storm.
The room was quite different from any she had ever been in, and she at once decided she liked it. Around the walls were low cases, some filled with books and papers, others with china and pottery; from the top of an ancient looking chest in one corner a large stuffed owl gazed solemnly at her; the mantel-shelf was full of books, and above it hung a portrait of Washington. There were some plaster casts and a few engravings, and beside the study table in the middle of the room was an arm-chair which, judging from its worn cover, was a favorite resting-place of the Spectacle Man.
"I have a little writing to do before Dick comes in; can't I give you a book while I am busy? I have a number of story-books," her host asked.
Frances thanked him, but thought she'd rather look about. "You seem to have so many interesting things," she said.
While she walked slowly around the room the optician sat down at the table and wrote rapidly. "How does this sound," he presently asked.
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