FullReads

With such talk, mostly in a cheerful tone on the part of the industrious little creature, the day work and the night work were beguiled, until enough of smart dolls had gone forth to bring in the sombre stuff that the occasion required, and to bring into the house the other sombre preparations. “And now,” said Miss Jenny, “having knocked off my rosy-cheeked young friends, I’ll knock off my white-cheeked self.” This referred to her making her own dress which at last was done, in time for the simple service, the arrangements for which were of her own planning. The service ended, and the solitary dressmaker having returned to her home, she said:

“I must have a very short cry, godmother, before I cheer up for good. Because after all, a child is a child, you know.”

It was a longer cry than might have been expected. Howbeit, it wore itself out in a shadowy corner, and then the dressmaker came forth, and washed her face, and made the tea.

“You wouldn’t mind my cutting out something while we are at tea, would you?” she asked with a coaxing air.

“Cinderella, dear child,” the old man expostulated. “Will you never rest?”

“Oh! It’s not work, cutting out a pattern isn’t,” said Miss Jenny, with her busy little scissors already snipping at some paper; “The truth is, godmother, I want to fix it, while I have it correct in my mind.”

“Have you seen it to-day, then?” asked Riah.

“Yes, godmother. Saw it just now. It’s a surplice, that’s what it is. Thing our clergymen wear, you know,” explained Miss Jenny, in consideration of his professing another faith.

“And what have you to do with that, Jenny?”

“Why, godmother,” replied the dressmaker, “you must know that we professors, who live upon our taste and invention, are obliged to keep our eyes always open. And you know already that I have many extra expenses to meet. So it came into my head, while I was weeping at my poor boy’s grave, that something in my way might be done with a clergyman. Not a funeral, never fear;” said Miss Jenny. “The public don’t like to be made melancholy, I know very well. But a doll clergyman, my dear,–glossy black curls and whiskers–uniting two of my young friends in matrimony,” said Miss Jenny shaking her forefinger, “is quite another affair. If you don’t see those three at the altar in Bond Street, in a jiffy, my name’s Jack Robinson!”

With her expert little ways in sharp action, she had got a doll into whitey-brown paper orders, before the meal was over, and displayed it for the edification of the Jewish mind, and Mr. Riah was lost in admiration for the brave, resolute little soul, who could so put aside her sadness to meet and face her pressing need.

And many times thereafter was he likewise lost in admiration of his little friend, who continued her business as of old, only without the burden of responsibility by which her life had heretofore been clouded, and more able to give her imagination free play along the lines of her interests, without the pressure of home care resting upon her poor shoulders.

Our last glimpse of her, is as usual, before her little workbench, at work upon a full-dressed, large sized doll, when there comes a knock upon the door. When it is opened there is disclosed a young fellow known to his friends and employer, as Sloppy.

Sloppy was full private No 1 in the Awkward Squad of the rank and file of life, and yet had his glimmering notions of standing true to his colors, and in instinctive refinement of feeling was much above others who outranked him in birth and education.

“Come in, sir,” said Miss Wren, “and who may you be?”

Mr. Sloppy introduced himself by name and buttons.

“Oh, indeed,” cried Jenny, “I have heard of you.”

Sloppy, grinning, was so glad to hear it that he threw back his head and laughed.