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“We are just in the right time,” whispered Mr. Peterkin to his family; “they are going upon the stage; we must fall into line.”

The little boys had their feather-dusters ready.

Some words from one of the managers made Mr. Peterkin understand the situation.

“We are going to be introduced to Mr. Dickens,” he said.

“I thought he was dead!” exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin, trembling.

“Authors live forever!” said Agamemnon in her ear.

At this moment they were ushered upon the stage.

The stage manager glared at them, as he awaited their names for introduction, while they came up all unannounced,–a part of the programme not expected. But he uttered the words upon his lips, “Great Expectations;” and the Peterkin family swept across the stage with the rest: Mr. Peterkin costumed as Peter the Great, Mrs. Peterkin as Cleopatra, Agamemnon as Noah, Solomon John as Christopher Columbus, Elizabeth Eliza in yellow flannel as Mrs. Shem, with a large, old-fashioned bonnet on her head as Mrs. Columbus, and the little boys behind as two doves and a raven.

Across the stage, in face of all the assembled people, then following the rest down the stairs on the other side, in among the audience, they went; but into an audience not dressed in costume!

There were Ann Maria Bromwick and the Osbornes,–all the neighbors,–all as natural as though they were walking the streets at home, though Ann Maria did wear white gloves.

“I had no idea you were to appear in character,” said Ann Maria to Elizabeth Eliza; “to what booth do you belong?”

“We are no particular author,” said Mr. Peterkin.

“Ah, I see, a sort of varieties’ booth,” said Mr. Osborne.

“What is your character?” asked Ann Maria of Elizabeth Eliza.

“I have not quite decided,” said Elizabeth Eliza. “I thought I should find out after I came here. The marshal called us? ‘Great Expectations.'”

Mrs. Peterkin was at the summit of bliss. “I have shaken hands with Dickens!” she exclaimed.

But she looked round to ask the little boys if they, too, had shaken hands with the great man, but not a little boy could she find.

They had been swept off in Mother Goose’s train, which had lingered on the steps to see the Dickens reception, with which the procession of characters in costume had closed. At this moment they were dancing round the barberry bush, in a corner of the balcony in Mother Goose’s quarters, their feather-dusters gayly waving in the air.

But Mrs. Peterkin, far below, could not see this, and consoled herself with the thought, they should all meet on the stage in the grand closing tableau. She was bewildered by the crowds which swept her hither and thither. At last she found herself in the Whittier Booth, and sat a long time calmly there. As Cleopatra she seemed out of place, but as her own grandmother she answered well with its New England scenery.

Solomon John wandered about, landing in America whenever he found a chance to enter a booth. Once before an admiring audience he set up his egg in the centre of the Goethe Booth, which had been deserted by its committee for the larger stage.

Agamemnon frequently stood in the background of scenes in the Arabian Nights.

It was with difficulty that the family could be repressed from going on the stage whenever the bugle sounded for the different groups represented there.

Elizabeth Eliza came near appearing in the “Dream of Fair Women,” at its most culminating point.

Mr. Peterkin found himself with the “Cricket on the Hearth,” in the Dickens Booth. He explained that he was Peter the Great, but always in the Russian language, which was never understood.

Elizabeth Eliza found herself, in turn, in all the booths. Every manager was puzzled by her appearance, and would send her to some other, and she passed along, always trying to explain that she had not yet decided upon her character.

Mr. Peterkin came and took Cleopatra from the Whittier Booth.

“I cannot understand,” he said, “why none of our friends are dressed in costume, and why we are.”