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“I rather like it,” said Elizabeth Eliza, “though I should be better pleased if I could form a group with some one.”

The strains of the minuet began. Mrs. Peterkin was anxious to join the performers. It was the dance of her youth.

But she was delayed by one of the managers on the steps that led to the stage.

“I cannot understand this company,” he said, distractedly.

“They cannot find their booth,” said another.

“That is the case,” said Mr. Peterkin, relieved to have it stated.

“Perhaps you had better pass into the corridor,” said a polite marshal.

They did this, and, walking across, found themselves in the refreshment-room. “This is the booth for us,” said Mr. Peterkin.

“Indeed it is,” said Mrs. Peterkin, sinking into a chair, exhausted.

At this moment two doves and a raven appeared,–the little boys, who had been dancing eagerly in Mother Goose’s establishment, and now came down for ice-cream.

“I hardly know how to sit down,” said Elizabeth Eliza, “for I am sure Mrs. Shem never could. Still, as I do not know if I am Mrs. Shem, I will venture it.”

Happily, seats were to be found for all, and they were soon arranged in a row, calmly eating ice-cream.

“I think the truth is,” said Mr. Peterkin, “that we represent historical people, and we ought to have been fictitious characters in books. That is, I observe, what the others are. We shall know better another time.”

“If we only ever get home,” said Mrs. Peterkin, “I shall not wish to come again. It seems like being on the stage, sitting in a booth, and it is so bewildering, Elizabeth Eliza not knowing who she is, and going round and round in this way.”

“I am afraid we shall never reach home,” said Agamemnon, who had been silent for some time; “we may have to spend the night here. I find I have lost our checks for our clothes in the cloak-room!”

“Spend the night in a booth, in Cleopatra’s turban!” exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin.

“We should like to come every night,” cried the little boys.

“But to spend the night,” repeated Mrs. Peterkin.

“I conclude the Carnival keeps up all night,” said Mr. Peterkin.

“But never to recover our cloaks,” said Mrs. Peterkin; “could not the little boys look round for the checks on the floors?”

She began to enumerate the many valuable things that they might never see again. She had worn her large fur cape of stone-marten,–her grandmother’s,–that Elizabeth Eliza had been urging her to have made into a foot-rug. Now how she wished she had! And there were Mr. Peterkin’s new overshoes, and Agamemnon had brought an umbrella, and the little boys had their mittens. Their india-rubber boots, fortunately, they had on, in the character of birds. But Solomon John had worn a fur cap, and Elizabeth Eliza a muff. Should they lose all these valuables entirely, and go home in the cold without them? No, it would be better to wait till everybody had gone, and then look carefully over the floors for the checks; if only the little boys could know where Agamemnon had been, they were willing to look. Mr. Peterkin was not sure as they would have time to reach the train. Still, they would need something to wear, and he could not tell the time. He had not brought his watch. It was a Waltham watch, and he thought it would not be in character for Peter the Great to wear it.

At this moment the strains of “Home, Sweet Home” were heard from the band, and people were seen preparing to go.

“All can go home, but we must stay,” said Mrs. Peterkin, gloomily, as the well-known strains floated in from the larger hall.

A number of marshals came to the refreshment-room, looked at them, whispered to each other, as the Peterkins sat in a row.

“Can we do anything for you?” asked one at last. “Would you not like to go?” He seemed eager they should leave the room.