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country of Merrigoland, all the
fathers and mothers, the uncles and aunts, the grandpas and grandmas,
in fact, all the grown-up people of every sort, were invited to the
governor's house to spend a week; and all the cooks and chambermaids,
and nurses and waiters, and coachmen and gardeners, in Merrigoland,
were invited to go and wait upon them: so there was nobody left at
home in any of the houses but the children; not even the babies; for
their mothers had carried them in their arms to the governor's house.
"What fun!" shouted the children. "We can do every thing we have a
mind to now."
"We'll eat all the cake and pies and preserves and candies in the
country," said Patty Pettitoes.
"We'll swing on all the gates, and climb all the cherry-trees, and chase
all the roosters, and play ball against the parlor-windows," said Tom
Tearcoat.
"We'll lie down on the sofas, and read stories all day, and go to sleep
before the fire at night," said Dowsabelle Dormouse.
"We'll dress up in all our mothers' clothes, and put on their rings and
breastpins," said little Finnikin Fine, pushing a chair in front of the
looking-glass, and climbing up to look at herself.
"We'll get our stockings dirty, and tear our frocks, and tumble our hair,
and not wash our hands at dinner-time, nor put on our eating-aprons,"
said Georgie Tearcoat, Tom's younger sister.
"Yes, yes: we'll all do just as we like best for a whole week; for father
and mother said we might!" shouted all the children in Merrigoland,
and then laughed so loud, that the mice ran out of their holes to see

what was the matter; and the cats never noticed them, they were so
busy sticking the hair straight up on their backs, and making their tails
look like chimney-brushes; while all the birds in the pleasant gardens
of Merrigoland fluttered their wings, and sung,--
"Only listen to the row! What in the world's the matter now? Tweet,
tweet! Can't sing a note; My heart's just jumping out of my throat.
Bobolink, bobolink, What do you think? Is the world very glad, Or has
it gone mad?"
So the children all did what they liked best, and frolicked in the
sunshine like a swarm of butterflies, or like several hundred little
kittens, until it came night; and then they went into the houses, and put
themselves to bed. But some of them, I am afraid, forgot to say their
prayers when their mammas were not there to remind them of it.
The next morning they all jumped up, and dressed very gayly (for
children do not often lie in bed), and came down to breakfast: but, lo
and behold! there was no breakfast ready, nor even any fire in the
ranges and cooking-stoves, and in some houses not even any shavings
and kindling wood to make a fire; and the cows, who were mostly of a
Scotch breed, came to the bars, calling,--
"Moo, moo, moo! Who'll milk us noo?"
and the hens all stuck their heads through the bars of the poultry-yard
fence, and cried,--
"Kah-dah-cut, kah-dah-cut! Are you having your hair cut? Can you
give us some corn This beautiful morn?"
and the pigeons came flying down to the back door, murmuring,--
"Coo, coo, coo! Must we breakfast on dew?"
and all the little children began to cry as loud as they could, and call,--
"Mamma, mamma, mamma! I want you and papa!"

So, altogether, the older children were just about crazy, and felt as if
they'd like to cry too. But that never would do, of course; for nobody
cries when old enough to know better: so after running round to each
others' houses, and talking a little, they agreed they would all work
together, and that every one should do what he could do best. So Tom
Tearcoat, instead of climbing trees, and smashing the furniture with his
hatchet, went and split kindlings in all the wood-houses; and his sister
Georgie, who never wanted to be in the house, carried them into the
kitchens; and Patty Pettitoes tried her hand at cooking, instead of eating;
and Dowsabelle Dormouse made the beds, and beat up the sofa-pillows;
and Mattie Motherly, whose chief delight was playing at housekeeping
in her baby-house, set the tables, and put the parlors to rights. But there
seemed to be nothing that Finnikin Fine could do; for she had never
thought of any thing but dressing, in all the gay clothes she could get,
and looking into the mirror until she had worn quite a place in the
carpet before it. But, at last, someone said,--
"Oh! Finnikin may dress the little children: that will suit her best."
So Finnikin tried to do that. But she spent