“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 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.