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 so much time tying up the little girls’ sleeves with ribbons, and parting the little boys’ hair behind, that, when breakfast-time came, they were not half ready, and began to cry,—­

    “O Finnikin, O! 
    Don’t spend your time so,
    But put on our dresses,
    And smooth out our tresses;
    We don’t care for curls,
    Either boys or girls,
    If we are but neat,
    And may sit down to eat.”

So at last Finnikin followed their advice, and, when she had dressed all the children, was so tired and hungry, that she was glad to sit down and eat her breakfast without even looking in the mirror once while she was at table.

But nobody knew how to milk the cows; and, although Tom and Georgie Tearcoat tried with all their might, they could not manage to get a drop of milk from one of them, and no one else even tried.  But, just as the children were all wondering what they should do, little Peter Phinn, who had been listening and looking, with his hands in the pockets of his ragged trousers, and a broad grin on his freckled face, said slowly,—­

“I know how to milk.”

“You do!  Why didn’t you say so, Peter Phinn?” cried all the children angrily.

“Oh!  I didn’t know as you’d want me and Merry amongst you,” said Peter.

“Why not?  Of course we do,” said Patty Pettitoes, who was a very good-natured little girl.

“Because Finnikin Fine told Merry once she wasn’t fit to play with her, when her clothes was so poor,” said Peter.

“Did Finnikin say that?” asked Patty.

“Yes, she did, sure; and she called her a little Paddy, and said, if she wore such an old, mean gown and bonnet, she’d ought to keep out of the way of folks that dressed nicer, as she did.”