She sifted the flour so fine, and white;And kneaded the dough till it was light,And rolled it out with a rolling pin;And cut the biscuit round and thin.
She sifted the flour so fine, and white;And kneaded the dough till it was light,And rolled it out with a rolling pin;And cut the biscuit round and thin.
Polly watched her do everything; and when the last biscuit was in the biscuit pan, Mamma said:—
"Here is a piece of dough left on my biscuit board. I wonder if there is a little girl in this kitchen who would like to make some little biscuit?"
"Yes, yes," said Polly, clapping her hands with delight, for, of course, she knew her mamma meant her. "I'd like to make little biscuit all by myself."
THIMBLE BISCUIT.
THIMBLE BISCUIT.
So Mamma tied one of her big aprons around Polly's neck, and Polly rolled up her sleeves just as Mamma did when she cooked. Then she was ready to begin her biscuit.
"May I sift flour, too?" she asked.
"Yes, indeed," said Mamma. "You must always sift flour on your board if you want your biscuit to be smooth and nice."
So Polly sifted the flour so fine and white;And kneaded the bit of dough so light;And rolled it out with the rolling pin;And—
So Polly sifted the flour so fine and white;And kneaded the bit of dough so light;And rolled it out with the rolling pin;And—
What do you think? Mamma's biscuit cutter was larger than Polly's piece of dough!
"I think you will have to borrow Grandmother's thimble for a biscuit cutter," said Mamma. A thimble biscuit cutter! Was there ever anything so funny as that? Polly laughed about it all the way upstairs to Grandmother's room; but when she told Grandmotherwhat she wanted, Grandmother did not think it was strange at all.
"I used to make thimble biscuit when I was a little girl," she said; and she made haste to get the thimble out of her workbag for Polly.
Grandmother's thimble was made of shining gold; and oh, what a fine biscuit cutter it made! The biscuit were as small and as round as buttons, and Polly cut enough for Grandmother, and Papa, and Mamma, and Brother Ned, and herself, each to have one for supper that night.
"I think it is fun to make thimble biscuit," she said as she handed them around in her own blue saucer; and if you don't believe she was right, make some yourself, and see.
O
Once upon a time two little birds built a wee little nest in a pink rose tree.
(And a little boy saw them; but he did not tell,For it was a secret, he knew very well.)
(And a little boy saw them; but he did not tell,For it was a secret, he knew very well.)
The nest was round and cozy and soft; and when it was finished the mother-bird put eggs in it—the prettiest eggs!
(And the little boy peeped in the nest to see,But he was as careful as he could be.)
(And the little boy peeped in the nest to see,But he was as careful as he could be.)
The mother-bird sat on the nest almost all the time to keep the eggs safe and warm; and when she was tired the father-bird took her place.
(And the little boy watched them, and wondered, too,What would become of those eggs of blue.)
(And the little boy watched them, and wondered, too,What would become of those eggs of blue.)
Day after day the mother-bird sat on the nest; but one morning she flew away singing her sweetest song. The father-bird sang, too, for something wonderful had happened. The pretty blue eggs were broken, but in their place were—what do you think? Baby birds, cunning and weak and wee.
(The little boy counted them, one, two, three,Three baby birds in the pink rose tree.)
(The little boy counted them, one, two, three,Three baby birds in the pink rose tree.)
The father bird and the mother bird were busy all day getting their babies something to eat.
(And the little boy threw them some crumbs of bread:"Perhaps they'll like these for their dinner," he said.)
(And the little boy threw them some crumbs of bread:"Perhaps they'll like these for their dinner," he said.)
THE WEE NEST.
THE WEE NEST.
The little birds grew very fast. It was not long before they were ready to learn to fly. Mother bird and father bird showed them how to spread their wings, and hold their feet; and the little birds tried to do just as they were told.
(And the little boy laughed to see them try;They were so funny, and fat and shy!)
(And the little boy laughed to see them try;They were so funny, and fat and shy!)
At first they could only fly from the rose tree to the ground; but soon their wings grew strong, and then away they went over the rose tree, over the fence, into the world.
(And the little boy called as he watched them fly,"Dear little birdies, good-by, good-by.")
(And the little boy called as he watched them fly,"Dear little birdies, good-by, good-by.")
O
Once upon a time there was a strawberry shortcake, all juicy and sweet and pleasant to eat.
A little boy named Ben picked the berries for it. He went out to the field where the wild strawberries grew, all by himself; and when he came home he had a bucket full of the very ripest and reddest ones.
A little girl, Cousin Pen, who was visiting on the farm, capped the berries, and that was not nearly so easy to do as it sounds. It took Cousin Pen every bit of a half-hour to do it, and—do you believe it?—she did not eat a single berry. She saved every one of them for the strawberry shortcake.
Mamma made the shortcake. She was the best cook! If I should try to tell you all the good things she could make, it would take me longer than it took Cousin Pen to cap the berries; but I will tell you this, if there was one thing she liked to make better than another it was a strawberry shortcake.
THE STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE.
THE STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE.
A big boy almost nine years old, whom every one called Brother Fred, cut the wood, and split the kindling, and made the fire that baked the pastry for the strawberry shortcake. He had a little axe of his own, and the way he could make chips fly was simply astonishing. Mamma said if he kept on as he had begun he would be as much help as his papa when he grew up.
Papa was away at work when the shortcake was made, and when he came home to dinner nobody said a word about it. They did not even tell him there was a dessert. They just sat down and ate their dinner as if there were not a strawberry shortcake in the world, much less one in their own kitchen. It was the funniest thing! Papa did not know anything about it; but by and by he said:—
"Wild strawberries are ripe. Who wants to go and get some for a shortcake?"
And then how the children did laugh! They laughed and laughed until Mamma knew they could not keep the secret another minute.
"Shut your eyes, Papa, and don't open them until we call 'ready,'" she said, and she slipped out into the kitchen and got the strawberry shortcake, and put it on the table right in front of him.
"Ready," called Cousin Pen and Brother Fred and little Ben. "Ready."
And if you could have seen how surprised Papa was when he opened his eyes and spied that strawberry shortcake, you would have laughed as much as they did.
O
One morning little boy Ben came home from the pasture, where he had taken the cows, with so much to tell that he could not wait until he got to the house to begin.
"The wild grapes are ripe, the persimmons are sweet, and the chestnuts are falling out of the burrs. One dropped on my hat when I came through the wood; and I saw a little gray squirrel eating nuts," he called to Brother Fred as soon as he reached the big gate.
"Hurrah!" said Brother Fred. "We can go and get some this very afternoon;" and when he went to take some corn to the mill for his father, he stopped at his Cousin Pen's house to tell her about it.
"The wild grapes are ripe, the persimmons are sweet, and the chestnuts are falling out of the burrs.We are going to get some this afternoon. Don't you want to go, too?" he asked.
"Yes, indeed," said Cousin Pen; "and I will bring Mary Sue with me."
Mary Sue was Cousin Pen's little friend; and as soon as Brother Fred had gone, Cousin Pen ran over to her house.
"Oh, Mary Sue!" she cried. "What do you think? The wild grapes are ripe, the persimmons are sweet, the chestnuts are falling out of the burrs, and my Cousin Fred wants us to go to the woods to get some this very day."
"How nice," said Mary Sue; "let's go and tell Dan."
Dan was Mary Sue's neighbor. He lived next door to her; and he let Cousin Pen and her ride on his pony sometimes. He was in the barn feeding the pony when the girls went to his house; and they ran through the yard to find him.
GOOD NEWS.
GOOD NEWS.
"The wild grapes are ripe, and the persimmons are sweet—" cried Cousin Pen.
"And the chestnuts are falling out of the burrs. Don't you want to go and get some?" asked Mary Sue.
"I'll go if Larry Brown will," said Dan; and he climbed up on a ladder and put his head out of the barn window, and called as loud as he could:—
"Larry, Larry, don't you want to go to the woods to get some grapes and persimmons and chestnuts? I'll go if you will."
Larry came running across the street from his house in a hurry to see what was the matter. He was as pleased as all the rest had been to hear the good news; and when he went home he told his little sister Nan about it.
"The wild grapes are ripe, the persimmons are sweet, the chestnuts are falling out of the burrs, and I am going to bring you some," he said.
But little Nan wanted to go, too. "I will carry her if she gets tired," said Larry; so after they had eaten their dinner, Mother gave Nan a little basket, and she started out, holding Larry's hand.
The others were ready and waiting; and away they all went to the pleasant wood.
Brother Fred, and little Ben;Mary Sue, and Cousin Pen;Larry Brown, and Neighbor Dan;And Larry's little sister Nan.
Brother Fred, and little Ben;Mary Sue, and Cousin Pen;Larry Brown, and Neighbor Dan;And Larry's little sister Nan.
Oh, what a good time they had! The grapes were ripe, the persimmons were sweet as sugar, the chestnuts dropped from the open burrs, and up in a tree, where they all might see, sat the little gray squirrel!
O
Once upon a time a little boy named Ted was very hungry.
"I wish I had something to eat," he said;And his mother gave him a roll of bread.
"I wish I had something to eat," he said;And his mother gave him a roll of bread.
She had bought the roll that very morning from the busy baker who kept a shop at the corner.
The baker had flour so fine and so white;Shakity shake, he sifted it light,To make the roll of nice fresh breadThat Mother gave to little boy Ted.
The baker had flour so fine and so white;Shakity shake, he sifted it light,To make the roll of nice fresh breadThat Mother gave to little boy Ted.
The baker got the flour from the merry miller whose mill stood by the river side.
The miller was merry, and so was the mill;Clickety clack, it never was still,As it ground the flour so fine and whiteFor the busy baker who sifted it light,With a shakity shake, to make the breadThat Mother gave to little boy Ted.
The miller was merry, and so was the mill;Clickety clack, it never was still,As it ground the flour so fine and whiteFor the busy baker who sifted it light,With a shakity shake, to make the breadThat Mother gave to little boy Ted.
The flour was made from the yellow wheat that a friendly farmer brought to the mill.
"Get up! get up!" said Farmer Brown;As clipety clap, he rode to townTo take the wheat to the miller's mill;Clickety clack, it never was stillAs it ground the wheat into flour whiteFor the busy baker who sifted it light,With a shakity shake, to make the breadThat Mother gave to little boy Ted.
"Get up! get up!" said Farmer Brown;As clipety clap, he rode to townTo take the wheat to the miller's mill;Clickety clack, it never was stillAs it ground the wheat into flour whiteFor the busy baker who sifted it light,With a shakity shake, to make the breadThat Mother gave to little boy Ted.
THE ROLL OF BREAD.
THE ROLL OF BREAD.
The wheat grew in the fields that the farmer had plowed.
He plowed the fields, and he sowed the grain;Then pitter patter, the gentle rainCame in a hurry to help it grow;And the sun shone down with its golden glow,To ripen the grain for Farmer Brown,Who, clipety clapety, rode to townTo take the wheat to the miller's mill;Clickety clack, it never was stillAs it ground the wheat into flour whiteFor the busy baker who sifted it light,With a shakity shake, to make the breadThat Mother gave to little boy Ted.
He plowed the fields, and he sowed the grain;Then pitter patter, the gentle rainCame in a hurry to help it grow;And the sun shone down with its golden glow,To ripen the grain for Farmer Brown,Who, clipety clapety, rode to townTo take the wheat to the miller's mill;Clickety clack, it never was stillAs it ground the wheat into flour whiteFor the busy baker who sifted it light,With a shakity shake, to make the breadThat Mother gave to little boy Ted.
Ted sat down on the kitchen doorstep to eat the roll.
"I like a roll of nice fresh bread,Thank you, Mother," said little boy Ted.
"I like a roll of nice fresh bread,Thank you, Mother," said little boy Ted.
Note.—The little child's "Thank you, Mother," is the beginning of the universal gratitude which will come to him as we gradually lead him to see the interdependence of all life, and the wonderful goodness of God.
Note.—The little child's "Thank you, Mother," is the beginning of the universal gratitude which will come to him as we gradually lead him to see the interdependence of all life, and the wonderful goodness of God.
O
Once upon a time there was a grandmother who went to spend Thanksgiving day with her children and grandchildren.
She had three grandchildren, Isabel, Jack, and Jamie, and as soon as she had taken off her cloak and bonnet she sat down in Mamma's big rocking-chair, and called them to her.
"I have a present for each one of you in my brown bag," she said, "but before I give them to you, you must guess what they are."
"Oh, Grandma!" said Isabel and Jack and Jamie; and they watched her with wondering eyes as she opened the bag, and took out a bundle.
"Jamie's present is in this bundle," said she. "It is red on the outside, and white on the inside and in the middle there is something brown."
"I believe I know what it is," said Jack.
"So do I," said Isabel; but Grandma would not let them guess.
"Jamie must guess it himself," she said. So Jamie guessed a ball, and a flower and a piece of candy and everything else he could think of; but he could not guess what was in the bundle till Grandma let him smell it. Then he knew.
"An apple, a red apple," he cried; and when he opened the bundle, there, sure enough, was a big, round apple. It was red on the outside, and white on the inside; and when he had eaten it he found in the middle, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven brown seeds.
The next bundle was for Jack. Grandma shook it up and down, and something rattled inside.
"Marbles," guessed Jack; but Grandma shook her head.
"Listen to this," she said:—
THREE GUESSES.
THREE GUESSES.
"Riddle me, riddle me, what can it be,Hickory, dickory fell from a tree.Run for a hammer, and crickety crackHere are some goodies for little boy Jack."
"Riddle me, riddle me, what can it be,Hickory, dickory fell from a tree.Run for a hammer, and crickety crackHere are some goodies for little boy Jack."
"Nuts, nuts!" cried Jack. "Hickory nuts from the big hickory tree that grows in your front yard." And he was right, too.
"Now it is my turn," said Isabel; "and I am going to try to guess my present with my very first guess."
But when Grandma took out a little bundle wrapped in tissue paper, and put it into Isabel's hands, she was as puzzled as the others had been.
"Be very careful," said Grandma; "for if you break your present you will never be able to mend it, no matter how hard you try."
"May I ask questions about it?" asked Isabel.
"Yes," said Grandma, "you may ask three questions; but when I have answered those I will close my lips, and will not answer another one."
Then Isabel asked the three questions:—
"What color is my present?"
"White," said Grandma.
"Where did it come from?"
"The haystack," said Grandma.
"Who told you it was there?"
"The old white hen," said Grandma; and she closed her lips just as she had said she would; but Isabel knew what her present was without another word.
"I knew as soon as you said it came from the haystack," she said. "It is an egg."
And so it was, a beautiful fresh white egg. Isabel had it for her breakfast the very next morning.
"My!" said Grandma, as the children gathered around her to kiss her and thank her. "What good guessers my grandchildren are!"
O
Once upon a time when all the ground was white with snow and all the roofs were trimmed with icicles, a little boy went out into the world to make snowballs.
His mother wrapped him up so nice and warm from head to toe that you could scarcely see anything of him but the tip of his nose; and when the snowbirds that lived in his own front yard saw him, they did not know him.
They flew away to the top of the fence, and cocked their heads first on one side, and then on the other, as if they were thinking, "Who can this be?" but by and by they found out.
"Chirp, chirp," they said to each other. "It is only the little boy who throws us crumbs from thewindow;" and they flew down into the yard again to watch him make snowballs.
The little boy knew just how to make snowballs, and how to throw them, too, for he had seen his big cousin do it. First he took a handful of snow, and then he packed it in his hands like this; and then hurrah! he threw it as far as he could send it.
One of his snowballs went into the corner of the yard and one against a tree, and one all the way over the fence into the street. It was great fun to play in the snow, and the little boy was sorry when the maid called from the house to tell him it was time to come in.
"As soon as I make one more," he answered; and he took a great handful of snow, and made such a big snowball that he thought he must take it into the house to show to his mother.
Now the little boy's mother had gone to market while he was playing in the snow; but he took the snowball into her room, and put it on the hearth so that she might see it when she came home.
THE SNOWBALL.
THE SNOWBALL.
There was a bright fire burning in the grate, and it sounded just as if it were laughing, with its cricklety cracklety, cricklety cracklety, when the little boy put the snowball down in front of it.
"Oh! what a nice big fire," he said; and he climbed up into the rocking chair close beside it to wait for his mother.
"Rockity rock, rockity rock," said the rocking chair.
"Cricklety, cracklety," laughed the fire; and the little boy was so comfortable and so warm that he went fast asleep on the cushions.
When he waked up his mother was still away at the market; and the fire was still laughing, louder than ever.
"Cricklety cracklety, cricklety cracklety;" but when he looked on the hearth for his snowball it wasgone! There was nothing there at all but a little pool of water.
The little boy looked under the chair and under the bed and under the dresser, behind the door and in all the corners; upstairs and downstairs, high and low; but he could not find the snowball anywhere.
And what do you think had become of it? The little boy's mother guessed as soon as she came home; and if you will ask your mother I am sure she will tell you.
A WONDER STORY FOR LITTLE CHILDREN
"Wonder is the basis of worship."—Carlyle.
E
Every year, on the night before Christmas, Santa Claus comes.
He rides in a sleigh drawn by tiny reindeer with bells on their harnesses.
Tinkle, tinkle, ring the bells, and trit-trot, go the little deer to carry Santa Claus over the world.
Santa Claus dresses in fur from his head to his heels. His leggings are fur, his coat is fur, and he wears a fur cap pulled down over his ears, for the winds of the winter are icy cold.
O-o-o-o, sing the winds, tink, tinkle, ring the bells, and trit-trot, go the little deer when Santa Claus rides over the world.
Santa Claus's beard is as white as the snow, and his cheeks are as red as apples, and his eyes are as bright as the twinkling stars that look from the sky to see him ride.
Twinkle, twinkle, shine the stars, O-o-o-o, sing the winds, tink, tinkle, ring the bells, and trit-trot, go the little deer when Santa Claus rides over the world.
Santa Claus is old, old as the hills, but he is strong as a giant, and on his back he carries a pack, and the pack is full of toys. He has dolls and drums, and balls and tops, wagons and sleds, tea sets with blue roses painted on them, and horns with red and white stripes; and all of them are for little children. As soon as the children are asleep on Christmas Eve, Santa Claus comes to fill their stockings with good things and give them beautiful gifts. He knows just what the children want, every one of them, and he laughs for joy as he rides away.
SANTA CLAUS.
SANTA CLAUS.
Ha! ha! laughs Santa Claus, twinkle, twinkle, shine the stars, O-o-o-o, sing the winds, tink, tinkle, ring the bells, and trit-trot, go the little deer when Santa Claus rides over the world.
The children never see him come. No, indeed! If he hears so much as a laugh or a whisper in the house he stays outside till all is quiet. Why, once upon a time there was a little boy who did not want to go to bed on the night before Christmas. "I shall sit up and see Santa Claus," he said. He hung his stocking by the mantel, and sat in his mother's big rocking chair and waited, and watched, and waited; but all that he saw was a little gray mouse, though he stayed awake till everybody but his mother was in bed, and he could not keep his eyes open another minute. The last thing he saw as he went to sleep was the stocking hanging just where he had put it, and there was nothing in it; but—do you believe it?—when he waked up next morning it was full of goodies from tip to toe; and right in front of the hearth was a wagon with redwheels! "Oh, oh! Santa Claus has been here," said the little boy; and he clapped his hands, for he was happy as could be.
All the world is happy when Santa Claus comes. Trit-trot, go the little deer, tink, tinkle, ring the bells, O-o-o-o, sing the winds, twinkle, twinkle, shine the stars, and ha! ha! laughs Santa Claus, as he rides over the world to fill the children's stockings, and to bring beautiful gifts.
O
Once upon a time there was a little boy who went to buy some nails for his father, and while he was waiting for the storekeeper to wrap them up, he saw in the window a little red hatchet.
"If I had a little red hatchet," thought the little boy, "I could pound nails and split boards, and perhaps I could build myself a little house," and he asked the storekeeper the price of the hatchet.
"Just as many pennies as you have fingers on your hands, or toes on your feet," said the man.
"Oh!" said the little boy, and as soon as he went out of the store he counted his fingers. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten." He could not count his toes then, for he had on his shoes and stockings, but he remembered to do it when heundressed that night; and he had just as many toes as he had fingers. The little red hatchet cost ten pennies. "If I had ten pennies," he said to his mother, "I know what I should do. I should buy me a little red hatchet."
"How nice that would be," said his mother; "and where would you get it?"
"From the storekeeper," said he; "and I could pound nails and split boards and build houses. I wish I had one."
"So do I," said his mother; "but now you must go to sleep, for to-morrow is your birthday, and you will want to be up with the sun."
The sun was up before the little boy, though, and so was his mother. She was sitting on the bed when he waked up, and on the table, close by the bed, were—what do you think? Ten pennies, all in a row.
"Now you can buy the little red hatchet," said his mother, giving him a birthday kiss.
TEN PENNIES.
TEN PENNIES.
"Yes, now I can buy the little red hatchet," said the little boy; and he could scarcely wait to dress and eat his breakfast before he started out to the store. The ten pennies were in his pocket and they jingled merrily as the little boy ran down the road. "Ten of us are here! Ten of us are here!"—this is what they seemed to say, and the boy laughed to hear them.
"Perhaps I'll cut down a tree with my little red hatchet," he thought, as he ran.
It was early in the morning when he reached the town, but the stores were open, and the men who sold things on the street were already calling their wares. One was a ragman. "Rags, rags!" he called. Another was a pieman. He had his good things in a cart that he pushed before him. There were fresh raspberry tarts in his cart that day, and every now and then he called:—
"Tarts, tarts, raspberry tarts! A tart for a penny and a penny for a tart. Tarts, tarts, raspberry tarts!A tart for a penny and a penny for a tart!" The little boy stopped to listen. "Tarts, tarts, raspberry tarts!" Oh, how delicious they looked—those penny tarts in the pieman's cart!
"Will you have a tart, little master?" asked the pieman.
The little boy put his hand in his pocket and drew it out; then he put it back and drew it out again. This time a penny came with it. "Yes, if you please," he said to the pieman. "I want a raspberry tart." A nice, sweet, juicy three-cornered raspberry tart! The little boy had eaten every crumb of it when he came to the store where the little red hatchet lay in the window.
As soon as he saw the hatchet he put his hand into his pocket again and jingled his pennies. "One of us is gone! One of us is gone!" said the pennies as plainly as they could; but the little boy sat down on the edge of the sidewalk and counted them. "One,two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine." Then he went into the store. The man who had told him the price of the hatchet was not there, but a clerk came to wait on him.
"Are there any nine-penny hatchets?" asked the little boy.
"No," said the clerk; "all the little hatchets are ten cents, and cheap at that. Would you like one to-day?" But the little boy shook his head and went out of the store. The pennies did not jingle in his pocket, and his eyes were full of tears. He was just getting his handkerchief out to wipe them away when he met an old woman.
"Why are you crying, little boy?" asked she; and her voice was so kind and her smile so pleasant that the little boy told her all about it.
"Dear me," said she, when he had finished; "I should not be surprised if you were the little boy for whom I am looking."
"Were you looking for a little boy six years old?" asked the child.
"Oh, yes, indeed," said the old woman; "and I want him to pick up a pennyworth of chips for me."
When the little boy heard this he knew that he must be the boy she wanted.
"I am six years old to-day," he said, "and I can pick up chips. I pick them up for my mother, and when I get my little red hatchet I am going to split kindling for her, too."
Then the old woman led the way to her house and gave the little boy a basket and showed him where the woodpile was. The wood chopper had been there with his sharp axe, and the chips were strewn about the yard. The little boy set to work with a will, and when he had filled the basket so full that not another chip would stay in, he took it to the old woman.
"Is this a pennyworth of chips?" he asked.
"Yes, and good measure," answered the oldwoman, and she took a bright new penny out of her bag and gave it to the little boy. "Good-by, and good fortune," she said; and the little boy wished her the same before he ran through the gate toward the town.
Oh, how swiftly his feet pattered down the road, and, oh, how merrily the pennies jingled in his pocket! "Ten of us again! Ten of us again!" This is what they seemed to say now, and the little boy laughed to hear them as he ran past the ragman with his bag, past the pieman with his tarts, straight to the store where the little red hatchet still lay in the window.
"If you please, I want a little red hatchet," he said; and he counted his pennies out on the counter, ten of them in a row.
"Just as many pennies as you have fingers on your hands, or toes on your feet," said the man, who had come in to the store again; and he wrapped the littlered hatchet in a piece of brown paper and gave it to the child.
It was a good little hatchet, and the little boy pounded nails and split boards and cut his mother's kindling with it; but whether he ever built a house or cut down a tree I cannot tell you, for I do not know myself.
T
There was once upon a time a little girl who had a china doll named Jennie Bluebell. Jennie Bluebell had black hair, and blue eyes, and rosy cheeks, and a smiling mouth; and on her feet were painted gilt slippers that shone like gold.
The little girl loved her more than she had ever loved any other doll and wherever she went she wanted Jennie Bluebell to go too. She took her to walk in the lane, and to ride in the carriage, and one day she carried her to a meadow where she and her little brother went to pick golden-rod. She held her in her arms all the way just as Mother held the baby and when she got to the meadow she laid her down to rest in the long meadow grass while she picked the flowers. Meadow grass makes a beautiful soft bed for a doll.
"I will come back for you by and by," she said as she left her there; but when it was time to go home all the green grass looked alike to the little girl and she could not tell where the dear doll lay.
"I put her right here, or at least I think I did. Oh, where can she be?" she cried, as she hurried from place to place parting the grasses with her hands and peeping anxiously in. Her little brother searched, too, but though they both looked till their mother called to ask why they were staying so long, they had to go home at last without the doll.
"Perhaps the fairies have taken her away," said the little girl, who was almost crying.
"Or a rabbit," said the little boy; "Father saw one in the field yesterday."
But neither fairies nor rabbits had touched Jennie Bluebell. The tall grasses had swayed in the breezes this way and that way till she was hidden from sight but she had not moved from the spot where the little girl had put her. All through the sunny afternoon she lay there hoping that some one would find her, and when it began to grow dark and nobody had come she felt very lonely indeed.
THE LOST DOLL.
THE LOST DOLL.
"I shall not close my eyes all night," she said; and she did not. When the rooster over in the barnyard crowed for morning, her eyes were as wide open as they had been when the first star shone the evening before.
Almost as soon as it was light again she heard a noise in the meadow. Swish, swash! Swish, swash! it sounded. The children's father was cutting his grass with a sharp-bladed scythe, but the doll did not know this and when the grass around her fell down in a heap upon her she thought that the end of everything had come.
"What in the world has happened?" she asked a grasshopper who had been caught in the fall.
"That is just what I should like to know myself,"he answered; and he struggled up to the sunshine and never came back.
The children did not come to look again for the doll that day, or the next, and she gave up all hope of being found.
"They have gone to visit their grandparents," she said. "I heard them talking about it. They have forgotten me, and I shall never see them again."
That very afternoon, however, they came to the meadow to help their father rake the grass, which the sun by that time had dried into sweet-smelling hay. They had been on a visit, sure enough, and as they worked they talked of the things they had done while they were away from home. The doll could hear every word they said.
"I rode Grandpa's horse to water two times by myself," said the little boy.
"I fed Grandma's chickens every day with corn," said the little girl.
"Grandpa plants corn in his fields," said the little boy. "You don't have to rake corn."
"I like to rake hay," said the little girl; "and Mamma says that I may find Jennie Bluebell when the field is cleared."
Oh! how the china doll's heart leaped for joy when she heard that; and—do you believe it?—the very next minute the hay that covered her was raked aside and there she lay right before the little girl's eyes!
"Oh, oh, oh!" the little girl cried; "here she is, my precious doll. I was never so glad in all my life."
And Jennie Bluebell was glad too, though she did not say a word. She only smiled.