Read Ebook: Stories and ballads for young folks by Alden Ellen Tracy

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Ebook has 1082 lines and 61253 words, and 22 pages

"You don't say! And what is this Edith has in her hands--a doll?"

"Yes, it's my dolly."

"What curly hair she has. And this ruffled affair--is it an apron?"

"Oh, I beg pardon! an 'over-skirt,' is it? So she's a fashionable doll. What might be her name?"

"Guess."

"Keturah?"

"No."

"Jerusha?"

"No."

"Mary Ann, Sacharissa, Sophia, Clarissa, Joan, Melissa, Eloise, Elizabeth, Jane--"

"No-o-o-o-o!"

"Victoria, Eugenia, Augusta, Paulina, Virginia, Aurelia, Geraldine, Mollie--"

"Yes! Mollie! that's what it is; but none of your other old--elephants. There, you're laughing! You knowed what it was all the time; you was only pertendin'. You've seen my dolly before."

"Where's Katy?"

"She stayed down-stairs to pop some corn for me and you."

"Shall we go down and see her do it?"

"Yes."

"Very well." And the Lieutenant, rising, manages to shift little dot up to his shoulder. "There, now, you're a feather on top of a barn-door."

"What am I, then?"

"You're my brave captain boy."

"Katy, my doll hasn't got any apron."

"Why, so she hasn't. We'll have to make her one, won't we?" And a box of ribbons and laces and pieces of silk is produced from somewhere, and the two sit down on the floor near the Lieutenant's chair, talking all the time and planning out this wonderful apron.

"Now which of all these colors does Edie like best?" asks Kate.

"Well, I think the red's the nicest."

So an apron is soon manufactured out of a bit of a broad scarlet sash, and braided, too, with white silk braid; and straightway on it goes, in feverish haste , over the stylish Mademoiselle's black satin gown.

After due admiration from Edith, some other diversion is in order, and a book of engravings is brought for inspection. As the leaves are turned for her she glances for an instant at one picture after another, giving the word to proceed; but they finally come to something over which she pores a long while--so long that Kate is passing to the next without waiting for the "Go on" from little Miss, when the latter immediately takes the book into her own hands, returns to this picture, and continues to gaze at it. "What does it mean?" at length she asks.

"Had I better tell her?" Kate, in an under-tone, questions of her brother. "It's Gustave Dor?'s 'The Deluge'--people and wild beasts huddled together upon a rock rising out of the waste of water, and the great, lashing waves reaching up for them greedily, like wide-mouthed monsters. Odd, isn't it, that she should notice it so, among so many more attractive prints? She wouldn't be likely to comprehend if I were to explain, would she? Good, there goes the tea-bell!" And Kate closes the book, glad of an excuse to escape telling the story of the flood to this blithesome little being, whom, she has a dim notion, it might give bad dreams.

Seated at the supper-table, and elevated to the common level by aid of three sofa-cushions, Edith for a few moments bestows particular attentions upon a sauce-plate of canned peaches, to the utter disregard of more substantial food. After which she sits back in her chair, and, inclining her head toward her hostess, whispers--

"Some of the cake, if you please."

"But you haven't eaten your bread and butter yet; eat that first, and then you shall have some cake."

"I want it now," responds the small person, with much firmness, and is directly supplied with the desired article--a measure which might meet with protest if Edith's mamma were present. No, it wouldn't, either, come to think of it, for Edith's mamma knows what are Kate's ideas concerning sweetmeats. Has she not, on a similar occasion, heard her express herself after this manner?--

The speaker, you see, is the children's zealous advocate; and, little people, if ever there is anything you especially covet, or if ever you get into trouble, just go to her. She will plead your cause with burning cheeks, and flashing eyes, and such withering eloquence that the stern household judges will not fail to relent.

But it is after dark, and the snow is falling heavily, and mamma will want her little Edith home. So Kate sets forth with her small charge, well wrapped and protected from the cold--although they have but a few steps to go, as Edith lives in the next house.

When Kate returns, her brother's voice greets her from the parlor with--

"Sukie, heard of the last new poem?"

"No. What is it?"

"Oh, it's an epic!--a grand affair--second only to the Iliad!"

"Strange I haven't heard of it, isn't it?"

"No, not so very; it hasn't come out yet."

"How did you hear of it? Some one been in while I was gone?"

"Yes."

"Do tell me, what is it about, and who is it by?"

"It's about a child, I believe--but modesty forbids my mentioning the name of the author."

"Ah, you old rogue, I see what you're driving at!--you've been having a call from the Muse."

"Rather from some poor vagabond tricked out in her cast-off mantle, you mean."

Kate goes and stands behind the high-backed arm-chair, and toys with her brother's jetty locks. "Come, now, Wallie, stop joking, and let me have the verses, won't you?"

And so this is what "Wallie" says about

"NEIGHBOR EDITH."

Alas! I cannot see what hue her eyes are, Nor yet the color of her silken hair; Tho'--thought consoling!--if I could, I fear me She'd be less lavish with her kisses rare.

I know her lips are dewy as the rose-bud When first it wakes, the flush of dawn to greet; Her breath it fans my face like early zephyr Up from the Southland roving, warm and sweet.

Her bird-like voice in simple, childish chatter, No better music need you care to hear-- Unless it be the music of her laughter, Like rillet, gurgling now, now tinkling clear.

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