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NELLY’S SURPRISE.'
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ELLY is our little fairy. Her
eyes are as blue as the sky,
■&m and as bright as the stars.
Her hair is as golden as sunshine, and
her laugh is the rippling of a brook in
early spring.
The other morning I heard somebody
calling “ Papa, papa,” and I knew that
Nelly was at the top of the stairs, all
curled up like a little mouse, waiting
for her father to bring her down in his
arms.
“ Papa, papa,” called Nelly again.
“ Didn’t you hear a bird chirp ?”
asked papa, going into the hall. “It
sounds as if it were right out here,” he
added, rummaging over tables, and
under chairs, and into every thing.
“ Queer bird that —can talk just like
our little Nell ; but as to finding it, I
give it up,” and he turned back toward
the sitting-room.
Nelly had watched the hunt eagerly
without opening her lips, but now she
called out, “ ’Tis I, papa. ’Tisri’t a
bird. I ain’t on the table. Look right
through the banisters, way up here —
sky high.”
“ Sure enough, there she is, right in
plain sight, and I could not see her ;
but who could expect to see such a mite
of a girl without a microscope ;” and
Nelly rode down in his arms in a perfect
jubilee of laughter.
That was Sunday, and Sunday morn
ing her father always insisted on dressing
Nelly himself, and as there is nothing
that Nelly enjoys more, and as with all
her fumbling and frolicking he does
not get more than halt her clothes on up
side down, or inside out, or wrong side
before, I let them have their own way
about it. This morning, just as she
was about half dressed, I heard him ask
her in a mysterious whisper:
“ What do you suppose I have got for
you ?”
“ A baby ?”
“ No.”
“ A picture book ?”
“No.”
“ A real, live stove that’ll boil water ?”
“ Guess again.”
Ofcourse iteouldn’t be that though,
because it’s Sunday. Perhaps it’s ten
cents.” Papa shook his head.
. “ That’s all I know of that’s worth
having,” sighed Nelly, for the vanishing
vision of that ten cents saddened her.
BURKE’S WEEKLY FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.
“What should you say to a sur
prise party ?”
“Sunday, papa 1” exclaimed Nel
ly, opening her eyes in horror.
“ This is a party that it is just as
right to have Sunday as any day.”
‘‘But I want to go church, papa.
I shall out-grow my red boots, you
know, if I don’t wear ’em once in a
while.”
Those red boots are Nelly’s pride,
and when she wears them she steps off
in such a pleased, dainty sort of way
that we all laugh at her, and call her
Miss Cranky Proudy. But she does not
love them one bit better than I do.
The sight of those atoms of bright
boots is like sunshine to my eyes, and
the sound of those tiny heels is like
music to my ears.
“ Don't you be afraid, Nelly,” re
plied her father; “I would not miss
seeing those red boots walk to church
for anew cent. But here are your
friends,” he added, uncoveringa basket.
There, all cuddled up in a heap, lay four
skinny, scrawny kittens, and Nelly
danced with delight at the sight. ’These
were the first baby kittens that she had
ever seen. She handled them over one
by one. She was evidently disappointed
in them.
“ God made them, ” she said, at last,
as if she were thinking it over, but were
not quite sure of it.
“Yes,” said papa.
“ Doesn’t he ever make any good-look
ing ones ?” x
“ These will grow pretty, darling.”
“ But such hairy things, and their
eyes all squeezed up so. I don’t think
much of’em,’’said Nelly, turning away.
“Just wait a week or two and see
what a silky coat they will have, and
what blue eyes.”
“ Let’s tuck ’em away somewhere
till they get decent then.”
“ When you were Dorn you were only
a pink, wrinkled up, squalling, crying
little thing. What a pity Ave did not
shut you up in a bureau drawer till you
grew to be of some size, and to have
some sense,” said her father, laugh
ing. “ But, on the whole, I think old
Tabby will like it just as well to have
her kittens to herself; and if you don’t
want them around, I am sure I don’t.
But how do you suppose old Tabby
knows how to take such good care of
them ?”
“ Why —why, she can’t help it,” said
Nelly.
“ Yes, but who thought of these help
less little kittens, and made her so that
she could not help loving them?” said
her father, kissing her.
The Butterfly.
UTTERFLIES are pretty things,
Prettier than you or I:
See the colors on his wings—■
fWho would hurt a butterfly?
Softly, softly, girls and boys !
He'll come near us by and by.
Here he is! don’t make a noise.
We’ll not hurt you, butterfly!
Not to hurt a living thing,
Let all little children try.
See, again he’s on the wing!
Good-bye, pretty butterfly.
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