and strawberries, and was stationed in her high chair on the back piazza where she could admire the landscape and watch the cows and sheep feeding upon the hill-sides.  A honeysuckle swung in the breeze above her head, and little chickens, not big enough to do harm to grandma’s flower-beds, ran to and fro in the knot-grass, hunting for little shiny green bugs, and fluttering and peeping in a way that was very interesting to Lily-toes.  No baby could be more comfortably situated on a hot summer day; at least, so her mamma thought, as she tied Lily-toes securely in her chair with a soft scarf, and went back to the sitting-room and the busy sewing and talking with her dear old girlhood friends.  I presume if Lily-toes had been a first baby, her mamma would have hesitated about leaving her there.  She would have feared—­may be—­that the chickens would eat her up or that she might swallow the paper-weight.  As it was, she only kissed the little thing with a sort of mechanical smack and left her alone, as coolly as if lovely Lily-toe babies were an every-day affair.

Meanwhile, and for many days before, great distress was going on in the fields and gardens for lack of rain.  The young corn was drooping, the vines fainting, the sweet red roses opening languidly, the grasses growing dry and brittle to the bite of the patient cows and nibbling sheep.  Everything, except Lily-toes, was expressing a desire for rain.  In fact, all through the night before this story of a wronged baby opens, the hills, woods, fields, and gardens, had been praying for rain according to their individual needs, the maples and elms desiring a “regular soaker,” while the lowly pansies lifted their fevered little palms to the stars and begged but a few drops.

And the rain came.  Slowly up the western skies rose a solid cloud.  No attention was paid it for some time, it came on so quietly and serenely.  But, by and by, the cows came sauntering down to the barn-yard bars as if they thought it was milking-time, and the sheep huddled together under the great elms.  Grandpa and his big man commenced raking the hay together vigorously, and a sudden, cool, puffy breeze began to ruffle the little rings of hair on Lily-toes’ head, and send the small chickens careening over the knot-grass in such fashion that the careful mother-hen put her head out of her little house and called them in.  And still in the cool, pleasant sitting-room, with its cheerful talk and laughter, the approach of the storm was hardly noticed.  Grandma, the most thoughtful body present, remarked that she believed it was “clouding up a little,” and mamma said she hoped so.  And then the talk went on about making dresses and the best way to put up strawberries and spiced currants.  But when big drops came suddenly plashing against the windows and a lively peal of thunder rolled overhead, then there was a scattering in the sitting-room.  The aunties scampered out through a side door to snatch some clothes from