[Illustration]

  “A, B, C, D, E, F, G;
  How many wrinkles are there?  One, two, three! 
  We’ll send them all off quickly, or they’ll climb up to your hair,
  And then to-morrow morning you’ll have lots of tangles there.”

[Illustration]

  Sometimes our little Lewy
    Loses all his pretty smiles;
  He says they’re very far away;
    At least a hundred miles. 
  He looks as sober as a judge,
    As stately as a king,
  As solemn as a parson and
    As still as anything. 
  And then our little Bertie,
    The witching willow bringing,
  Sends all the smiles safe home again,
    By waving it and singing: 

  “I want to buy a smile, sir, if you have some about;
  I’ll draw this leaf across your lips, and that will bring them out. 
  And if you cannot spare me one, just let me take a half. 
  Oh, here they come and there they come, and now we’ll have a laugh.”

[Illustration]

  On every “morrow morning,”
    This funny little Bertie
  Doesn’t want to have his face washed
    Because it don’t feel dirty;
  He runs half-dressed ’way out-of-doors,
    Safe hidden from our view;
  We search and call, hunt up and down,
    And don’t know what to do,
  Until we see our little Lu
    The wand of willow bringing,
  And leading Bertie back to us,
    While all the time he’s singing: 

  “Do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, si. 
  You look like a very small heathen Chinee. 
  Get the sleep all washed off and hang it up to dry,
  And then you’ll look as fresh as if you’d just come from the sky.”

  When all the stars are shining,
    Each little sleepy-head
  Is lying in a funny bunch
    Within the little bed. 
  Their eyes are so wide open,
    They stay awake so long,
  They’re calling me to tell to them
    A story or a song. 
  So up the stairs again I come,
    The magic willow bringing,
  And wave it here and wave it there,
    While o’er and o’er I’m singing: 

      “Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep;
  Sailing away on the dreamy deep;
  Sister to watch you and angels to keep;
  Sailing away and away and away,
      Away on the d-r-e-a-m-y deep;
      Sleep, sleep, s-l-e-e-p, sleep.”

[Illustration]

THE STORY THAT WOULDN’T BE TOLD.

BY LOUISE STOCKTON.

“Do tell me one more story; just one more!” said the little boy.

It certainly was getting late.  The fire lighted the room, the shadows danced in the corners.  Down in the kitchen they were hurrying with the dinner, and in a moment nurse would come in to take the boy to bed.  But all this made him want to stay.  He was very comfortable in his mamma’s lap, and he was in no haste to go upstairs to Maggie and the nursery.