A Jolly Jingle-Book | Page 2

I'm 'most afraid.
She sends me for my
mother's hat,
Then takes her nicest skirt,
And trails it all around the

house
Until it's full of dirt.
When Alice comes to play with me
She asks, "What shall we play?"

I answer, "Anything you like."
She coaxes, "Do _please_ say."

Sometimes it's dolls, sometimes it's games,
No matter what it be,
I
have the very nicest time
When Alice plays with me.
REBECCA DEMING MOORE.
A PUZZLING THING
Eight of us went to a party--
The nicest ever given.
There was apple
fluff, and frosted stuff,
And cake and candy and fruit enough,
But
seats for only seven!
Eight of us hurried homeward
After the happy treat,
With run and
bound; yet there were found
Only the tracks on the dusty ground
Of
seven pairs of feet!
Eight of us got back safely,
And seven told with glee
Of all we'd
done, and the feast and the fun--
But one of us was a silent one.

Now, which can that one be?
NANCY BYRD TURNER.
HER NAME
"I'm losted! Could you find me, please?"
Poor little frightened baby!

The wind had tossed her golden fleece;
The stones had scratched
her dimpled knees;
I stooped and lifted her with ease,
And softly
whispered, "Maybe;
Tell me your name, my little maid--
I can't find you without it."

"My name is Shiny-eyes," she said.
"Yes, but your last?" She shook
her head.
"Up to my house they never said
A single 'fing about it!"

"But, Dear," I said, "what _is_ your name?"
"Why, di'n't you hear me
told you?
Dust Shiny-eyes!" A bright thought came.
"Yes, when
you're good; but when they blame
You, little one--it's not the same

When mother has to scold you?"
"My mother never scolds!" she moans,
A little blush ensuing;

"'Cept when I've been a-frowing stones,
And then she says (the
culprit owns),
'Mehitabel Sapphira Jones,
What _has_ you been
a-doing!'"
THE GAME OF GOING-TO-BED
Says father, when the lamps are lit,
"Now just five minutes you may
sit
Down-stairs, and then away you go
To play a little game I
know!"
He gives a kiss and pulls a curl:
"Let's play you were my little girl,

And play you jump up on my back,
And play we run!" And
clackity-clack,
We both go laughing up the stair!
(If I should fuss he'd say "No fair!")

And then he says, "Night, Sleepyhead."
It's fun, the game of
Going-to-Bed.
[Illustration: The Game of Going-to-Bed]
THE BALL
Close cuddled in my own two hands,
My big round ball with yellow
bands!
They've filled my playroom up with toys--
Dolls, horses,
things to make a noise,
Engines that clatter on a track,
And tip-carts
that let down the back;
Arks, just like Noah's, with two and two
Of
every animal he knew;
Whole rows of houses built of blocks,
A
mouse that squeaks, a doll that talks,
But when the Sleepy Man
comes by
And I'm too tired to want to try
To think of anything at all,

Here's my old, dear old, rubber ball.

Close cuddled in my own two hands,
My big round ball with yellow
bands.
[Illustration: The Ball]
A VOYAGE
She rowed 'way out on the Daisy Sea,
with a really-truly oar,
Out of a really-truly boat, and what
could you ask for more?
Her sea and her boat were make-believe,
but the daisy waves dashed high,
And 'twas pleasant to know if the
boat
went down that her frock would still be dry.
She rowed 'way out on the Daisy Sea, with
a really-truly oar,
Past the perilous garden gate where the
fierce white breakers roar,
Past the rocks where the mermaids sing as
they comb their golden hair,
Past an iceberg grim and tall, and a
great,
white polar bear.
She rowed 'way out on the Daisy Sea, with
a really-truly oar,
Till she came to an island castle, where she
brought her boat ashore.
She entered the castle boldly,
and--wonderful
sight to see!--
She had rowed straight home to the dining-room

and the table spread for tea.
HANNAH G. FERNALD.
APPLE-TREE INN
It stands by the roadside, cool-shuttered and high,
With cordial
welcome for all who pass by;
And here's how you enter--you make a
quick dash
And scale the steep stair with a bound, in a flash.
You
cross the clean threshold and find you a chair.
There's room for all
comers and plenty to spare.
You can rock, you can rest, happy
lodging you win
Who stop for an hour at Apple-tree Inn.
The walls and the roof and the ceiling are green,
With rifts of light
blue that are painted between.
The seats are upholstered in brown and
dark gray,
And yet, for it all, not a penny to pay.
Then, when you
are hungry, the table is spread
With fare that is dainty, delicious, and
red.
Oh, hurry and come if you never have been
A guest in your
travels at Apple-tree Inn!
NANCY BYRD TURNER.
AN OUTDOOR GIRL
The wind and the water and a merry little girl--
Her yellow hair
a-blowing and her curls all out of curl,
Her lips as red as cherries and
her cheeks like any rose, And she laughs to see the little waves come
curling round her toes.
The breezes a-blowing and the blue sky overhead,
A laughing