ht him down from the gate in my arms, and nearly smothered him
with kisses.

Then he put his bands up and felt my face over, so softly and tenderly,
that I fancied his little creeping fingers reading there every thought
in my heart; and finally, clasping his loving arms around my neck, he
said, in a voice hardly above a whisper,--

"I love you,--you love me?"

"I do indeed love you, you dear lamb," I said; but I could hardly speak,
my voice was so choked with tears. Perceiving this, he rested his little
hand softly on my cheek again, and whispered timidly,--

"Vy for you cry?"

But hearing some one approaching, and fearing to be disturbed, I took
his little hand in mine and led him away, across the park, to a seat
under the big mulberry, where I held him long and lovingly on my lap, as
I did often afterwards, while coaxing from his sweet lips the following
chapters of his strange little life.

II.

Little Jakey was indeed _little_ Jakey. I have often seen boys three
years old both taller and heavier; but never one more perfect in form
and feature. His little feet and hands might have belonged to a fairy.
His black eyes were bright and full, with long lashes and arched brows.
His long curls were blacker than the raven, and while holding him there
in my arms, I could think of nothing but a beautiful cherub with folded
wings, astray from heaven. After smoothing down his curls awhile, and
kissing him many times, I said to him,--

"Dear Jakey, pray where did you come from, and who brought you here?"

Then dropping both his little hands in mine, he said,--

"I come fon Germany. My moder, ce bring me. I come mit her, and mit ze
baby. Ven I come in ze America, ze flowers bees in ze garden, and ze
birds bees in ze trees, and ze opples bees on ze trees, and ze
pot-a-toes bees in ze ground. Zen ze vinds blow and ze birds go avay,
and ze opples bees in ze cellar, and ze pot-a-toes bees in ze cellar.
Zen ze vinds blow too hard and ze snow bees on ze ground, and it bees
cold vinter. Zen long time ze snow go avay, and ze leaves come on ze
trees, and ze birds come back again, and it bees varm; so long I bees in
ze America."

"And so you have been here one year? But pray, dear, where is your
father? Is he dead?"

"No, he bees not dead. He bees in Germany, mit Jeem and mit Fred and mit
my granfader."

"But, Jakey, why did your mother come away here to America, and leave
your father away there in Germany?"

I felt his