's baby,
who had never been alone before in all her short cherished life. All
alone with the croaking frogs and lonesome crickets. Hark! what was
that? A roll of wheels and the clatter of a horse's hoofs.

"Whoa!" called out a boy's shrill voice. Down to the ground dropped the
owner of the voice. "What is the matter, little girl?"

"I'se been to Soogar Wiver, and I don't know how to det home aden, I'se
so vewy tired, and I toodn't cwack the candy, and I want to see
dwandma," and Tot's words ended in a wail of inarticulate woe.

"Where do you live?" asked the boy.

"A dwate, dwate ways off," answered Tot.

"What is your name?"

"Tot Lindsay."

"Lindsay? O, I know! All you've got to do is to jump into this wagon and
have a nice ride, and, presently, we'll be there."

And presently, in the gloaming, they stopped before grandpapa's house,
and the boy, lifting out Tot in his arms, carried her to the door and
bade her good-by, and, jumping into his wagon, rattled away. Empty and
silent stood the little house, like the dwelling of the Three Talking
Bears, and little Tot might have been Silver Hair herself.

"Dwandma, dwandma!" she called. But no grandmamma replied.

"Perhaps she has dus dorn out a minute," thought she. "I'll det up on
dis lounge and tover dis shawl over me, and s'prise her when she tums
back."

Something else besides the shawl covered Tot's eyes. Down over the blue
orbs drifted the snowy lids. Tired little Tot.

Where was dwandma and the rest all this time? In trouble and confusion.
Calling and searching, searching and calling: "Tot, Tot, Tot, little
Tot! Where are you?" Grandpapa and grandmamma, and Uncle Will and Tot's
mamma.

At last, on the road running beside the river, they had found the
fragment of dotted cambric, held fast by a detaining splinter; and then
Tot's mamma had run ahead and led them across the meadow, right in the
track of Tot's little feet, straight to the river. And then grandmamma
had said, quaveringly, that Tot was always asking to go to Sugar River;
and then Will's heart had given a great guilty throb, and sank way, way
down. He knew so well _why_. And then Tot's mamma had thrown up her two
hands, and darted towards a little string of coral beads and picked it
up. And, as they stood there, the river's murmur seemed like the murmur
of the river of death, and the white fog, beginning to rise, like the
folds of a little child's shroud; and Tot's mamma threw up her hands
a