l take Billy out now!" And Sammy ran towards the prisoner.

"Billy, are you hurt?"

Billy turned his head away, ashamed to speak.

"Let me take your foot out."

Billy's foot was about as fat as a bear's in July, and it came hard. He
shook his head. His tongue stuck to his mouth like a clam to his shell,
and moved not. Neither could he step.

"I will take you on my back, Billy!" said Sammy.

And that's the way they went home. Billy in his dress generally looked
like a seal standing on his hind flippers, and Sammy resembled one
also--nevertheless it was a pleasant sight.

NANNETTE'S LIVE BABY.

A good many years ago, in the city of Philadelphia, lived a little girl,
named Nannette.

One summer afternoon her mother went to pay a short visit to her aunt,
who lived near by, and gave her little girl permission to amuse herself
on the front door-steps until her return. So Nannette, in a clean pink
frock and white apron, playing and chatting with her big, wax "Didy,"
which was her doll's name, formed a pretty picture to the passers-by,
some of whom walked slowly, in order to hear the child's talk to her
doll.

"You'se a big, old girl," she went on, smoothing out Didy's petticoats,
"and I've had you for ever and ever, and I'se mos' six. But you grow no
bigger. You never, never cry, you don't. You'se a stupid old thing, and
I'm _tired_ of _you_, I am! I b'leve you'se only a _make b'leve_ baby,
and I want a _real_, _live_ baby, I do--a baby that will cry! Now don't
you see," and she gave the doll's head a whack--"that you don't cry? If
anybody should hit _me_ so, I'd squeam _m-u-r-d-e-r_, I would! And then
the p'lissman would come, and there would be an _awful_ time. There, now
sit up, can't you? Your back is like a broken stick. Oh, hum, I'm tired
of _you_, Didy."

Leaving the doll leaning in a one-sided way against the door, Nannette
posed her dimpled chin in her hands, and sat quietly looking into the
street. Presently a woman came along with a bundle in her arms, and
seeing Nannette and "Didy" in the doorway, went up the steps and asked
the little girl if she would not like to have a real little _live_ baby.

"One that will _cry_?" eagerly asked Nannette.

"Yes, one that will cry, and laugh, too, after a bit," answered the
woman, all the time looking keenly about her; and then in a hushed voice
she asked the child if her mother was at home.

"No--she's gone to see my auntie, shall I call her?" replied