agon
or a motor. My own preference is a motor, and already I see a vehicle
painted in bright colors and opening up behind as spacious as a waffle
cart. There will be windows all around for the display of goods. It is
not quite fixed what we shall sell. Wee Jessie leans toward bonnets
and little millinery odds and ends. I am for kitchen tins. M----
inclines toward drygoods, serviceable fabrics. It is thought that we
shall live on the roof while on tour, with a canvas to draw on wet
nights. We shall possess a horn--on which Wee Jessie once practiced in
her youth--to gather up the crowd when we enter a village.

Fancy us, therefore, my dear sir, as taking the road late this coming
spring in time to spread the summer's fashions. And if you hear our
horn at twilight in your village--a tune of more wind than melody,
unless Jessie shall cure her imperfections--know that on the morrow,
by the pump, we shall display our wares.

The Tread of the Friendly Giants.

When our Babe he goeth walking in his garden,
Around his tinkling feet the sunbeams play.

It has been my fortune to pass a few days where there lives a dear
little boy of less than three. My first knowledge of him every morning
is the smothered scuffling through the partition as he reluctantly
splashes in his bath. Here, unless he mend his caution, I fear he will
never learn to play the porpoise at the Zoo. Then there is a wee
tapping at my door. It is a fairy sound as though Mustard-seed were in
the hall. Or it might be Pease-blossom rousing up Cobweb in the play,
to repel the red-hipped humble-bee. It is so slight a tapping that if
I sleep with even one ear inside the covers I will not hear it.

The little lad stands in the dim passage to greet me, fully dressed,
to reproach me with my tardiness. He is a mite of a fellow, but he is
as wide awake and shiny as though he were a part of the morning and
had been wrought delicately out of the dawn's first ray. Indeed, I
choose to fancy that the sun, being off hurriedly on broader business,
has made him his agent for the premises. Particularly he assists in
this passage at my bedroom door where the sleepy Night, which has not
yet caught the summons, still stretches and nods beyond the turn. It
is so dark here on a winter's morning when the nursery door is shut
that even an adventuring sunlight, if it chanced to clamber through
the window, would blink and falter in the hazard of these turns. But
the sun