151

CRAZY TIM 200

LETTY 250

LITTLE FERNS.

WHERE IS LITTLE NELLY?

She is not in the garden; I have searched under every bush and tree.
She is not asleep in the summer-house, or in the old barn. She is not
feeding the speckled chickens, or gathering buttercups in the meadows.
Her little dog Fidele is weary waiting for her, and her sweet-voiced
canary has forgotten to sing. Has anybody seen my little Nelly? She had
eyes blue as the summer heavens, hair like woven sunbeams, teeth like
seed pearls, and a voice soft as the wind sighing through the river
willows.

Nelly is not down by the river? No; she never goes where I bid her not.
She is not at the neighbors? No; for she is as shy as a wood-pigeon.
Where can my little pet be? There is her doll--(Fenella she called it,
because it was so tiny,)--she made its dress with her own slender
fingers, laughing the while, because she was so awkward a little
dress-maker. There is her straw hat,--she made that oak-leaf wreath
about the crown one bright summer day, as we sat on the soft moss in
the cool fragrant wood. Nelly liked the woods. She liked to lie with
her ear to the ground and make believe hear the fairies talk; she liked
to look up in the tall trees, and see the bright-winged oriole dart
through the branches; she liked to watch the clouds, and fancy that in
their queer shapes she saw cities, and temples, and chariots, and
people; she liked to see the lightning play; she liked the bright
rainbows. She liked to gather the sweet wild flowers, that breathe out
their little day of sweetness in some sheltered nook; she liked the
cunning little squirrel, peeping slily from some mossy tree-trunk; she
liked to see the bright sun wrap himself in his golden mantle, and sink
behind the hills; she liked the first little silver star that stole
softly out on the dark, blue sky; she liked the last faint note of the
little bird, as it folded its soft wings to sleep; she liked to lay her
cheek to mine, as her eyes filled with happy tears, because God had
made the world so very fair.

Where _is_ our Nelly?

She is not talking with Papa?--no; he can't find her either. He wants
to see her trip down the gravel walk to meet him when business hours
are over, and he has nothing to do but to come home and love us. He
want