MORN-ING AT OUR HOUSE.

When the first gray light

creeps in through the cur-tains

there is gen-er-al-ly a sud-den

nest-ling to be heard in the crib

that stands at one side of the

bed. Soon Ar-thur's curl-y

yel-low head pops up out of

the pil-lows.

"Are you waked up, Dol-ly-

ba-by?" calls a mer-ry voice.

"Coo-ah-goo-coo" an-swers

Dol-ly-ba-by.

"Mam-ma, I want to see

her," says Ar-thur, sit-ting up

to look o-ver.

Then mam-ma parts the lace.

cur-tains of Dol-ly-ba-by's crib,

and dis-clos-es the lit-tle sis-ter,

all sweet and ro-sy with sleep,

smil-ing on her pil-low.

"Loves Dol-ly-ba-by," says

Ar-thur, throw-ing a kiss.

Dol-ly makes fun-ny eyes at

her broth-er, and throws up

her fat lit-tle hands. "Ah-

goo-goo!" she says.

"Let me have her, please,

mam-ma," says Ar-thur.

Then Dol-ly-ba-by is lift-ed

o-ver in-to the big crib; and

there is rock-ing and sing-ing

and smil-ing and coo-ing un-til

nurse comes to car-ry both

rogues a-way to be dressed.