Little Mother Goose

by Anonymous

A RHYME OF A KITTEN.

MY KITTEN.

This is a rhyme about my kitten,

The prettiest kitten that ever purred.

I’ll write all about her that can be written,

And you may believe it, every word.

On each fore-paw is a soft white mitten;

On each hind-paw is a black fur boot;

And as for the rest, this dainty kitten

Wears an elegant silky striped suit.

All through the summer, this sprightly kitten

Brought me the spoils of her grace and skill:

A gay green grasshopper she had lit on,

A tiny toad from the side of the hill.

And once this in-con-sid-er-ate kitten,

While I was taking a two-minute nap,

Brought a small brown mouse that she had bitten,

And came and jumped right into my lap!

But when comes winter, this idle kitten,

Forgetting her hunts mid hill and grove,

Will cover her nose with one white mitten,

And sleep all day behind the stove!

Eleanor W. F. Bates.

THE HOUSE OF THE GRANDMOTHERS.
CHAPTER I.—The Baby’s Danger.

THE OLD WHITE MANSION.

There was a day in her baby-life that little Mary Ellen always spoke of as “my first day.”

“It was when I was a little crib-baby, a little bye-o-baby, you know,” Mary Ellen would say.

Mary Ellen meant it was the first day she could remember.

She remembered it by two things—it was the first time she ever heard her pretty mama scream, and the first time she ever got her little hands into the fur of a cat.

Mary Ellen was in her crib, in the pretty baby-room of the big white mansion, called “The House of the Grandmothers.” A pink rosebush was growing in a blue-and-white pot, a yellow canary hung in the window, and the sunshine was streaming in over everything. Mary Ellen was lying awake, looking at the pretty window, when all at once something made her turn her eyes.

There, on the foot-rail, sat some beautiful, furry, bright-eyed creatures, looking at her, and making the most lovely noise. She smiled at them, saying, “goo-goo-goo.” At that, one of them hopped down on the quilt, then came closer, blinking its green eyes and still making the lovely noise. Mary Ellen’s tiny body gave a quick little spring, and—O, delightful!—her hands grabbed into the soft warm fur of a kitty.

Then came the scream, and mama with it, both through the open door.

“Dick! mercy! come quick! scat! scat!”

Not only papa came, but the two grandmamas and one of the great-grandmothers, all four looking scared.

“They were right on the foot-rail of her crib—the three tiger-cats,” gasped mama, “and one had jumped down on her! I don’t much think they’ve scratched her, but they might have—just think of it, Dick!”

Papa Dick smiled. “Awful!” said he. “No doubt, Nan, they came in purposely to eat your baby up!”

The grandmothers smiled too. “Nan! as if our cats would hurt Mary Ellen!” said the youngest grandmother.

“Well, you can all laugh,” said Mama Nan, “but I think six cats are much too many in a house where there’s a baby.”

THE TIGER CATS.

“Six cats is rather many,” laughed papa, “but then there are six grandmothers, too, you know, to keep them off.”

Ella Farman Pratt.

THE HOUSE OF THE GRANDMOTHERS.
CHAPTER II.—Mary Ellen’s Birthday Celebration.

There were two or three other events in her baby days that little Mary Ellen always wished she could remember.

THE BIG CAT-BASKET.

One was her first birthday celebration. It was not like any that any other little baby ever had. Little Mary Ellen had a birthday when she was six months old!

The youngest of the four great-grandmothers, Mrs. Persis, was talking one day with Madam Esther, the next-to-the-oldest great-grandmother. “It is time Nan’s baby had some kind of a celebration,” said she. “Why not let her have a birthday the day she is six months old?”

“Who ever heard of such a thing!” Madam Esther gasped.

“Why, we have!” laughed Grandmother Lee, Mary Ellen’s father’s mother. “All we six here have heard of it, hav’n’t we, just this very minute?”

“Well, this is an idea,” said Grandmother Camp, Mary Ellen’s mother’s mother. “A birthday at six months old! Still, if we choose, what is to prevent? I’ll ring for Nan.”

They were all in Miss Persis’ room, the large southwest corner room, in their rocking-chairs, sitting in the sun. The cats lay in the big cat-basket, basking in the golden warmth.

When Mama Nan came in, her mother told her the plan. “Did I ever hear anything so absurd!” cried Mama Nan.

Papa Dick said, “Why not?” and helped the plan on.

So Mary Ellen had the celebration. It was held in Mrs. Persis’ sunny sitting-room, and she was taken in in her best embroidered robe and blue ribbons with a pink rose stuck in each bow, and the cats had new blue ribbons with rosebuds tied in—and what do you think was the center-piece on the tea-table?

Why, Mary Ellen herself, on a pink sofa pillow, nestled in among the big lace ruffles!

And her birthday presents? Six white sugar-candy doves. And when, one by one, they were held up to her face to see, what do you think Mary Ellen did? At the last dove she put out her little pink tongue on its white breast and had her first taste of candy.

MARY ELLEN AND THE CANDY DOVE.

It was a beautiful time, and too bad it was little Mary Ellen couldn’t ever remember it!

Ella Farman Pratt.

THE HOUSE OF THE GRANDMOTHERS.
CHAPTER III.—Mary Ellen’s Christmas and New-Year’s.

Two other celebrations followed little Mary Ellen’s birthday as fast as possible. Mary Ellen’s mama said the baby’s six grandmothers made her dizzy with their frolicsome plans.

THE SIX STOCKINGS.

But Christmas was coming, and certainly a baby’s first Christmas must be celebrated.

Great-grandmother Day, one of Mary Ellen’s father’s grandmothers, said one day to Mama Nan, “I suppose Mary Ellen has six stockings?”

“Why, yes, I suppose so—why do you ask?”

“You may hang them for her Christmas Eve,” said the venerable lady. “Stockings have never been hung in this house, but Mary Ellen probably will have to be indulged.”

Great-grandmother Day was the oldest of the four great-grandmothers. She was a very dignified old lady, and wore steel-bowed spectacles and carried a snuff-box in her pocket with a vanilla bean in it, and was treated with the greatest respect throughout the house.

Christmas Eve, six baby socks hung in a row in the nursery, and what do you think was in them next morning?

Six tiny packages, just alike. There were six fifty-dollar bank notes. Each was labelled: “To be kept for Mary Ellen’s wedding-dress.”

Mary Ellen’s mama looked as if she would cry. Papa Dick said, “I wonder what these grandmothers will do next!”

Mary Ellen’s next celebration was on New-Year’s Day. Nothing would do but that the Baby must make New-Year’s calls. Her mama feared she might take cold from “drafts,” being carried in and out of so many rooms, but Papa Dick said, “O, bundle her up!”

So New-Year’s morning Mary Ellen was dressed in her long white cashmere cape-cloak and her white velvet hood, and was carried about the house, up stairs and down, to call on her grandmothers in their own rooms. She was quite equal to the occasion. She said, “Da-da, da-da!” (“Happy New-Year!”) to each and every one who took her mite of a hand, and came home to her crib with something shut fast in her fingers her mama did not see at all!

Ella Farman Pratt.

MAKING NEW-YEAR’S CALLS.

THE HOUSE OF THE GRANDMOTHERS.
CHAPTER IV.—Mary Ellen’s Midnight Adventure.

What it was Mary Ellen had in her soft little pink hand when she came back from the New-Year’s calls and still had in it when she was laid in her “cribsie-nest” New-Year’s night, nobody knew.

“DON’T YOU SMELL PEPPERMINT?”

It was small and round and flat and smooth. Mary Ellen hardly felt it, and as the hand of a little baby mostly keeps itself shut very tight it did not drop out, and by and by it grew just the least bit sticky and staid fast.

To be sure, when Mama Nan was undressing her and putting on her nightgown she suddenly began to sniff. “I seem to smell peppermint,” she said, and dipped her nose down among Mary Ellen’s ruffles. Then she lifted her head and sniffed all about in the air in the funniest way. “If she were not mine,” she said, “I should certainly say somebody had been giving this child peppermint! Come here, Dick! Don’t you smell peppermint? Put your head down here!”

Papa Dick put his nose down in Mary Ellen’s ruffles and sniffed. He said it did seem as if he got a whiff of peppermint, but perhaps babies always smelt of peppermint.

“Of course she hasn’t had any,” Mama Nan said at last, and they went out and left the baby to her dreams, and the baby said nothing. The little hand staid shut, and she went to sleep.

HE FLASHED UP THE NIGHT LAMP.

That night, suddenly, just as the nursery clock began striking twelve, there was an outcry from the crib, so sharp, so painful, that it brought Mama Nan to her feet in the millionth part of a second. Papa Dick, too! He flashed up the night lamp and then there was a second scream, from Mama Nan, and she dropped in a heap by the crib. As for Papa Dick, his hair stood on end. He dashed at the crib and snatched a small mouse, a live mouse but ever so little, from Mary Ellen’s fingers that were clutching it tight. In his horror he flung it into the water-pitcher. Then he flung the water, some of it, and the mouse with it, into Mama Nan’s face, for she had fainted; and the mouse leaped from Mama Nan’s wet cheek and ran for his life.

The next minute both were bending over Mary Ellen. Her big blue eyes, full of tears, were just shutting to sleep again. A tiny pink peppermint lay on the crib quilt. Mama Nan pounced on it. “What did I tell you!” she cried.

Papa Dick was examining the warm little hand. It was very sticky and sugary. There was a tiny red spot, like a pin-prick, on one side of the palm. “The mouse was after the candy,” said he, “and she just shut her fingers on him when he bit—hurrah for our baby, Nan!”

“Bit!” screamed Nan, and for a moment she looked as if she might faint again. “Old Lady Lois must have given it to her when we were upstairs to-day—she is forever eating peppermints! I should think she would have known better!”

But dear Old Lady Lois, who truly was as fond of sweets as a child, had not given her the peppermint. She had dropped it on her lap and little Mary Ellen’s hand had chanced to close over it, and had brought it home.

Ella Farman Pratt.

London Bridge is falling down—

Hurry through!

London Bridge has fallen down—

And—caught—you!

THE HOUSE OF THE GRANDMOTHERS.
CHAPTER V.—Mary Ellen’s Grandmothers.

The Grandmothers were in Mrs. Persis’ room. Large and sunny, it was the favorite sitting-room, and the big cat-basket was generally kept there.

As usual they were all doing something for Mary Ellen. Grandmama Camp was embroidering on a little petticoat. The others were embroidering too, or crocheting, except the oldest two of the great-grandmothers. Mrs. Day was knitting a yarn stocking about the size for a little girl of six, Old Lady Lois was pasting colored pictures in a scrap-book.

They were talking of the child. “I often wonder how she is ever going to know us apart,” Grandmama Lee was saying. “Six of us!”

Mrs. Persis laughed. “Poor baby! who ever before heard of six grandmothers in one house! just how she will learn to tell us apart is a question!”

“MRS. PERSIS.”

“I never thought we resembled one another,” remarked Great-grandmother Day.

No, they did not.

MRS. CAMP AND OLD LADY LOIS.

There was Grandmama Lee, and Great-grandmother Lee who was called “Mrs. Persis,” and Great-grandmother Day. These three belonged to Papa Dick and had lived in the house ever since he could remember. Grandmama Lee, Papa Dick’s mother, was young and plump and smiling, with nut-brown hair waving over her forehead—a very nice grandmother. Great-grandmother Lee, “Mrs. Persis,” was roly-poly with a double chin, puffs of white hair, bright eyes, and any of the cats sat on her shoulder when they liked. Great-grandmother Day was the one who walked with a cane and wore caps.

Grandmama Camp and Great-grandmother Camp and Great-grandmother Gray who was called “Old Lady Lois,” belonged to Mama Nan, and when Papa Dick married her he brought them all home to his own house. He said he liked the idea. Mrs. Camp, Mama Nan’s mother, was a young, handsome, stylish woman with black hair and black eyes. Great-grandmother Camp, called “Madam Esther,” was tall and also had black hair and black eyes. “Old Lady Lois,” Mrs. Gray, was quite a beautiful old lady. She had a sweet face, and always wore a flower in her soft white mull kerchiefs.

“I think I know,” said Grandmama Camp, looking around on the others, “just how Nan’s baby will tell us apart.”

“How,” they asked. But she would not tell them.

Ella Farman Pratt.

THE NIMBLE PENNIES.

Draw two circles, one small, one large, the small one lapping over the other, as in the first and second drawings. Use a small cent in drawing the small circle, and a large copper cent (or a two-cent piece, or a silver quarter) in drawing the large circle. After that you will easily make a picture of a bright-eyed, long-tailed, nibbling mouse.

THE HOUSE OF THE GRANDMOTHERS.
CHAPTER VI.—A Little Journey.

One day, suddenly Mary Ellen began to creep.

“CREEP! CREEP!”

She was sitting on the rug, reaching for her playthings—her rag doll and her rag kitten. She had tossed them too far and there was no one in the nursery to help get them, and finally in her repeated reaching forward, over she went on her nose! Mama was not there to set her up again and say, “Bumpity-bump! Up she must jump!” and she whimpered a bit. But she wanted her playthings, and struggling for them she kicked her little legs out behind her and tried to jump along on her little stomach. At last in her mighty effort she drew her little knees up under her, lifted her little back, and away she went, creep! creep! creep! and with a very red face and a gurgle of delight grabbed her doll and cat. Then she tumbled down on her face again. But finally she got herself turned over, and lay there on the carpet, contented.

And there she still lay, gurgling and cooing over dolly, when Mama Nan came in, and Grandma Camp. Mama Nan stared at her baby, then at the rug where the ivory rattle and pillows lay, then at Mary Ellen again.

“What does this mean?” she cried. “She is fully ten feet away from where I left her!”

Mama Nan’s mother smiled. “I think, Nan, that Mary Ellen has had another adventure. I rather think she has been creeping!”

For a moment Mama Nan looked more astonished and bewildered than before. Then she turned and flew out along the little hall that led to the library. “O, Dick!” she cried. “Come in here! What do you think? Mary Ellen has been creeping.”

Papa Dick looked, for a second, fully as astonished as Mama Nan. Then he said, “Well, it’s all right, isn’t it? She’d have to do it sometime, wouldn’t she?”

MAMA NAN IS ASTONISHED.

Mama Nan breathlessly told him about it. “Well,” he agreed, “it must have been quite an exhibition. Suppose we go in and see if she can be got to repeat the performance,” and back to the nursery they both hurried.

Ella Farman Pratt.

THE HOUSE OF THE GRANDMOTHERS.
CHAPTER VII.—How the Parrot Helped.

But there was something more to be done than just to say, “Come, Baby! come to mama,” to get Mary Ellen to creep again.

“COME GET THE BOO’FUL BIRD!”

Mary Ellen’s papa, mama, and maternal grandmama all got down on the floor at the opposite end of the room, and smiled and held out hands and coaxed and chirruped; and Mary Ellen smiled in return and crowed and jounced her little self up and down, and seemed ever so many times to be on the very point of starting to go, but after all did not once make any effort to get over on her little hands and knees and creep. It ended every time in her sitting there and reaching for them to come over and get her.

“She’ll never do it again,” said Mama Nan.

“Perhaps she hasn’t at all,” said Papa Dick. “She may just have rolled there. Do you know that she crept?”

“Oh! she crept,” said Mrs. Camp. “I examined her hands and knees.”

Now there was one thing Mary Ellen had always wanted more than anything else and many times had reached up her little hands for—the red and green parrot on the bronze perch. But though the bird had an equal curiosity about the baby, Mama Nan would never let Dom Pedro be brought near her child for fear that cruel hooked bill might bite!

But now, suddenly, she said, “See here, Dick! go get the parrot!”

When the bird was brought and began to shout, “Holloa, Young Woman!” which was Papa Dick’s usual salutation to his daughter, Mary Ellen began to jump herself up and down again and pat-a-cake in a perfect frenzy of delight.

“Come get the boo’ful bird!” called Mama Nan. “Come to mama, baby, and have the pretty bird!”

But Mary Ellen seemed to have lost all knowledge of her new art of locomotion. She continued to jounce and crow, while her papa had to grasp hard hold of the parrot to keep him from flying out of his hands.

MARY ELLEN AND DOM PEDRO.

In the midst of the excitement Old Lady Lois came in. The reason of the queer scene was explained to her. “Bless your hearts!” exclaimed she. She crossed the floor, lifted the child, poised her a moment on her feet, then gently laid her down, face forward; and at that second the parrot flapping his wings in a new struggle to fly, Mary Ellen, with a great crow set off on hands and knees to meet him.

Quite around the nursery she followed after her papa and the brilliant bird. Then, as reward, she was taken up on her papa’s knee, and let to lay her little hand upon the feathery green back and to stroke the gorgeous green and red tail feathers. As for the parrot—of course he did not bite! he only said, “And what d’ye think now, Young Woman?”

After this, Mary Ellen could creep; could creep with the greatest velocity. But whenever she crept, and wherever, her journeys always ended at the foot of the bronze parrot-perch, and Dom Pedro always leaned over and spoke to her, and said as he peered down at the golden-haired little girlie, “Holloa, Young Woman! holloa!”

Ella Farman Pratt.

“Berry flowers,

Cherry flowers,

We saw to-day,

All so white,

O, so white!

“But the berries,

And the cherries,”

Said little Fay,

“Will be red,

O, so red!”

THE HOUSE OF THE GRANDMOTHERS.
CHAPTER VIII.—The Open Door.

MARY ELLEN’S FIRST TOOTH.

Almost as soon as Mary Ellen could creep, she tried to walk; and on the same day she took her first step “all alone-y,” a little tooth came into sight. The big white house was in a state of excitement. The grandmothers were downstairs all day. Mrs. Persis was sure she had felt the tooth for a week. All had to touch the bit of sharp pearl. “I believe the little rogue knows she is biting us,” Madam Esther said as Mary Ellen let go her finger with a gurgle of a laugh. She pointed out a tiny red spot on her finger and declared the tooth had made it. The others came and gazed, and Papa Dick said grandmothers were queer beings.

But he and Mama Nan “felt” the tooth, too, when once they were alone with Mary Ellen. They seemed to think it very wonderful that the tiny pearl should appear in their baby’s mouth. They peered at it so often during the next few days that at last, if anyone said, “Now let’s see ’ittle toofy!” Mary Ellen began to cry and scream.

After Mary Ellen could creep she wouldn’t stay on her rug. She would hitch along until off, and then start to creep. Next minute up she would raise her little body and walk off, all-fours, on hands and feet, pounding along like a little dog until she got to a chair, when she would pull herself upright. Then, with her little hands patting the chair-seat joyfully, she would step about it as fast as she could go, jumping, gurgling and crowing, until in her wild glee down she would tumble! And one day, in climbing up after a tumble, she found the chair could walk too! Mary Ellen made experiments. A good smart push, and off the chair would start over the smooth floor, and Mary Ellen with it, crowing like a little rooster.

AT THE OPEN DOOR.

Suddenly, one morning Mary Ellen appeared to have an idea in her little head. She had been left on the rug with her playthings. There was no one in the room except the cats and Dom Pedro. The cats raced about, and Dom Pedro scolded: “Scat! Scat! Less noise I say!” Mary Ellen took no notice. She set off, hitching along, for the door open into the hall. As soon as she was over the threshold she started on a fast creep for the stairs.

“Young Woman!” Dom Pedro called. Mary Ellen crept on, the cats frolicking along with her. Dom Pedro’s perch stood where he had a good view of the stairs, and now, as Mary Ellen laid her little hand on the bottom step he burst into a perfect frenzy of hoarse calls and squeaks.

Ella Farman Pratt.

THE NIMBLE PENNIES.

Draw a small circle, and then a large circle below and behind it, and a little to one side—as in the first two designs. (Draw the circles around a small cent and a large copper cent, or two-cent piece, or silver quarter.) Add the lines in the other four designs, and you will have a pretty Poll Parrot on its perch.

THE HOUSE OF THE GRANDMOTHERS.
CHAPTER IX.—A Bumped Nose.

SHE CAME TO A DOOR.

Mary Ellen paid no attention to Dom Pedro’s cries. She pressed one fat hand down hard on the first stair and steadied herself and straightened herself up until her little knees were level with the step, and then on it—and there she was, up a stair! Her little face was very red, and she was very puffy all over. But she seemed to have an instinct as to what to do next. Or perhaps she had studied it all out on her rug. Learned men are trying to pry into the minds of babies now, but as yet none has discovered very much as to what a baby thinks of, or whether it thinks anything. She grasped hold of a baluster-round with one hand and laid a sturdy little knee on the next stair, and in this way up she went, panting and puffing and getting on up, she and the kittens, but never making a loud sound, excepting a little grunt now and again.

But the moment she reached the top she broke out into a delighted gurgle of little words: “Gum-um! gum-um!” Then she got herself on her feet—a very dusty, mussed-up, red-faced, white-frocked baby, her sunshiny hair wet on her heated forehead, but her blue eyes sparkling. She steadied herself in her little red kid slippers and then, her hands against the wall, she stepped along, step by step, until she came to a door. On that she spatted with her two little hands and said, “Gum-um! gum-um!”

There was a sudden hurry inside, and the door opened, and Mary Ellen and the six kittens went tumbling in together down on the floor. Great-Grandmother Day cried out, “The Good Lord preserve us!” and sank back in a chair.

The next minute she had caught the child up. Mary Ellen was crying lustily, for she had bumped her nose in a very bad way, and as Great-Grandmother Day sank back with her in the chair again, doors flew open all about and grandmothers came flying along from all quarters.

MAMA NAN LOOKED WHITE.

“What is it? Is Mary Ellen here? What is the matter?”

Great-Grandmother Day addressed herself to Madam Esther. “I know you keep brown paper by you—bring me a piece of brown paper wet in ice water for this child’s nose.”

At this moment, brought by Mary Ellen’s shrill screams and the parrot’s outcry, Mama Nan appeared flying up the stairs.

“What is it? Where is Mary Ellen? Have you got Mary Ellen up here?”

She entered just as the piece of brown paper was being laid on Mary Ellen’s nose, and her words ended in a little shrill cry like that of a frightened mother-bird.

“This child came up the stairs alone!” said Great-Grandmother Day, severely, speaking to all in the room. She rose and delivered the child to its mother and then, faint for the first time in her life, was led back to the chair by Old Lady Lois and Mrs. Lee.

By this time Mary Ellen was snuggling down in her mother’s neck in great content, and her sobs were ceasing. But poor Mama Nan looked very white. “I shall never know another moments peace,” she said piteously.

“Nonsense,” said her mother. “You did the very same thing yourself, Nan. You were just about the age of Mary Ellen.”

On the way downstairs, Mary Ellen raised her head and said, “Gum-um! gum-um!”

“Yes, you did go to see Gum-um,” answered her mama; “but you mustn’t do it again.”

Ella Farman Pratt.

THE HOUSE OF THE GRANDMOTHERS.
CHAPTER X.—The Vase of Flowers.

None of the “gum-ums” supposed Mary Ellen would try coming up stairs again. Her poor little bumped nose would be a warning. But Papa Dick thought she would, and said someone ought to be in the nursery all the time.

“MARY ELLEN MUSTN’T TOUCH!”

“No, no,” said Mama Nan. “My little Mary Ellen must grow up able to do right without being watched. If somebody sits by her and prevents her from everything, how can I ever tell whether she is good or whether she is bad?”

“Well,” said Papa Dick, “I hope you wont come to grief a-carrying out your ideas about your little Mary Ellen.”

The next day after her adventure, Mary Ellen was left alone as usual with her playthings. Her little nose was black-and-blue, and gave her a look of not being a specially good child. Once or twice she put her little hand up to her face. “Nosey ache, Dom P’e-do,” she said to the parrot.

Great-Grandmother Day’s tall old pier glass stood in the room. On its low marble shelf Mama Nan generally kept a vase filled with flowers. It was a glass vase, and very tall and slender. She had been warned about leaving this vase in Mary Ellen’s reach. “She will pull it over some day,” said Madam Esther, “and the vase’ll break and she’ll get cut with the broken glass.”

Mama Nan said “no, she is to learn not to touch things.” But after the parrot, the vase of flowers was the first object the baby took notice of. Mama Nan would take a flower out and give to her, then set the vase back, shake her head and say slowly, “Mary Ellen mustn’t touch!”

“Mary Ellen is a little human being,” she said, “and knows just as well as I do that I mean she is not to touch the vase.”

“Yes,” said Papa Dick, “and because she is a little human being she will some day investigate that vase for herself.”

MARY ELLEN DIDN’T LIKE WATER.

And now that day had come. Mary Ellen sat for a time on the rug after her mother went out, holding her rag doll by one leg. Suddenly she dropped the doll and made vigorously for the mirror. She didn’t hesitate a second after getting there. She reached for the biggest rose of the lot, grabbed it by its head and pulled. Over came the vase, crash, splash, drench! Mary Ellen gazed at the puddle. She didn’t like water. When it spread out and wet her dress, she struck at it and drew herself away. “Notty watty!” she said. This amused the parrot and he laughed. “Notty watty!” she cried, looking up at him, and struck at it again. Mary Ellen had never seen anything struck, but it was a very fierce little blow she gave the puddle of drenched flowers. Then she set off with her big rose for the open door into the hall, and up the stairs she went, and nearly twice as quick as on the day before.

Ella Farman Pratt.