CROSS GIRL.
MOTHER.
My dear Amelia, I’m ashamed
To hear you quarrel so;
Leave off these naughty airs, my child,
Go play with Frances,—go!
AMELIA.
I can’t, mamma, the little minx
May play with whom she can;
And while she lives she shall not have
My waxen doll again.
“With any other little girl
I should be glad to play;
But I don’t love our Frances, Ma,
I wish she’d go away.
MOTHER.
Amelia, little Betsy Smith
Spends all her time alone;
She had a little sister once,
But now she’s dead and gone.
Betsy, like you, was very cross,
And when she used to play
“With pretty little Emeline,
She’d quarrel every day.
One time her sister said to her,
“Don’t, Betsy, be so cross;
Indeed, I am not well to-day,
And fear I shall be worse.”
“Not well! Oh, yes, you’re very sick!
I don’t believe it’s true;
You only want to coax Mamma
To get nice things for you.”
But Emeline grew worse and worse,
Till she could hardly speak;
And when the doctor came he said,
She would not live a week.
And then it rushed on Betsy’s mind,
How wicked she had been;
The cruel treatment of the child
She never felt till then.
Over her sister’s bed she hung,
With many a bitter sigh,
And laid her arms about her neck,
and begged her not to die.
“Forgive me, Emeline, or else
I do not wish to live;
Oh speak, dear sister, speak once more,
And say you will forgive!
The poor, dear, suffering, dying child
Just raised her languid eye,
And moved her lips, and tried to say,
Dear Betsy, do not cry!
Then Betsey’s sorrowing mother tried
To take her from the bed,
She cast her weeping eyes behind,
And Emeline was dead.
And now poor little Betsy sits,
Day after day, alone;
She does not wish to laugh or play
Since Emeline is gone.
AMELIA.
Mamma, now see I am not cross;
Come, Fanny, let us play!
And you shall have my waxen doll,
And keep it every day.