GETTING UP IN THE MORNING.
“Unpleasant!” says the Sponge, “very unpleasant to be squeezed like this.”
“Nonsense, you stupid thing,” says the water; “what are you made for I should like to know, if not to be squeezed. You are not nice soft, lukewarm water like me.”
“Don’t talk so much, but mind your own business, and think how I go on rubbing,” says the soapy Flannel; “rub, rub! if I didn’t rub so hard we should never make a clean little girl.”
“I am glad to say that this little ear is quite clean now,” says the Towel, slyly; “now we have only the other one to do. I have rubbed the little pink cheeks till they glow again.”
“First this little right shoulder, and then the left,” says the little clean shirt. “How white and dimpled they are! it is quite a pleasure to touch them: I think they must belong to a very good child.”
“Well, we haven’t got any thinner either in the night,” exclaim the socks to the little round fat waddling legs.
“Come, come, come, little horse, and be shod!” say the shoes.
Up comes the brush, bristling finely. “Let me see what I can do here,” says he; and soon the pretty golden locks are disentangled. And comb giving his assistance, a nice parting is made, and then Brush says, “I think we have done our work very nicely.”
“Over the head without spoiling the pretty curls,” says the Petticoat. “Yes, that’s the way we do it.”
“Now I’m coming!” says the little Frock, like a person of importance for whom all the rest have been waiting. It knows quite well it is a pretty blue frock, all trimmed with braid, and that the little child chose the stuff to make it; and that it is her favourite frock.
“Now, if you please, I must come, for I am quite as important, if not so gay as you,” says the pinafore; “besides, I have two little pockets.”
“I live in one,” says the Pocket-handkerchief, “and before I get into it, I should like very much to know if the little nose is quite nice and tidy.”
Mr. Pocket-handkerchief being quite satisfied, a chorus of voices shout, “All ready now!”
“Ah! but here is a tear, a stupid little tear, on my darling’s face. Never mind, I’ll kiss it off,” says Mamma, who came into the nursery at that minute.
