HER NAME
"I'm losted! Could you find me, please?"
Poor little frightened baby!
The wind had tossed her golden fleece;
The stones had scratched her dimpled knees;
I stooped and lifted her with ease,
And softly whispered, "Maybe;
Tell me your name, my little maid—
I can't find you without it."
"My name is Shiny-eyes," she said.
"Yes, but your last?" She shook her head.
"Up to my house they never said
A single 'fing about it!"
"But, Dear," I said, "what is your name?"
"Why, di'n't you hear me told you?
Dust Shiny-eyes!" A bright thought came.
"Yes, when you're good; but when they blame
You, little one—it's not the same
When mother has to scold you?"
"My mother never scolds!" she moans,
A little blush ensuing;
"'Cept when I've been a-frowing stones,
And then she says (the culprit owns),
'Mehitabel Sapphira Jones,
What has you been a-doing!'"