ALICE'S CHOICE

I'd ruther be a little girl
An' have a lovely doll,
Than be a boy with a pistol toy,
Or have a bat an' ball.
I'd ruther be a little girl,
'Cause they are sweeter far
Than all the boys with all their noise,
No differns who they are.
For little girls is always good,
An' try to do their part;
But boys will shirk their share of work,
An' think they're acting smart.
An' little boys is naughty too,
An' often tease us girls,
About our dresses an' our tresses,
An' pull our pretty curls.
They laugh at us jess 'cause we cry
When we gits hurt at play;
But we don't care,—they do their share
Of cryin' every day.
They calls us little "frady-calves,"
'Cause we's afeard of mice,
An' dogs, an' cats, an' snakes, an' rats,
An' other things not nice.
But we'd ruther all be little girls,
An' let them call us babies,
Than all the boys with pistol toys,
For they don't grow to ladies.

WHAT JANIE THINKS

I'd like to see old Santa Claus
And find out who he really was.
I think 'twould be a pretty sight
To see him coming in the night.
And watch him on the housetops ride,
Then see him down the chimneys glide.
I think it's very, very queer
The way he comes round every year.
For no one ever sees or knows
Just how he comes or how he goes.
And how he can so quiet be,
Is the very strangest part to me.
But Christmas morn, in early dawn,
We're sure to find he's come and gone;
For there upon our Christmas tree
Are toys for brothers and for me.
But not a mark, or not a track,
Does he ever leave when going back.
And so I've wondered many a time
How Santa could the chimney climb.
I think 'twould be a better way
To travel round by light of day;
Than go a-prowling round at night
Like burglars do, to keep from sight.
Then little children all could see
Who their good Santa Claus might be.
And then we'd know, without being told,
If Santa Claus was young or old.
If he was fat, or very thin,
If he had whiskers on his chin.
If he was short or very tall—
Why, girls like us would know it all.
Then how much nicer it would be
For him to come when we could see,
Than always come when we're asleep,
So none of us at him can peep.
I think I'll write him just a line
And say: "Please come some other time;
"For I don't think it looks just right
For you to always come at night."

MYRTLE'S LETTER