SHE JUMPS OUT OF BED IN HER NIGHTGOWN, OPENS THE WINDOW, AND THERE IN THE GARDEN, AMONG THE ROSES AND GERANIUMS AND MORNING GLORIES, ARE THE LITTLE BIRD BEGGARS, THE LITTLE MUSICIANS OF LAST NIGHT, SITTING IN A ROW ON THE GARDEN FENCE AND GIVING HER A MORNING SONG TO PAY FOR THEIR CRUMBS OF BREAD.

Printed in France

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She claps her hands with joy and starts to go—then suddenly wakes up. She rubs her eyes. No sparrow, no Antony! She is alone in the little room. The dawn, shining through the little flowered curtain, spreads its innocent light on the bed. She hears the birds singing in the garden. She jumps out of bed in her nightgown, opens the window, and there in the garden, among the roses and geraniums and morning glories, are the little bird beggars, the little musicians of last night, sitting in a row on the fence rail and giving her a morning song to pay for their crumbs of bread.

THE FANCY DRESS PARTY

Here are little boys like knights of old, and little girls who are heroines. Here are shepherdesses with dresses looped up in paniers and garlands of roses, and shepherds in satin suits with knots of ribbons on their shepherd’s crooks. Dear me, what pretty white sheep such shepherds must have in their flocks! And here are Alexander and Zarius, Pyerhus and Merope, Mahomet, Harlequin, Scapin, Blaise and Babette. They have come from everywhere, from Greece and Rome and blue distant countries, to dance with one another. It’s a fine thing, a fancy dress ball, and very agreeable for an hour or two to be a great king or an illustrious princess. It has no inconveniences. You have not to sustain your costumes by actions or even by your words.