Jack came trotting into papa’s room one morning with two little black stockings in one hand, two little black boots in the other, and several small articles of clothing over his shoulder.
“STOP, PAPA! STOP!” CRIED JACK.
“Papa,” he said, “does you know how to dwess yittle boys? Gumma’s gone.”
“Yes, indeed, my little man,” said papa; and he lifted Jack to his knee, and began to pull on one small stocking.
“Stop, papa! stop!” cried Jack. “Dat ain’t a-way! Gumma don’ do it dat-a-way!”
“Well, how does ‘Gumma’ do it?” asked papa, pausing for instruction.
“Dis-a-way,” said Jack, taking up one foot and then carefully grasping a fat toe in his chubby hand.
“Here, Mishter Toe, you an’ your bruzzers mus’ go into your yittle black house; now don’ begin to w’iggle. One, two, free, dere—you go!” and Jack pulled his stocking over his five toes, and up to his knee. Then looking up into his papa’s face he said: “See?”
“Yes,” said papa, smiling. “Here goes the other foot. Now, Mr. Toe, you and all your brothers”—