And long have darkly lain:—
So we may know, e’en here below,
Death has no lasting reign!
“HOW MAMA USED TO PLAY.”
IV.—THE LITTLE BROOK.
We had a merry playmate in a little brook that ran down through the sunny meadows! It slipped and slid over little mossy pebbles and called to us, “Follow, follow, follow!” in the sweetest little voice in the world!
Sometimes, I would kneel down on the little low bank, and bend my head down close, and ask, “Where are you going, little brook?”
It would splash a cool drop of spray in my face, and run on calling, “Follow, follow, follow!” just as before.
Wild strawberries grew red and sweet down in the tall grass, and great purple violets, and tall buttercups nid-nodding in the wind.
Very often Myra and I would take off our shoes and stockings, and wade. The roguish little brook would tickle my small toes, and try and trip me up on one of its little mossy stones. Once I did slip and sat right down in the water with a great splash! And the little brook took all the starch out of my clothes, and ran off with it in a twinkling.