They are such bad boys. Lulu has not made up her mind yet whether she will call them George Washington and Benjamin Franklin, or more fancy names, but has become so used to G. W. and B. F. that it will be quite hard for her to make any change. When night comes on Lulu sings her dolls to sleep, and then puts them in their own little beds where they rest quietly until daylight. If they were real children, and cried out in the night with aches, and pains, and bad dreams, what a hard time Lulu would have!
THE STOLEN CHILD.
This is a sad story, as you might well know. But sad things will take place now and then, and we cannot help it. It is a story about a little boy, named Peter. That was to be his name when he grew up, but now nobody called him anything but Pete.
Pete had had a bad fall when a little baby and it left him with a weak back, so that he could not run and romp like the rest of the small boys. He had toys to play with, but they were not nice or new, and he soon tired of them. What he wanted most was a doll. Really? Yes. He was ashamed to let the boys know it for fear they would call him “Sissy,” but deep down in his heart there was a strong desire for a doll to hug, and to hold, and to take to bed with him.
One day a lady came to the house, and somehow she guessed just what kind of a boy Pete was. Without saying a word, she took a small shawl off a hook, gave it a fold and a roll, pinned it together and then handed it over to the small boy.
You should have seen Pete’s face! There was not room on it for the broad smile that tried to get there, and finally had to break itself all up into little bits. Oh, how he hugged and loved that doll! and he soon got so he did not mind being seen on the street with it in his arms. There was no danger of breaking it; and it could sit down bea—u—ti—fully.
One day Pete thought he would try to climb a lamp-post. He had seen the other boys do it, and it looked easy, but he would need two hands. So the doll—Matilda Jane—had to sit down on a stoop near by, and wait until Pete came back for her.
Well, it was not long; but when Pete got back to the place where Matilda Jane was he could not find her.
She was go——o——o——ne! Somebody had stolen her!