Then you'll say, "But she can't,
For she isn't your aunt,
But my little auntie
That lives down the lane;
And I'm ilken Annie,
So winsome and cannie,
With my 'hankfun' and 'too bad!'
'And try, try again.'
"I have a dear màmma,
And good and grave pàpa,
And such a kind grandmamma,
Gentle and sweet,
And my three, four, five brothers,
Like three, four, five mothers,
To love me and tend me,
And guide my young feet."
And now, little maiden,
With so much love laden,
I pray that to you
May all "good gifts" be given;
And happiness rare,
Without shadow of care;
And then—this life ended,
Your home may be—Heaven.
And so ilken Annie got her breastpin from me; and I received in return some kisses from her; and I think I had the best of the bargain. And what is more—I do believe, if you will go down to Staten Island and call upon her, she will show you the garters, which must be finished by this time; and the breastpin, if it isn't lost; and the poetry; and Grip, the dog; and the stone young lady in the garden; and the cunning little bridge; and ever so many dimples in her sweet face; and be so kind to you! Perhaps she will say, "Shall I read the Bible to you." Wouldn't that be lovely? Come! let's you and I go down together, this very minute! Oh, dear me! I quite forgot that the boats don't run in the evening. Never mind! we'll go some other time.
Till then, don't quite forget
Your loving
Aunt Fanny.
When the reading of these little stories was finished, it was found that twelve more pairs of nice warm mittens were ready for our brave soldiers; and the Little Mother sent them to George, with so much love, and so many prayers for his welfare, and the safety of his comrades—that it did seem as if God's blessing would rest upon every soldier who wore them.
And now, little darling, reading this, or having a kind mamma or friend to read it to you—won't you pray for the soldiers? Will you say this little prayer to-night: