She forgot that childhood’s sweetest trait is trust, and she was startled to remember it when she heard the precious little fellow’s sweet voice twitter out in the faint dawn:
“Et, ittie ootie, I dettie ut ’en it det e ittie iter.”
Long before the sun had fairly got his paints mixed for another dash at the fruit and the children, Strut crowed again.
Was Wide Awake asleep? Asleep, indeed! Up went the head again, and this time two flying heels followed, and the bright voice sang again:
“’E ootie c’ows, an’ a’aw ’e do’s.”
He meant to say:
“The rooster crows, and away he goes,” meaning his little self.
“Little brother, it isn’t time to get up for an hour. Hop into bed again,” called out Sister Laura.
“’Ou ed e ’econ’ tine,” said a sorrowful, drooping little voice.
“Go to sleep—that’s a good boy!” was the answer, and Laura set the copy for him by going off instantly herself.