“We will make the bright sunshine,
Dolladine, Dolladine;
Make for mamma glad sunshine,
Dolladine, Dolladine.”
Just then she saw the sunbeams dancing into the room. The rain was over, and, on the roof of the next house, a washerwoman was hanging out her clothes, which were blowing about in the wind, casting gleams of light and shadow upon the little attic window, so that the sunshine went flitting about like the will-o’-the-wisp, for the shadow was always chasing it.
The child was delighted. “Do you see it, Dolladine,” she said—“the glorious sunshine which the loving God gives us? Now, we must catch it for mamma.”
She took the doll in her arms, and gave chase to the dancing phantom. But it was no use; just as her little hand was ready to grasp it, it flew away.
“You don’t help me enough, Dolladine,” said the child, her little eyes filling with tears.
Just then, a great double-knock came at the door, and, before she could answer it, in walked a little old man, with a very wrinkled face and long white beard; a big hat almost covered his face, so that the upper part was all in shadow.
“What are you doing, little chick?” he said, pleasantly; “and where is the mother?”