Darling little Lily! This is just how I found her one day after somebody had given her a picture book of Cinderella.
“What is my little woman thinking about that she looks so sad and solemn?” asked I.
“I so sorry for Umbrella,” answered Lily, quite sharp and pat, thinking she had hit upon the name finely; “but I not be sorry any more, for my mamma come, and mamma love me.”
I finished the story to her, when her pity changed into joy at “Umbrella’s” happy marriage with the young prince.
THE MOTHER CHAMOIS AND HER LITTLE ONES.
A hunter in the Tyrol, while engaged in his dangerous employment, spied a chamois with two little ones on the top of a rock. The little chamois were leaping and sporting by the side of their mother, and she, while watching their gambols, was on the alert to see that no enemy came near to hurt them. The hunter peeped over a rock at the happy family, and determined, if possible, to take one of the young ones alive. When the old chamois caught sight of him, she was in a sad state of alarm: she ran up to her little ones, and tried to lead them on to leap from one rock to another; but they were too young to leap far. In the meantime the hunter was clambering nearer and nearer, and would soon reach them.
Presently they came to a chasm, not very wide across, but of immense depth. One of the little chamois was big and strong enough to leap across it, the other was not. At last the mother hit upon a plan: she made her body into a bridge across the chasm, placing her forefeet upon the further rock. The young chamois, understanding her intention, sprang upon her as lightly as a kitten, and reached the other side; when they all scampered off. The hunter did not dare to follow them over this dreadful chasm, and they were soon safe beyond the range of his gun.