"MY OWN PAPA AND MAMMA,—Does you want to hear 'bout me? You thinked I didn't know you runned way off and left your little baby boy all 'lone. But I did. And I waked up and cried—and cried. And Auntie May looked sober—and grandma looked sober—and grandpa whistled—and I cried hard. Then Auntie May put something in my bottle. 'Twas good, and I didn't cry. But Auntie May bringed water, and put some on my face, and I didn't like it. And I cried awful—so awful Auntie May stopped. Wish you's here, 'cause I don't feel good. If my papa and my mamma's here I'd feel gooder—wouldn't fuss any bit. Wish you's here, I do, to kiss your own
BABY RALPH."
Did this bring Baby Ralph's papa and mamma? Yes, indeed. And they took him and Auntie May back to the big city.
BABY RALPH'S LETTER.
OUR LITTLE HAND-ORGAN MAN.
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EARER and nearer the sitting-room door came the patter of little feet. And this queer song was heard over and over: