CLARA AND THE ANIMAL BOOK.
Clara was a little western girl. She had lived in San Francisco until she was nine years old, when her dear mamma and papa brought her east to live with Aunt Mary and Cousin Charlie, and they were growing very fond of her indeed, for she was so sweet and kind and always obedient.
One day she was sitting out under the blossoming trees on the old Worden seat, her book lying, unread, in her lap, and her eyes having a dreamy, far-away look in them, when, from the balcony overhead, sounded a piping little voice:
“Clara, Tousin Clara! has oo dot my Animal book?” and a small, rosy-cheeked boy came running to her, rubbing his sleepy, dark eyes.
“Why, Charlie, have you finished your nap so soon? yes here is your Animal book, and what shall I read about?”
“Oh, about the deers, wiz their dreat big horns, and—and—every sin,” and he nestled close, satisfied he would hear all he wished. So she read a short sketch of the deer, its haunts and habits, when he interrupted:
“Has oo ever seen a deer—a real live one?” and his black eyes opened wide.
“Oh, yes; and when we were coming east, across the plains, whenever the train drew near a wooded stream, often the screaming whistle would startle a herd of deer from their covert, and they would rush up through the trees, antlers erect, and sleek brown bodies quivering with alarm, and followed by the soft-eyed, gentle fawn. It was quite a pretty picture.”