Mamma received her at the door of her own house, and, taking her in her arms, bore her up stairs to the little girl's papa. "What! has she come back so soon?" said he, throwing down his newspaper, and taking her on his knee.
"Oh, you dear papa, I am so tired, so tired!" murmured Lily. "Oh, do sing me 'Flow gently, sweet Afton,' and let me go to sleep on your lap."
But mamma said, "No, Lily. You must go to bed while you can keep your eyes open."
And so Lily kissed papa, and was borne off to bed. I think she will wait till she is older, before she will care much to go to another "children's party."
Dora Burnside.
THE HERONS.
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A very shy bird Is the heron, my dear; It will run fast away, If you come very near: It has a sharp bill, A neck slender and long; It is fond of small fish, And goes where they throng. It builds a snug nest On some very high tree, And there lays its eggs, Where the boys cannot see. Woods marshy and wet, It likes to frequent; For there it finds food, And there lives content. No sportsmen with guns Come often to kill: And when they appear The heron keeps still; It keeps still and hides On a lofty bough near, Till the fowler says, "Well, I can find no birds here." Then he and his dogs Go off in the dumps, And the heron flies down To the bushes and stumps; There flaps its big wings, Right glad to have cheated The life-seeking foes, Who now have retreated. |