Mamma dear, tell us a pretty story; tell us of what you and papa saw
when you were traveling; and my sturdy Harold, and his wee baby
sister, tired with their play, sank at my feet at the close of the
long summer day. Kissing the hot up-turned faces, and lifting the
little one to my lap, I began an oft repeated simple tale of how papa
and I, while in Switzerland, drove, one evening, from the village
where we were stopping, way out in the country, over green wooden
bridges and sparkling streams, past dazzling white villas, through
shady lanes bordered by high, thorny hedges; where it was so lifeless
and still, the sound of our shaggy pony's hoofs could hardly be heard.
[Illustration: {A LITTLE GIRL SITTING ON THE DOORSTEP.}]
Coming to a low, brown, thatched cottage, the door stood open, and we
drove slowly; inside could be seen the table, spread with its frugal
repast of oaten cakes and milk; a high, old-fashioned dresser, with
its curious jugs of blue delf; a distaff, with the flax still
attached, and on the broad door-step sat the prettiest little
blue-eyed maiden, wearing a quaint white cap over her yellow locks, a
striped kirtle and black waist over a snowy blouse. Like a picture she
sat, eating her oat-cake, while tame gray and white doves circled
about her or lit on the stones, hoping to get a crumb. Farther on, we
stopped at a more pretentious house, called a Swiss chalet, to buy a
drink of goat's milk. Here they were quite well-to-do gardeners; and
while the peasant wife was gone for the milk, the little daughter, who
was rather sweetly dressed, and was very bright and talkative, showed
us, with much pride, the heap of garden produce her father was to take
to market, early the next morning. A pretty sight it was too--the
great wooden table, loaded with the fresh greens and reds of the
vegetables, and at one end, guarded by a tall pewter flagon, polished
till it glowed like silver; an old oaken cabinet on the wall, bearing
glittering decanters and brass candle sticks; the chattering little
maiden, and over all, the golden rays of fading sun-light stealing
through the deep tiny-paned windows. We--ah, my darlings are asleep.
[Illustration: {A LITTLE GIRL SHOWING OFF GARDEN PRODUCE.}]
[Illustration: {A LITTLE BOY ASLEEP ON THE GROUND.}]