O MAMMA! look, cried little Bell Dreer;
There's a girl in the cover like me;
And whenever I move she looks so queer;
It's so funny--I never did see!
Why, she makes a face if I turn my cheek;
She makes a face if I wink.
Oh! her hair runs off, and she tries to speak;
Why, she's frightened at me, I think!
Come out little girl, and see my doll;
Come out of the shine and play.
I haven't a bit of a sister at all,
And my dolly is sick to-day.
My dolly is sick, and my book is torn,
And my hair has got to be curled;
And mother is reading. It's real forlorn
To be all alone in the world.
Come out, little girl. Oh! I wish you would.
[You _mustn't_ make faces that way.]
I'd lift you out of the shine if I could,
And play with you all the whole day.
[Illustration: "COME OUT, LITTLE GIRL."]
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