ONCE upon a time there was a little girl, just like you, who couldn’t
count two. And she had a dreadful time about it! She did not know she
had two feet, so she sometimes forgot to put on both her shoes; she did
not know she had two eyes, so she would sometimes go to sleep with one
eye, and stay awake with the other; she did not know she had two ears,
so she would sometimes hear half of what Mamma said, and not hear the
other.
One day Mamma called to her and said, “Pet, I want you to take this
syrup and put it in my closet!”
Now Pet was only listening with one ear, and so she only heard the
first half of what Mamma said: “I want you to take this syrup.” That
was what she heard.
She liked the syrup very much, for she had ten drops in a teaspoon
whenever she had a sore throat, and she had always wished Mamma would
give her more.
And now she was just to “take it.” That must mean to take the whole
bottle, if she liked. She put the bottle to her lips and took a good
long draught. It was more than half-empty when she stopped to take
breath, and then,—the syrup did not seem to taste good any longer. She
put the bottle down.
Oh—dear—me! In about ten minutes Pet was the very sickest little girl
you ever saw in your life. Mamma put her to bed, and sent for the
doctor, and she had to take four different kinds of medicine before she
got well, not one of which tasted good at all.
So now, you see, it is a very good plan for little wee girls to learn
to count two.