Far away in the warm country lives a little brown baby; she has a
brown face, little brown hands and fingers, brown body, arms, and
legs, and even her little toes are also brown.
And this baby wears no little frock nor apron, no little petticoat,
nor even stockings and shoes,--nothing at all but a string of beads
around her neck, as you wear your coral; for the sun shines very
warmly there, and she needs no clothes to keep her from the cold.
Her hair is straight and black, hanging softly down each side of her
small brown face; nothing at all like Bell's golden curls, or Marnie's
sunny brown ones.
Would you like to know how she lives among the flowers and the birds?
She rolls in the long soft grass, where the gold-colored snakes are at
play; she watches the young monkeys chattering and swinging among the
trees, hung by the tail; she chases the splendid green parrots that
fly among the trees; and she drinks the sweet milk of the cocoanut
from a round cup made of its shell.
When night comes, the mother takes her baby and tosses her up into the
little swinging bed in the tree, which her father made for her from
the twisting vine that climbs among the branches. And the wind blows
and rocks the little bed; and the mother sits at the foot of the tree
singing a mild sweet song, and this brown baby falls asleep. Then the
stars come out and peep through the leaves at her. The birds, too, are
all asleep in the tree; the mother-bird spreading her wings over the
young ones in the nest, and the father-bird sitting on a twig close
by with his head under his wing. Even the chattering monkey has curled
himself up for the night.
Soon the large round moon comes up. She, too, must look into the
swinging bed, and shine upon the closed eyes of the little brown baby.
She is very gentle, and sends her soft light among the branches and
thick green leaves, kissing tenderly the small brown feet, and the
crest on the head of the mother-bird, who opens one eye and looks
quickly about to see if any harm is coming to the young ones. The
bright little stars, too, twinkle down through the shadows to bless
the sleeping child. All this while the wind blows and rocks the little
bed, singing also a low song through the trees; for the brown mother
has fallen asleep herself, and left the night-wind to take care of her
baby.
So the night moves on, until, all at once, the rosy dawn breaks over
the earth; the birds lift up their heads, and sing and sing; the great
round sun springs up, and, shining into the tree, lifts the shut lids
of the brown baby's eyes. She rolls over and falls into her mother's
arms, who dips her into the pretty running brook for a bath, and rolls
her in the grass to dry, and then she may play among the birds and
flowers all day long; for they are like merry brothers and sisters
to the happy child, and she plays with them on the bosom of the round
earth, which seems to love them all like a mother.
This is the little brown baby. Do you love her? Do you think you would
know her if you should meet her some day?
A funny little brown sister. Are all of them brown?
We will see, for here comes Agoonack and her sledge.