_CHAPTER XII.—Baby Days go by._
[Illustration: TEACHING MARY ELLEN.]
“Getting down-stairs,” said Great-grandmother Day, “doesn’t come so
natural to a child as getting up-stairs does. And there is more danger
about it. Mary Ellen ought to be taught how to do it, and then be
watched. And the sooner the better, for evidently she is coming up here
when she pleases.”
The venerable lady stood her cane up in a corner, took Mary Ellen from
Old Lady Lois’s lap, gave her a finger and toddled her along to the
staircase, and placed her on the floor, her little back to the stairs.
Then she stepped down. “Come,” said she, “let’s go down-y, down-y,
down-y!”
“See, she is going,” said Mrs. Persis.
But not exactly going was Mary Ellen. Great-grandmother Day had taken
hold of her ankle, and was seeking to draw the little red-slippered foot
down to the first stair. Feeling herself going, she knew not where, Mary
Ellen began to scream, then threw herself flat on the landing.
“Mercy! I hope Nan doesn’t hear this!” said Mrs. Camp.
“She doesn’t,” said Mrs. Lee. “Dick and she have just driven out of the
yard.”
Mrs. Day straightened herself up, with a red face. “She will do it all
right in a minute or so,” she said. “Babies are born with instincts to do
these needful things, just the same as cats and colts.”
After a long breath or two, Mrs. Day bent down and tried again. But Mary
Ellen was really terrified, and screamed louder than before. This time
she kicked too, and so hard that her poor Great-grandmother had to let go.
“Notty Gum-um!” cried the child.
“Turn her round,” said Mrs. Camp. “Perhaps _her_ ‘instinct’ is to go
frontwards. Nan’s was.”
And when Mary Ellen was turned, and could see what she was doing, and
where she was, and Mrs. Day coaxed again, “Down-y, down-y, now!” the
wonderful “instinct” began to stir. She held on to the landing, behind,
with both hands, gave a quick hitch, and set her little self on the next
step below all right. And down they got her at last, with great fun.
“Nan used to go down that way, so fast she seemed to be just sliding
down,” said Nan’s mother, “and now she is so scared about Mary Ellen!”
[Illustration: A BABY NO LONGER.]
Well, the day came at last when nobody was worried to find Mary Ellen
going up or coming down quite alone, holding to the baluster by one
hand, and perhaps a cat on the other arm. She visited first one and then
another of her grandmothers, never making two visits on one trip. She
seemed to be led by the kind of play she had in her little mind. In
Mrs. Persis’s room it was the cat-basket, and a frolic with the cats.
In Great-Grandmother Day’s it was to ride the cane cock-horse, like a
little boy, thumping it about with plenty of noise. Some days she had a
flower to carry to “Yady Yois.” She went up to Mrs. Lee’s room to look
at pictures. In Madam Esther’s she picked up buttons; when Madam Esther,
who loved quiet, heard the little red slippers stopping at her door,
she hurried to overturn her button-box. In Mrs. Camp’s room the little
visitor “made moosic” on the guitar strings.
It was to get for “Yady Yois” a big red dahlia that had blossomed by the
gate, that one day, all by herself, Mary Ellen clambered down from the
veranda, and took her first journey out into the world. She ran skipping
over the green grass, tossing her little arms and singing “da-da! da-da!”
at the top of her voice. Her yellow hair was blowing all about her face
and shining in the September sun and wind.
Her father caught her up, as he came in through the gate. “O, ho!” said
he. “Running away, is she? Not a baby any longer, but an independent
little girl!”
_Ella Farman Pratt._
“LITTLE SUN-BONNET.”
They called her “Little Sun-bonnet.” I will tell you why.
[Illustration: BETH.]
Her mama had promised to take her to a picnic, and for days little Beth
could talk of nothing else.
The night before the picnic day Beth had caught sight of little round
cakes, tarts, and a Washington-pie on the pantry shelf, and when her
bed-time came, and she was up in her little room with mama, she asked so
many, many questions that at last mama said:
“There, there, dear, you must go to sleep, so as to wake very, very early
in the morning.”
After mama had left her, Beth lay for a long time thinking; and this
awful thought came to her: suppose she shouldn’t wake “very, very early,”
and so have no time to get dressed for the picnic!
In a twinkling Beth was out of bed. She pulled on her stockings. She
buttoned the six buttons of each small boot, and as many buttons of her
dress as she could reach. Then she felt around in the dark for her pink
calico sun-bonnet. This she tied tightly under her chin. Then she crept
softly back into bed.
How mama laughed when she came into her little daughter’s room in the
morning! And how everyone else laughed! And now you know how Beth came to
be called “Little Sun-bonnet.”
_Carrie A. Griffin._