Jack came trotting into papa’s room one morning with two little black
stockings in one hand, two little black boots in the other, and several
small articles of clothing over his shoulder.
[Illustration: “STOP, PAPA! STOP!” CRIED JACK.]
“Papa,” he said, “does you know how to dwess yittle boys? Gumma’s gone.”
“Yes, indeed, my little man,” said papa; and he lifted Jack to his knee,
and began to pull on one small stocking.
“Stop, papa! stop!” cried Jack. “Dat ain’t _a-way_! Gumma don’ do it
dat-a-way!”
“Well, how does ‘Gumma’ do it?” asked papa, pausing for instruction.
“Dis-a-way,” said Jack, taking up one foot and then carefully grasping a
fat toe in his chubby hand.
“Here, Mishter Toe, you an’ your bruzzers mus’ go into your yittle black
house; now don’ begin to w’iggle. One, two, _free_, dere—you go!” and
Jack pulled his stocking over his five toes, and up to his knee. Then
looking up into his papa’s face he said: “See?”
“Yes,” said papa, smiling. “Here goes the other foot. Now, Mr. Toe, you
and all your brothers”—
“No, no, papa!” cried Jack; “dat one is _Mishis_ Toe, an’ you mus’ say,
‘all your yittle _sissers_.’”
“O, ho!” said papa. “Well then, _Mrs._ Toe, and all your little sisters!
One, two, three, there you go!” and the second stocking was on.
“Now,” said Jack, “you mus’ put on the woof.”
“The what?” asked papa.
“The _woof_ to the house,” and Jack pointed to his boot.
“Oh! the roof. Very well,” and papa put on the boot and begun buttoning
it with his fingers.
“Dat ain’t a-way!” cried Jack again. “You mus’ get a hooker and lock all
’e’ doors, so all the yittle bruzzers and sissers won’ get out ’e’ house
for all day.”
“Now see here, young man,” said papa, “does grandma go through with all
this rigmarole every morning?”
“Of courth,” said Jack, looking at papa with surprised eyes.
“Well, papa hasn’t the time, so let me get you into your clothes _quick_,
before the breakfast bell rings.”
So Jack had to submit to being dressed in a hurry, without his
grandmother’s pleasant romancing.
The minute he got downstairs he went to his mama and asked:
“Fen’s my gumma comin’ home?”
“She is coming to-morrow,” said mama.
“Dat’s nice,” said Jack, “for” he whispered into mamma’s ear, “my papa
don’ know how to dwess yittle boys.”
_Carrie A. Griffin._