As she ran, Marjorie heard the
lady singing, like the princess in the story of the Goose-Girl,--
"Blow, breezes, blow!
Let Curdkin's hat go!
Blow, breezes, blow!
Let him after it go!
O'er hills, dales and rocks,
Away be it whirled,
Till the silvery locks
Are all combed and curled."
This made her laugh so that she tumbled into a clover-bed, and lay
there a minute to get her breath. Just then, as if the playful wind
repented of its frolic, the long veil fastened to the hat caught in
a blackberry-vine near by, and held the truant fast till Marjorie
secured it.
"Now come and see what I am doing," said the lady, when she had
thanked the child.
Marjorie drew near confidingly, and looked down at the wide-spread
book before her. She gave a start, and laughed out with surprise and
delight; for there was a lovely picture of her own little home, and
her own little self on the door-step, all so delicate, and
beautiful, and true, it seemed as if done by magic.
"Oh, how pretty! There is Rover, and Kitty and the robins, and me!
How could you ever do it, ma'am?" said Marjorie, with a wondering
glance at the long paint-brush, which had wrought what seemed a
miracle to her childish eyes.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25