s up in the chambers with
the girl, while she makes beds, and he helps; then he takes a stroll
into the parlour, and spins the gay curtain-tassels to his heart's
content; next, he dives into the kitchen (I hope he does not tumble
downstairs, but I dare say he wouldn't mind if he did), and he gets
pushed about by all the busy women, as they 'fly round.' I rather think
it gets too hot for him there about dinner-time; for he often comes out
into the yard for a walk at noon, and seems to find endless wonders and
delights in the ash barrel, the water-but, two old flower-pots, and a
little grass plat, in which he plants a choice variety of articles, in
the firm faith they will come up in full bloom. I hope the big spoon and
his own red shoe _will_ sprout and appear before any trouble is made
about their mysterious disappearance. At night I see a little shadow
bobbing about on the curtain, and watch it, till with a parting glimpse
at a sleepy face at the window, my small sun sets, and I leave him to
his dreams.

The forlorn baby roars all day, and I don't blame him; for he is
trotted, shaken, spanked, and scolded by a very cross nurse, who treats
him like a meal bag. I pity that little neighbour, and don't believe he
will stand it long; for I see him double up his tiny fists, and spar
away at nothing, as if getting ready for a good tussle with the world by
and by, if he lives to try it.

Then the boys,--bless their buttons!--how amusing they are. One young
man, aged about ten, keeps hens; and the trials of that boy are really
pathetic. The biddies get out every day or two, and fly away all over
the neighbourhood, like feathers when you shake a pillow. They cackle
and crow, and get up on sheds and fences, and trot down the streets, all
at once, and that poor fellow spins round after them like a distracted
top. One by one he gets them and comes lugging them back, upside down,
in the most undignified attitude, and shuts them up, and hammers away,
and thinks they are all safe, and sits down to rest, when a triumphant
crow from some neighbouring shed tells him that that rascally black
rooster is out again for another promenade. I'm not blood-thirsty; but I
really do long for Thanksgiving that my neighbour Henry may find rest
for the sole of his foot; for, not till his poultry are safely eaten
will he ever know where they are.

Another boy has a circus about once a week, and tries to break his neck
jumping through hoops, hanging