Nannette,
jumping to her feet, and clapping her hands, from a feeling as if in
some way she was to have her long-wished-for _live_ baby.

"No; don't call her; and if you want a baby that will _cry_, you must be
very quiet, and listen to me. Mark me now--have you a quarter of a
dollar, to pay for a baby?"

"I guess so," answered Nannette; "I've a lot of money up stairs." And
running up to her room, she climbed into a chair, took down her money
box from a shelf, and emptying all her pennies and small silver coin
into her apron, ran down again.

"This is as much as a quarter of a dollar, isn't it?"

The woman saw at a glance that there was more than that amount, and
hastily taking poor little Nannette's carefully hoarded pennies, she
whispered:

"Now carry the baby up-stairs and keep it in your own little bed. Be
careful to make no noise, for it is sound asleep. Don't tell anybody you
have it, until it cries. Mind that. When you hear it cry, you may know
it is hungry."

Then the woman went hurriedly away, and Nannette never saw her again.

Nannette's little heart was nearly breaking with delight at the thought
of having a real, live baby; and holding the bundle fast in her arms,
where the woman had placed it, she began trudging up-stairs with it.
Finally puffing and panting, her cheeks all aglow, she reached her
little bed, and turning down the covers, she put in the bundle and
covering it up carefully, she gave it some loving little pats, saying
softly, "_My_ baby, my real, little live baby that will _cry_!" And then
she carefully tripped out of the room and down-stairs again.

Very soon Nannette's mother came home, bringing her a fine large apple,
which drove all thoughts of the baby from her mind, and it was only when
night came, and she was seated at the supper-table with her papa and
mamma that she remembered her baby; but at that time, suddenly, from
somewhere that surely was in the house, came a baby's cry; and clapping
her hands, her eyes dancing with joy, Nannette began to slide down from
her chair, saying with great emphasis, "That's _my_ baby."

Her mother laughed. "_Your_ baby, Nannette?"

"Yes, mamma, _my_ baby; don't you hear it _cry_? 'Tis _hungry!_" And she
started to run up-stairs, but her mother called her back.

"Why, Nannette, what ails you? What do you mean about _your_ baby?" she
asked in surprise.

"Why MY BABY, mamma! I bought it for a quarter of a dollar! a baby that
_cries_--not a m