I can't stop," said mamma, looking surprised and
pleased.

Ned couldn't stop to talk; for the shadow ran away to the woodpile, and
began to chop with all its might.

"Well, I suppose I must; but I never saw such a fellow for work as this
shadow is. He isn't a bit like me, though he's been with me so long,"
said Ned, swinging the real hatchet in time with the shadowy one.

Polly's new mistress went to the dining-room, and fell to washing up the
breakfast cups. Polly hated that work, and sulkily began to rattle the
spoons and knock the things about. But the shadow wouldn't allow that;
and Polly had to do just what it did, though she grumbled all the while.

"She doesn't splash a bit, or make any clatter; so I guess she's a tidy
creature," said Polly. "How long she does rub each spoon and glass. We
never shall get done. What a fuss she makes with the napkins, laying
them all even in the drawer. And now she's at the salt-cellars, doing
them just as mamma likes. I wish she'd live here, and do my work for
me. Why, what's that?" And Polly stopped fretting to listen; for she
seemed to hear the sound of singing,--so sweet, and yet so very faint
she could catch no words, and only make out a cheerful little tune.

"Do you hear any one singing, mamma?" she asked.

"No: I wish I did." And mamma sighed; for baby was poorly, piles of
sewing lay waiting for her, Biddy was turning things topsy-turvy in the
kitchen for want of a word from the mistress, and Polly was looking
sullen.

The little girl didn't say any more, but worked quietly and watched the
shadow, feeling sure the faint song came from it. Presently she began to
hum the tune she caught by snatches; and, before she knew it, she was
singing away like a blackbird. Baby stopped crying, and mamma said,
smiling:

"Now I hear somebody singing, and it's the music I like best in the
world."

That pleased Polly; but, a minute after, she stopped smiling, for the
shadow went and took baby, or seemed to, and Polly really did. Now, baby
was heavy, and cross with its teeth; and Polly didn't feel like tending
it one bit. Mamma hurried away to the kitchen; and Polly walked up and
down the room with poor baby hanging over her arm, crying dismally, with
a pin in its back, a wet bib under its chin, and nothing cold and hard
to bite with its hot, aching gums, where the little teeth were trying to
come through.

"Do stop, you naughty, fretty baby. I'm tired of your screaming, and
it