irs to the nursery with
the "bootly boo boots" and the more modest little black shoes for tiny
Narcissa.

"See what Ted has brought thoo," he said, kissing his baby sister with
the pretty tenderness he always showed her, "and see what muzzer has
gave _me_," he went on, turning to nurse with another parcel. In his
excitement he didn't know which to unfasten first, and baby had got
hold of one of the black shoes, fortunately not the blue ones, and was
sucking it vigorously before Ted and nurse saw what she was doing.

"_Isn't_ she pleased?" said Ted, delightedly. Baby must be very pleased
with her new possessions, to try to _eat_ them, he thought. And then
he had time to examine and admire his own present. It was a delightful
one--a book, a nice old-fashioned fat book of all the old nursery
rhymes, and filled with pictures too. And Ted's pride was great when
here and there he could make out a word or two. Thanks to the pictures,
to his own good memory, and the patience of all the big people about
him, it was not long before he could say nearly all of them. And so a
new pleasure was added to these happy summer days, and to many a winter
evening to come.

That night when Ted was going to bed he said his prayers as usual at his
mother's knee.

"Make me a good little boy," he said, and then when he had ended he
jumped up for his good-night kiss, with a beaming face.

"I sink God _has_ made me good, muzzer?" he said.

"Do you, dear? I hope He is _making_ you so," she answered. "But what
makes you say so?"

"'Cos I _feel_ so happy and so good," said Ted, "and thoo said I was
good to-day when thoo kissed me. And oh, _may_ I take my sprendid
hymn-book to bed wif me?"

And with the ancient legends of Jack and Jill and Little Boy Blue, and
Margery Daw, safely under his pillow, happy Ted fell asleep. I wonder if
he dreamt of them! What a pity that so much of the pretty fancies and
visions of little childhood are lost to us! What quaint pictures they
would make. What a heavy burden _should_ lie on the consciences of
those who, by careless words or unconsidered tone, destroy the lovely
tenderness of little children's dreams and conceits, rub off the bloom
of baby poetry!

I could tell you, dear little friends, many pretty stories of Ted and
his tiny sister during the first sunny year of little Narcissa's life,
but I daresay it may be more interesting to you to hear more of these
children as they grow older. The day-by-day