t more attractive
and interesting to their teacher's eyes than the black pansies the
flower gardeners {109} labored so long to produce. Their teacher is
fond of flowers and has her windows full, even in winter, but she does
not smile upon them with such a heartful of affection as upon these,
nor can those bask in the light of her merry face more freely. As her
short, round figure moves down the aisle and back, and Susie gets a
good look at her, she says to herself, "Why surely this is Mrs. Santa
Claus! How glad I am!" and it is not a strange conclusion, for her
figure and expression _are_ like the poet's description of dear Saint
Nick.

Here is a girl in one of the side seats a good deal taller than her
teacher. Through the long, bright, warm summer she works in the cotton
and the corn, alongside of father, brothers, uncles, men and women,
boys and girls. Her hands are enlarged and roughened with toil, but
she is taking pains to learn how to do this useful indoor work
skillfully too.

There is a goodly company of these larger girls, but Susie does not
feel any more afraid of them, nor of "the middle-sized bears and the
wee tiny, small bears" than did little Silverhair in the nursery tale.
She doubts, however, if these largest ones have not laid aside
dollies, and thinks she must look among the "leaster" ones for the
little _step-mother_ who will respect her own little Fay-mother's
request to "take good care of her." But when the sewing-lesson is
ended and she notices one and another bring to light a little
dollie-daughter to hug in her arms as she walks homeward, and sees the
sociable interest of all the rest, she feels no further doubt about
the mother-love in all these little Southern bosoms and resigns all
care as to which one shall be hers, leaving the whole question to Mrs.
Santa Claus.

Perhaps some day we may call upon her when she is fully domesticated
in her new home. There will not be many comforts and conveniences in
that home. Possibly when we ask for Susie, her mamma will draw a
little old box from under the head of her bed, as once when I called
upon one of these little girls and asked her if she had a doll. It had
lost some of its limbs and it was dressed in odds and ends, tacked
together by the untaught little mother, but when I set the dollie on
my knee and pretended to drink tea out of one of the tiny toy cups set
forth from the same treasure-box, you could not find a more hilarious
little mamma a