Front Cover
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 List of Illustrations
 Butterfly-blue and Butterfly-dear,...
 Brown Eyes and his little...
 Tiger-lily's death and Dandelion's...
 What became of the angel-flowe...
 Baby Dimple's yellow canary leaves...
 Yellow Dicky's troubles
 Good-bye to summer
 The story of two little lambs
 Back Cover

Title: Sleepy-time stories
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00088929/00001
 Material Information
Title: Sleepy-time stories
Physical Description: 177, 4 p. : ill. ; 21 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Booth, Maud Ballington, 1865-1948
Depew, Chauncey M ( Chauncey Mitchell ), 1834-1928 ( Author of introduction )
Humphrey, Maud, b. 1868 ( Illustrator )
G.P. Putnam's Sons ( Publisher )
Knickerbocker Press
Publisher: G.P. Putnam's Sons
Knickerbocker Press
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: 1899
Edition: 2nd impression
Subject: Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1899   ( lcsh )
Publishers' advertisements -- 1899   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1899
Genre: Children's stories
Publishers' advertisements   ( rbgenr )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- New York -- New York
England -- London
Statement of Responsibility: by Maud Ballington Booth ; with introduction by Chauncey M. Depew ; illustrated by Maud Humphrey.
General Note: Publisher's advertisements follow text.
General Note: Title page printed in red and black.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00088929
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002222399
notis - ALG2644
oclc - 269352558

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Title Page
        Page i
        Page ii
        Page iii
        Page iv
        Page v
        Page vi
    Table of Contents
        Page vii
        Page viii
    List of Illustrations
        Page ix
        Page x
    Butterfly-blue and Butterfly-dear, and what became of them
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
    Brown Eyes and his little friends
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
    Tiger-lily's death and Dandelion's doings
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
    What became of the angel-flower
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
    Baby Dimple's yellow canary leaves home
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
    Yellow Dicky's troubles
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
    Good-bye to summer
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
    The story of two little lambs
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

,iia p r:-
~ ~il



^ Stories 7


With Introduction by

Illustrated by


Zbe 1knicherbocher press


Entered at Stationers' Hall, London

Ube Wtnfckerbocker press, P4ew W0ork


THE gift of talking entertainingly to child-
ren is a rare one. To write stories for
children which they will read or which will
interest when read to them is a talent which
few possess. It is not difficult to frighten them,
and the ghost, the highwayman, the Indian
slayer, and the stage robber form a large and
dangerous part of literature for boys and girls.
The goody-goody sermon under the guise of
a story works upon the juvenile mind like a
surfeit of jam or candy on the digestion. The
result is nausea. A natural, lifelike, and spir-
ited description of a journey or vacation, or
the more difficult task of creating for birds,
animals, and flowers human intelligence and
adventures, catches the childish fancy and pro-
duces indelible impressions. Everyone can
recall having heard or read something when

iv Introduction

very young which left a permanent mark upon
the mind and largely influenced the actions of
future years.
Far more useful than the authors of the
Arabian Nights is the writer who captures and
captivates budding intelligence and becomes
a moulding force in its development. In the
dreary desert of child lore it is like an oasis
to the thirsty soul to find so bright, loving,
and natural an interpreter and instructor as
Mrs. Ballington Booth. Her great talent as
a speaker upon devotional and religious sub-
jects, and her exceptional talent in making
them intelligible and popular in drawing-rooms
and in the slums, are evident in these sketches.
Motherhood has inspired genius, and the talks
and illustrations which were the delight of her
own children, will be equally enjoyed by their
little brothers and sisters all over the land.
In putting in print for others these treasures
of her own nursery, Mrs. Ballington Booth has
made all children her debtor.


I have always loved birds and flowers, but-
terflies and insects, sunshine and breezes; but
there is something I have learned to love bet-
ter, far better, than them all, since I have
grown up, and that is little children.
I remember so well all I used to think and
feel and see among these lovely things of na-
ture when I was little, and now as I look down
into the big blue eyes of my own Baby Dimple,
and play with the locks of my own little boy's
hair, I have to put all the "thinks into stories,
for they say over and over again, as I have no
doubt you say, Please tell us a story, Mother."
So I have just talked some stories out of my
head for you, as I do for them at bedtime,
when they are just a little sleepy, and yet the
clock seems to go too fast, for bedtime is never
welcome, is it? This book is not meant at all

for big people, and it does not matter what
they think about it. It is just for you. When
you want a story and mother has not got one
made up ready in her head, then you can ask
her to read one of mine, and if you like them,
I will try and make up some more by and by.

Your friend,
NEW YORK, September, 1899.









"Little Dicky is going out in the sun to
fly and fly Frontispiece
" The butterfly lzghtedgently on the soft
fink hand" I
"A kind little boy and girl buried her 17
"First he buried his little nose in the
sweet new roses" 33
"And then stood listening" 39
"Brown Eyes was busy clearing the
leaves" 53
"I'llgive 'ou some water 65
"Carefully the little fingers did their
work 77
"The little angel had gone" 85

x Illustrations
"Kissed their little heads and cried over
thems" 101
"Little Dicky is going out in t/e sun to
fly and fly 107
"I have found your own little Dicky" 121
" Two little figures kneeling" 125
"Brown Eyes watched with wonder the
quick changes of the fall" I39
"Dance joyously around glowing bonfires" 145
Two little lambs 153
"They looked at each other" 67



TWO very funny little brown things hung
on the rough bark of an old tree one
summer morning. They were not two inches
long, but they were fat and shiny, and looked
something like a brown leaf rolled up very
tight. Quite a long time they had hung there,
and they were fastened by what looked like
a thick, coarse, silky thread.
To-day the bright sun shone upon them,
and the warm breezes blew through the trees,
making the green and silver leaves dance for
very joy. Little brown things, little brown
things, wake up !" said a Sunbeam; you have
been tucked up asleep long enough." Out of
the tiny brown shells came a wee little sound,

Sleepy-Time Stories

and both funny little things gave a wriggle.
" We cannot get out, and we are so sleepy and
so 'comfy;' let us alone, please."
No, I won't," replied the Sunbeam. "The
great big Sun sent me down to tell you to
wake up, and if you only knew how all the
flowers have opened their buds, and how the
bees and birds are humming and singing, and
flying about in the lovely garden, you would
not be so lazy."
Both the little brown things gave a wriggle.
"That's right, try again," said the Sunbeam.
" If at first you don't succeed, try, try again !
That's what I said to the baby snowdrops
when they thought they could never push
their little heads out of the cold, hard earth
in the early spring days."
Push, push, wriggle, wriggle, went the little
brown things, and then, suddenly, one dancing
small shell was split right up the middle. An-
other minute passed, and then the other, that
had been pulling and humping itself up into a
very funny shape, cracked too, and now a very
wonderful thing happened. Oh, how Sunbeam

Butterfly-Blue and Butterfly-Dear 5

did laugh and jump and shine over the whole
performance !
Why! what do you think? Some little
legs popped out of the crack, and began kick-
ing and struggling. The split grew bigger,
and then a funny head, with two large, round,
dark green eyes appeared, and above the eyes
were some thin, very black feelers that stuck
up like horns.
Oh, you are pretty, little Sunbeam !" cried
one. "Oh, the air is sweet, but the light
quite dazzles me !" shouted the other. It was
quite dark in my little brown bed."
Make haste, make haste," said the Sun-
beam. Don't be satisfied with looking out of
your narrow brown beds, get up and dress, as
I shall have to help you, and it is late already."
What a kicking of little legs, what a shak-
ing of funny heads, and then what a long, last
struggle and pull, and then, what do you think ?
Out came two soft long bodies, and two lovely
big pairs of wings, and the Sunbeam was
Sbusy drying and warming two brilliant new

Sleepy-Time Stories

"Now you look something like dressed,"
said the Sunbeam. "That's better than lying
so long closely wrapped up in your blankets.
Now use your legs and find out what they
are for."
Very cautiously and shaky at first, the two
butterflies started to walk along the old tree's
back. They stopped every now and then as
if they were frightened, and sat still, staring
down with their green, shining eyes. Just
then, a little Breeze came along, and shouted :
"Why, Sunbeam, have you been getting new
butterflies out of bed ? Come, I '11 have some
fun with them." So the little Breeze gave a
gentle puff, and one poor, shaking butterfly
nearly tumbled over.
"Oh dear, oh dear, what shall I do ? I am
going to fall," she said.
Give another blow, little Breeze," laughed
the Sunbeam. "It's high time they learned
what their big wings are for."
So the little Breeze blew harder and harder,
and the butterflies wobbled and tried to hold
on, but in vain, and at last they both tumbled

Butterfly-Blue and Butterfly-Dear 7

down. Before they had fallen far, however,
their beautiful wings stretched out and they
sailed away on the breeze, full of wonder and
joy at the power of flight. Hither and thither
they flew, chasing the sunbeams, rising and
falling, whisking and flapping with delight
over their beautiful new life, until at last they
settled on a big fragrant rose to rest.
"How do you do, Butterflies?" said the
Rose. Is n't the world beautiful ? My little
friend Sunbeam, who helped me yesterday out
of my little green bud case, told me this morn-
ing as he passed, that he was going to wake
you up."
Yes, we have only just got out of our little
brown beds, but we will never go back, no
never !" they both shouted together, and just
then the Sunbeam came down to talk to them
again as they sat on the sweet pink rose petals.
They looked very pretty, those two little but-
terflies. One was a shining dark blue with
wonderful soft lights shot here and there in its
wings, while its body and legs were velvety
black. The other was orange and yellow with

Sleepy-Time Stories

black pencillings here and there, and a reddish
tinge on the edge of its wings. Both had a
downy, feathery look as if a sort of peach-
bloom were all over them.
Now, Butterfly-blue and Butterfly-dear,"
Sunbeam began, I want you to listen to me,
for I have to go up the tall fir-tree, and creep
into a tiny nest and warm some baby birdies
while their mother is out, and I have only a
moment to spare. God made you and wants
you to be just as happy as the day is long.
He made you, just as He did the flowers, and
leaves, and dewdrops, and birdies, to look
pretty and bright, and make people happy; to
speak to the world of God's wonderful skill in
making beautiful things, and in giving them
life, and also in giving them wisdom to take
care of themselves. Now, listen! you must
know that God made you to dance in the sun-
shine, to play with the flowers, to smell the
sweet scent, and float on the breeze. When
night comes you must go to sleep up in the
big trees, hanging on the underside of the
leaves, where you will be safe. Then you must

Butterfly-Blue and Butterfly-Dear 9

never play with water. It would wet your
wings, and spoil you so that you might never
be able to fly again. You must remember to
fly quickly away if birds chase you, for you
might get eaten up, and if you ever see little
boys and girls with strange-looking nets on
long sticks, you must fly high over their heads,
or they might catch you, and stick pins in your
poor little bodies. But whatever you do, look
out for spiders and spiders'-webs, for if you get
caught in the web, the cruel hungry spider
would surely kill you and eat you up." So
saying the golden Sunbeam hurried off to warm
the baby birdies who had no feathers on yet,
and looked dreadfully cold and naked in their
nest in the big dark fir-tree.
What are you going to do now, Butterfly-
blue ? said Butterfly-dear, after they had sat
thinking for a few minutes over all the things
they were to remember.
I am going to fly away into the green trees
and play with the pretty dancing leaves."
And I," said Butterfly-dear, am going to
flit about on the honeysuckle that grows over

1o Sleepy-Time Stories

this porch, it is so sweet, and I shall surely be
safe amid its white and yellow blossoms.
Good-bye; we will each go our own way."
Oh, what a lovely world it is, and what a
good kind God must have made it! said But-
terfly-blue as she danced from flower to flower.
The day passed very quickly and happily
for both of them, and as the Sunbeam gave
them his good-night kiss before he darted
away and dropped over the horizon to help
light up the other side of the world, the two
little butterflies folded their pretty wings, and
went to sleep, one clinging tight on the under
side of a beech leaf and the other hanging on
the bell of a trumpet flower.

The lives of our little butterflies were at
first very happy and uneventful. They re-
membered the Sunbeam's advice, and danced
above the sweet-smelling flowers, hiding away
under the leaves if they saw birds looking
rather too hard at them or if the raindrops
began to fall.
Sometimes the Sunbeam came and kissed

IJ -
r .


i ^

p. -r




-I -*



Butterfly-Blue and Butterfly-Dear 13

them. Sometimes the breezes gave them a
ride as they floated with outstretched wings,
and they were always very happy and very
grateful to the good, loving God who made
such a beautiful world and such sweet-scented
Children used to watch them and sometimes
they led the little people many a wild race,
flying ever just out of reach of the outstretched
pink fingers. Once Butterfly-blue heard a
little fair haired maiden ask her mamma
how that darling little blue flower got up in
the air and left its stalk behind it. The little
flying creature, hearing the caress of love in
the baby voice, flew down and lighted gently
on the soft pink hand that rested on the baby-
carriage cover.
"Oh, Mamma, dis littlee flower's dot feet and
eyes," but as the other tiny pink hand tried to
"love her too tight," Butterfly-blue flapped
her wings, and soared up into the clear air
with a little laugh, that nobody heard, at the
thought of her being taken for a flying flower.
Ah! it would have been well if Butterfly-

Sleepy-Time Stories

blue had always stayed in the sweet meadows
and flower-filled gardens, but she became
weary of them.
One very bright summer day, she flew a
great way from home and came to a place
where there were long ridges of yellow sand,
and then for the first time her eyes looked out
on the ocean, the wonderful, beautiful, blue and
white ocean. The sea looked very brilliant
that day, and was all covered with little glitter-
ing silver spangles, while near the sandy shore
great waves leaped and rolled, with white crests
of foam and spray tossed high in the air.
Oh, it was glorious! The air was so fresh,
it made Butterfly-blue just wild with excite-
ment and joy. She whirled about and danced
nearer and nearer the water, and people on the
shore wondered to see so frail a little creature
flitting over the great dangerous waves.
Take care, little Butterfly. This is no
place for you," called the Sea-breeze, as he
rushed hither and thither curling the crests of
the waves. Go back to the land. God gave
you your wings to sail on the soft summer

Butterfly-Blue and Butterfly-Dear 15

breeze and dance with the flowers. Only sea-
gulls and ship-sails can live out here."
I am all right, never fear," answered
Butterfly-blue, and she flew on more wildly
than ever.
Come back, come back," cried the Sunbeam.
"Oh, silly winged creature, I told you to live
with the flowers. The sea, grand and glitter-
ing as it may be, is no place for you. It is
cruel and dangerous."
Oh, I wish you would all leave me alone !"
said Butterfly-blue. I am quite old enough
to take care of myself. You can keep your
advice I am sick of the tame, quiet garden.
I am in for excitement and fun."
Then the Sea-wind sighed and the Sunbeam
hid his face on the breast of a cloud, and just
at that moment Butterfly-blue flew close to a
curling wave, and its foam splashed her wings.
Poor, frail little creature! Heavy with foam
they drooped, and though she tried to shake
them out, it was useless, and the next moment
the foolish little butterfly fell helpless upon the

Sleepy-Time Stories

Roaring and dashing, they carried her swiftly
to the shore, and rolled her over and over in
the foam and shingle until she lay broken and
dead, with torn and useless wings, on the shin-
ing, yellow sand.
A tender, gentle hand picked her up and
held her little lifeless body for a moment, try-
ing to smooth out the pretty wings; and the
Sea-breeze heard a woman's voice whisper as
he came to look at the pitiful little wreck:
" Poor creature How like many human lives,
spoilt, wasted, and ruined, because they sought
pleasure in paths they chose for themselves,
instead of being happy and contented just
where God put them, and with those things
He wished them to enjoy."
Perhaps the Sea-breeze did not quite under-
stand, and perhaps my little readers won't eith-
er; but theWind, sighing and moaning, repeated
the words to the Sunbeam, and he understood
them, and said, "Yes, it is always true. God
knows best." But then you see the Sunbeam
is very wise, because he comes from the great
sun away up in heaven, so he ought to know.

1 .7'



Butterfly-Blue and Butterfly-Dear 19

So Butterfly-blue was dead, and a kind little
boy and a girl dug a grave and buried her there
by the shining sea.
All this time Butterfly-dear had been enjoy-
ing life in the beautiful flowery garden ; but she,
too, was to get into trouble before long.
It happened like this. She had often watched
a little golden-haired girl swing in a hammock
under the big trees, and had danced and played
just out of reach of the tiny hands.
Butterfly-dear, come here, come here! I love
'ou," a little voice would cry, and she liked to
flit hither and thither, in and out and round
about the swaying hammock, and even lighted
sometimes on the golden curls, but always felt
shy of the little pink hands which were clapped
in such glee at her beautiful colours and dancing
This day, however, the hammock was empty
and Butterfly-dear was jumping from rose to
rose on a bush close to the window of the house,
when what should she see but a lovely, soft, lacy
hammock; a wee, fairy hammock spread across
from a big rose to a little bud on another branch.

20 Sleepy-Time Stories

She sat quite still in wonder looking at it. It
was white and flimsy and swayed with the wind.
"Why, dear me!" said Butterfly-dear,
"that must be a butterfly hammock, and now
I shall see how it feels to swing and swing in
the wind as little Baby Dimple swings."
So Butterfly-dear gave one little jump with
her lovely wings folded tight, and landed right
in the middle of the fairy hammock, to which
alas! her little feet stuck in a way that both
puzzled and alarmed her. Oh dear, oh dear !
it was a spider's web, and the cruel, fat spider,
who had been watching her and laughing
wickedly behind a leaf, ran out and was soon
spinning some cruel chains round and round
her little soft body and pretty fragile wings.
Ha, ha, silly thing I have got you at last.
You will make me a beautiful dinner when I
have pulled off your useless painted wings,"
said the Spider.
"Help! help!" cried poor little Butter-
fly-dear. The Rose overheard her, but could
not help. She could only drop a dew-drop
tear down to show how sorrowful she felt.

Butterfly-Blue and Butterfly-Dear 21

"Is that you, Butterfly-dear ? cried the Sun-
beam. I hardly knew you. The wicked old
spider is winding you up in his web so fast
I do wish I could help you, but I can't."
Baby Dimple would help me with her dear
little pink fingers, if only she were here," cried
the poor little thing in a weak, choky voice
that showed she was almost fainting.
Quick as thought Sunbeam darted through
the open window and touched the head of the
little Baby Dimple, who was sitting demurely
on a high chair looking at a lovely picture-
She looked up quickly, shouting, Oh how
bright the sunshine is Then she flew to the
window to smell her dear roses, for it was so
lovely out of doors when Sunbeam played
among the flowers. The next moment mother
heard a bitter cry: Oh, Mother Mother a
cruel, horrid, wicked 'pider has dot a dear but-
terfly, and is trying to till it. Tome quick,
tome quick "
So it was that kind fingers rescued Butter-
fly-dear just in time, and the disappointed old

Sleepy-Time Stories

spider had to make his dinner of a stale old
blue-bottle fly.
Very tenderly, thread after thread was taken
from the delicate little wings, and then the
grateful creature, still faint and weak, was put
on some beautiful flowers in a vase on the
"Why, Mother, I do believe it's Butterfly-
dear," said a little voice, but mother only
smiled, for she did not know or understand
what friends the two had become in the ham-
mock on sunny days, and did not know Butter-
fly-dear from any other member of the butterfly
At lunch, a big cousin who sat at the table
heard all about the rescue of Butterfly-dear,
who, by the way, was walking rather cautiously
from flower to flower, and showing them her
pretty colours each time she flapped her wings.
I say, Baby, let me have it. I will give it
chloroform, which won't hurt it much, and
then by and by you will see it pinned up in
my collection."
Two blue eyes were filled with tears and a

Butterfly-Blue and Butterfly-Dear 23

choky little voice said indignantly: No, 'ou
cruel, cruel boy, 'ou sha'n't have my Butterfly-
dear Dod made it, I love it, and it shan't be
hurted "
No, darling, it shall not be hurt," said her
father's kind voice, but I tell you what I will
do. I will paint you a picture of Butterfly-
dear, and then you shall let it fly out to the
roses and sunbeams again."
So, that afternoon, while she balanced her-
self on the frond of a beautiful fern, her picture
was painted, so her frail little life brought some
real pleasure to somebody else.
Over a little white cot a lovely picture of a
yellow and orange butterfly can still be seen,
though it is winter now, and the snow lies deep
on the ground, and the roses have faded and
fallen. It is in every way very unlike the day
when a little pink hand, with a butterfly
perched on one finger, hung out of the window,
and a sweet, childish voice whispered: Fly
away home, and never swing in the spider's
hammock again, for I love 'ou, dear flower that

Sleepy-Time Stories

Under the picture you can read a name that
still lives, though the pretty winged creature
herself has gone to sleep with the autumn
leaves and rose petals long ago. It is



" X ELL! I am surprised at you! choos-
VV ing to live here in this dark, shady
corner, you pale-faced little Lily," said a small
voice so weak and thin that the Lily-of-the-
Valley's white bells could hardly catch the
sound. "I am going to fly here and there
until I find the very nicest, most comfortable
place, and then I shall settle down, I don't
care who is there before me, and begin to
grow. I mean to make the most of my
The Lily was so surprised that she could not
answer at first, and then she said gently, send-
ing up a sweet breath of scent from her deli-
cate flowers, "I do not know who you are,
but I think you will be very unhappy if you

Sleepy-Time Stories

can be as selfish as you seem. Why do I live
here ? Because the dear gardener put me here,
and I am very happy, and I like the cool
shadow of the big fir tree."
You do not know who I am, why of course
not, little silly, you do not see anything of the
world in your dull little corner, with your weak
little pale face almost covered with big green
leaves, but I tell you, most people know me.
I am called Dandelion; and just now I am
flying about with a little white wing, but when
I find the best place, I will begin growing, and
then I shall have big yellow flowers that all
the world will have to look at. No pale white
faces for me."
"Well, Dandelion," said the Lily-of-the-
Valley, I thought we all had to grow where
the gardener put us, and that, as we do not
grow for ourselves, but to please him and to
make the world sweeter, we had better grow
just as well as we can just where we are
"Ha, ha, I see you have no ainbition.
Well, I, for my part, do not belong to the

Brown Eyes and his Little Friends 29

gardener, and I do not choose to be 'put.' I
am going to do as I please, for I am not going
to grow for anybody else's pleasure. Look
out for number one' is my motto."
Puff went the breeze, and away flew the
tiny winged seed; but the soft Wind whispered
something in Lily-of-the-Valley's ear to which
she nodded her little head until all the bells
danced, and the air was full of sweetness.
"Buzz! buzz! buzz !" sounded through
the green leaves.
"What is it, Mr. Bee ?" asked the Lily.
" You seem very excited this morning."
"I should just think I am. Why, I got
shut up in a room of the big house and I
have lost all the early hours, and I nearly got
killed too. Is n't that enough to make a bee
angry ?"
Why who tried to kill you? Were there
spiders or birds in there ? "
No, indeed; it was worse! It was a big
human being; but what has upset me the
most, and wounded my feelings so deeply,
is the fact that she actually called me a wasp.

Sleepy-Time Stories

A wasp indeed A cruel creature that stings ?
A wasp, that is lazy and never makes honey !"
Well, Bee, dear, do not go off just yet; tell
me how you got out again."
Why that's the strangest part of all. A
little boy child sat up by the window, and
cried when he heard me buzzing and knocking
myself on the pane (because I must really
confess I was frightened), and he called out,
'Open the window, nurse, and let him out.
Don't hurt him, don't hurt him! I love him
for singing such a pretty song. I have been
listening and listening! Do let the dear little
buzzer go out.'"
"Why that must have been Brown Eyes,"
said Lily interrupting the story. Has he
soft little hands, and dark curling hair ? for
if he has, it is he Why, Brown Eyes comes
here to see me and touches me gently and
calls me the Angel flower."
Yes, I guess it was your little friend, Lily,
and I tell you, I will never forget him. She
had to open the window because he cried so,
and I flew away as fast as I could to make up

Brown Eyes and his Little Friends 31

for all my wasted time." This reminded Mr.
Bee that he was wasting his time again, so
shouting good-bye, away he flew to the honey-
suckle vine, where he gossiped and buzzed
until the sun went down.
Just before he went down in the west, the
Sunbeam stole through the branches of the
big dark fir tree and kissed the Lily, whisper-
ing, "You are right, little one. Bloom on
contentedly in the place God has given you.
If you were planted in the sun where the
Rose Bush stands, you would die in the heat,
so the very darkness and shadow makes you
fair and fragrant."
The dew fell heavily in the night, so the
next morning when little Brown Eyes looked
out of the window, he thought the roses had
been crying over all the poor little dead flies,
and that -their tears had been caught in the
spiders' webs.
At noon he ran out into the lovely garden,
and all the sweet flowers nodded their heads
in the wind, and sent him sweet-scented kisses,
for they loved little Brown Eyes.

Sleepy-Time Stories

Many a time his dear little hand pulled away
the weeds that rudely crowded them or gently
gathered up the leaves and branches that had
fallen upon them. Then with his little red
watering-can in the evenings, he often sprinkled
their hot dusty leaves, and he always talked
to them and smoothed their petals and kissed
them gently, as if he loved them.
Welcome!" shouted the Breeze as he played
with the child's brown hair.
Welcome !" said the Sunbeam as he kissed
the pink cheek; but Brown Eyes did not hear
them and went along, singing like the little
birds, singing for sheer joy. First he buried
his little nose in the sweet new roses that had
only opened in the night, and then he lay on
the grass and raised the humble little Violet's
head with the tips of his fingers.
Violet, dear, why do you live so very far
down, and why do you always hide your head
among the leaves ? You are so sweet, I would
like you to grow and be tall and look in
at my window, as the honey-suckles and jas-
mines do."


- I' -


Brown Eyes and his Little Friends 35

"Why, Brown Eyes, I am not pretty like
those big tall plants. I am only a very little
flower. I really do not want to be seen or
talked about, nor is there any reason why I
should be made much of; but I am so happy
because God has given me something with
which to make the world sweeter," whispered
the Violet.
Little Brown Eyes did not know the flower
language, so he heard nothing of this, but he
just kissed the humble little flower, and lay
still on the bank, smelling its sweet fragrance
and thinking it wonderfully beautiful. Some
one else noted the sweetness of the air around
the violet bed and came buzzing along busily.
"Oh, Mr. Bee, it 's you again," said little
Brown Eyes, I am so glad you have come to
sing me your pretty song. I knew you were
not a wasp, but you really must not mind if
they call you sometimes by that name, because
you see, some people do not know you as well
as I do."
Mr. Bee was very happy to hear the dear
little voice again, and he sang and sang his

Sleepy-Time Stories

busy song and told and retold the gossip of
the garden as he flew in and out of the violet
bed, until the brown eyes closed; and then, as
he dropped asleep, little Brown Eyes began to
understand the meaning of the song, and he
thought he was sitting on the bank and that
Mr. Bee was sitting there, too, only he had
grown very big and was talking in quite a
loud voice.
"What flower do you love best, Mr. Bee?"
he asked, interrupting him in the middle of a
song about yellow honey-comb, golden honey,
and nice clover fields far away.
Why, the Rose, of course. She is so sweet
and so dewy, and then she is pretty, too."
" Yes," said Brown Eyes, that's true "; and "
added Mr. Bee, there's another lovely thing
:about her. She is so generous. Why, the
other day, some one came and cut off all her
flowers and the next day only one little bud
had come out, and I said to her, 'Oh, Rose,
dear, what a shame to serve you so !' and she
opened that one little red bud wider and said,
'Why, don't you know that I live to give up

Brown Eyes and his Little Friends 37

my flowers to make other people glad ? Why,
that is what I live for.'"
"She must be good," said Brown Eyes.
" Do you think it hurts her ?"
No, I think it just makes her grow more
generous and lovely, because you see she does
not do it grudgingly and fret over it. She
loves to give herself away, and she thinks that
when it is dark some one comes through the
garden and smiles at her through the moon-
light, but I am always asleep in my hive at
that time, so I never see the angels."
It must be my guardian angel coming to
my bedside and going home again," said Brown
Eyes; "perhaps he likes to pass that way to
look at the Rose Bush and smell the scent of
the Angel flower."
Mr. Bee looked thoughtful and then little
Brown Eyes said, as he gazed across at the
flower bed, "Will you tell me, Mr. Bee, what
you think of the Tiger-lily? She has no sweet
scent like the other flowers, and she does hold
her head so high above the velvety Pansies,
just as if she did not want to have anything

38 Sleepy-Time Stories

to do with them. I must say I don't quite
like her, though I suppose she is very pretty."
Wait a moment, Brown Eyes, she is talk-
ing to the Pansies now. I will go and join in
the conversation, and if you like you can come
too, and hear all about it." So Brown Eyes
got up and followed Mr. Bee, and then stood
listening to the Tiger-lily, who was evidently
very much excited over something.
I am surprised at you, Pansy, you little, in-
significant creature," she was saying. "All these
days I have been trying to make you respect
yourself and hold your head higher, and there
you are as quiet and meek as ever, and I do de-
clare, you have been talking to the dirty old
frog who just pushed his green nose almost into
your face. I heard you telling him that you
were never going to change one bit, but that
your greatest ambition was for some little
child to come and feel your soft cheeks and
pick you, and put you away into a book, so
that your face might smile upon him long
after your leaves were dead, and you had been

o -

,. I <
^ ife '*

"' i IS -


.... 3

Brown Eyes and his Little Friends 41

Buzz," went Mr. Bee angrily in Tiger-lily's
Go away," she shrieked; "you are so rude
and rough, I do not want to give you my yel-
low gold-dust; besides you do not seem to know
who I am. You are very ungentlemanly."
Oh, who are you, indeed ?" asked the Bee,
buzzing round and round in vexation.
"Why I am the tallest flower in this bed;
I hold my head higher than any other, and I
am beautiful and graceful; that I know, be-
cause the Humming-bird said so. It really
needs some one with self-respect around here,
with those meek, spiritless little Pansies dis-
gracing the very name of flower."
"Take care," said Mr. Bee. It is long-
necked, high-headed flowers like you that get
into trouble when the wind blows. Don't be
too proud and stuck up, or one of these days
you may get your neck broken; and as for
the Pansy, I tell you, the Dew, the Sunbeam,
and the children all love her because she
comes early in the spring when you are only
an ugly bulb or a lanky green stalk. So do

Sleepy-Time Stories

not let me hear you talking to flowers who
have always got a smile for everybody, and
are the essence of good nature." So excited
was Mr. Bee that he forgot all about little
Brown Eyes, and flew right away to talk with
the Humming-bird up in the red trumpet flow-
ers, to give him a piece of his mind about
flowers that were too high-minded for any
As our little boy wandered away he heard
Tiger-lily say so spitefully, Mr. Impudence,
how dare he talk about my being broken He
is n't fit company for flowers of my position.
I will treat him with silent contempt next time
he comes this way."
On his way back to the violet bank little
Brown Eyes stopped in the shady corner to
call on Lily-of-the-Valley. Angel flower," he
said, "I can understand flower language now.
Tell me why you are so white."
Brown Eyes, I am only beginning to learn
why myself. I think it must be because in
the shady corners where the sunbeams do not
play, God want's flowers that can shine out

Brown Eyes and his Little Friends 43

white and speak of His fair angels, who
come in the darkness and make it bright. Do
you know little boy, God loves whiteness ? and
it makes me very happy to think that once
they called the dear Jesus by my name; so
I feel I must keep myself very white and sweet
to be worthy of Him." And the wee white
bells sang of love and of heaven, of peace and
joy, until Brown Eyes wondered at the sweet-
ness of their music.
A voice called out of the window, Sweet-
heart, sweetheart," and little Brown Eyes
sprang up from the grass, rubbing his eyes.
Come in to your dinner, darling. Why!
have you been dreaming? You were so quiet
I wondered where you had gone."
Good-bye, Violet," said Brown Eyes, and
though she said sweetly, "Good-bye, dear
little boy," he heard nothing of her little voice,
for he had quite forgotten the flower language
As he walked to the house, he kissed Rose-
bud's pink cheek and stooping, picked little
Pansy; and that night her velvety purple face

44 Sleepy-Time Stories

lay sleeping in two little sheets of paper, be-
tween the pages of a little boy's Bible; but
Brown Eyes did not know that her head
rested upon these words :
Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit
the earth."




IT was a hot and sultry day. Little Brown
Eyes had had hard work to keep his
head up over the dull lesson books, and the
lessons contained therein seemed harder to
learn than ever.
He had gone out into the garden to try to
get rid of the heavy, tired feeling, but it was
just as bad there. Everything was mysteri-
ously silent. The bee had hushed his song;
butterflies had gone into hiding; not a leaf
stirred; the very flowers looked frightened,
as if they were asking, What is it? What is
going to happen ? "
He saw the birds flying hither and thither
in a startled, unrestful way, while the swallows

Sleepy-Time Stories

swooped and whirled back and forth as if to
make up for everyone else's over-quietness.
Brown Eyes looked for Sunbeam, as he knew
what a cheering influence he always had, but
the Sunbeam was nowhere to be found. Gaz-
ing up through the trees, Brown Eyes saw
that the blue sky had vanished and great big
grey clouds were rolling up in every direction.
As he sat watching the heavy grey and purple
masses, a whispering began in the tops of the
trees, growing louder and louder, every branch
swaying and rocking. A sudden wave of
wind had struck them. Quicker and quicker
the air current rushed; more and more fiercely
were the branches, the leaves, and the flowers
rocked and swayed. Dust, papers, dead leaves,
everything that lay loose on the road or upon
the lawn, was sent whirling into the air, while
the great clouds just flew across the sky. All
this took place in just one minute of time, and
so amazed was little Brown Eyes, that he
stood gazing at it, though his brown curls
were blowing and dancing about his little
earnest face. Then the old oak's dead branch

Tiger-Lily's Death

swayed and cracked, coming down with a crash,
and at the same moment the house shutters
began to clatter and bang. The sound of
windows being hurriedly shut arrested Brown
Eyes' attention and then mother's voice called :
" Brown Eyes, Brown Eyes, what are you doing
there? Come in, come in quickly, my darl-
ing." As he ran up the steps and in through
the garden door he heard a great grumbling
of thunder up in the big clouds.
"Brudder, Brudder," cried Baby Dimple,
running to him with wide open eyes. The
under's tuming from up in heaven where dear
Desus lives."
Two little earnest faces watched for every
fresh flash and listened for each loud peal of
thunder, and the fair head and the brown one
were pressed close together at the window, in
awed wonder at the grand yet awful sight.
Oh what a thunder storm it was. What vivid
blue flashes, deadly still pauses, and then what
resounding crashes of thunder right over head !
Mother sat back in a chair with a very white
face and every time a dreadful gleam of blue

Sleepy-Time Stories

light came, she groaned and laid her head in
her hands.
Mother does n't like the thunder, it makes
her ill," whispered Brown Eyes to the wee
fairy at his side. Just then a noise like the
rending apart of the heavens burst right over
their heads and mother gave a groan of pain.
Two little feet flew from the window, two soft
loving arms were flung around her neck and
Baby Dimple's sweet golden head was laid
against her face.
Oh, my Mamma, don't 'ou be frightened;
the under von't hurt 'ou. Desus is up in the
sky. He von't let under hurt my mamma."
"Pet, love, mother's not frightened, only
thunder makes her sick. It hurts her head
very much, and she wishes papa were home."
Baby von't leave 'ou, Mamma dear. Tunder
s'ant hurt 'ou," whispered the comforting little
voice. It von't hurt 'ou 'tause Desus made
it." So Brown Eyes and Baby Dimple left
the window, and pressed their loving little
heads close to mother until the clouds passed
away and the last thunder peal rumbled off

Tiger-Lily's Death

over the hills in the distance. Then it was
time for the dear little heads to lie down on
two little white pillows for their noon nap,
and mother with a very happy light in her
eyes kissed them and called them her com-
forts, and then went away from the darkened
When Brown Eyes woke up, he slipped
quickly down and out into the garden. Sun-
beams were playing in and out of the leaves,
the birds were all singing and beautiful butter-
flies flew leisurely from flower to flower.
Down on the bank, Violet looked fresher than
ever and Lily-of-the-Valley swayed gently in
the breeze with her flowers as pure and sweet
as could be. Mr. Bee was talking with the
Rose and asking her how she had got on in
the storm, and she answered smiling, "Why,
it only makes the after sunshine the brighter,
and all it has done to my branches is to strip
off my dead leaves and carry away old Mr.
Spider and his long, silky webs."
Brown Eyes was busy clearing the leaves
and broken branches from the lawn, so he

Sleepy-Time Stories

did not hear the extra loud buzz the busy old
Bee gave as he passed on to the pansy bed.
"Well! I never!" he exclaimed. They
say pride always comes before a fall, and she
was proud enough, and disagreeable into the
bargain, but I little guessed the fall would
come so soon."
Ah, Mr. Bee, it was terrible," said Pansy,
"You cannot imagine how frightened poor
Tiger-lily was from the very first puff of strong
wind, and when she fell down with a crash she
just gave a cry and said Oh, help me, Pansy';
but how could I help her?"
Help her, indeed Miserable, proud creat-
ure I should not think you 'd have wanted to
help her after all the unkind, haughty things
she had said. For my part, I am right down
glad she got what she rightly deserved."
Hush, hush, Bee, dear; that is wrong and
unkind. You should never be glad over any
one's sorrow. I wished I could help her and
pick her up, but it was no use, her thin neck
was broken and she was quite dead when the
Sunbeam came to try and revive her." The



4 1,




Tiger-Lily's Death

gentle little Pansy's face looked up very gravely
and even Mr. Bee felt some pity stealing into
his heart for poor Tiger-lily, who lay there with
her bright, soft petals bruised and beaten into
the brown earth, and her tall, graceful stem
lying helpless among the pansies.
Brown Eyes came running over to see how
many pansy buds had opened, and stood gaz-
ing at Tiger-lily with big sad eyes.
"She was very proud and haughty, and
slighted my little pansies," he said solemnly,
"but it is very sad to see her all spoilt and
broken." So he ran in to his mother to see if
she could not help her. You put in my toy
horse's tail; you mended baby's doll when its
arms and legs came off; and you sewed her soft
pussy's fur on again; can't you mend poor Tiger-
lily? I am sure she will be good and gentle now."
But mother shook her head and said:
"Brown Eyes, no one can help Tiger-lily
now. You must get your little spade and we
will dig her up, so that you shall not be made
sad by seeing her lie there broken and spoilt."
So they took her away and the pansies spread

Sleepy-Time Stories

out and covered the place where she had grown,
and nobody talked any more about her, because
she had left no sweet, loving memory behind of
kindly word spoken, or gentle deeds done.
A few days after, a little green frog came
hopping over the smooth grassy lawn and hid
himself under the shady leaves of the "Angel
flower." Why, Froggy she said in surprise,
"What's the matter ? You seem quite excited."
No wonder she thought so, for there he sat,
puffing his throat out and opening and shut-
ting his gold and black eyes, as though he
could not get calm breath enough to speak.
Do take care If you go on like that you
will have a fit, and I am sure I don't know
how I can help you," and she actually shook
some cool dew-drops into his face to revive him.
Oh, I am not sick," croaked the little Frog.
" It is indignation that has so upset me. What
do you think I have seen ?"
"Why! what can it be? Did Puss try to
catch you, or was some naughty boy in the
field trying to hit you ?"
"No, no, it's nothing about myself. It is

Dandelion's Doings

about the welfare of the public and the honour
of our garden." After this big speech Froggy
swelled out his throat again and looked very
important, but at that moment out of the
corner of his bright golden eye he caught
sight of a slimy green slug on one of the Lily's
dark leaves, and immediately took a spring in
the air and swallowed it in one gulp. Thank
you, Froggy, dear," said little Lily; "now for
your news."
Well, you know," he began seating him-
self on the soft green moss, that the gardener
is very particular about the beautiful soft green
lawn. It is shadowed all around by trees and
you can't think how green and fresh it always
looks, and especially lovely and inviting when
the big fountain-like sprinkler is playing upon
it, sending showers of glittering water in sprays
all over the grass. Sunbeam plays there, and
little birds pick up the worms in the early
morning, and sometimes Brown Eyes lets his
little white rabbits hop over it, but that is
only when he is with them to see that they do
not damage the smooth, well-rolled ground.

Sleepy-Time Stories

When it is very warm, they sometimes let
Baby Dimple romp on the grass, and she rolls
over and over like a little white ball, while her
hair is like a cloud of gold." Here Froggy
forgot the point of his story, and murmured,
" Dear baby. She tried to kiss me the other
day, and called me a dear'ittle shoggie'; but I
slipped quickly away, because I did not want
her to feel my cold nose, for I thought she
might be frightened and not love me again,
and it is very good to be loved, especially
when some people have nothing better to
say than Oh, look at that horrid, ugly frog !'"
and poor Froggy's voice shook with emotion.
" But I have wandered away from my point,"
he said, after a pause. What was I saying?
Oh, it was about the gardener's pride in our
lawn. Well, what do you think I have seen
to-day ? In the very middle of the soft velvety
grass, a great, big, common, yellow Dan-
delion "
Why do you mean he has really chosen
to grow there and spoil the lawn, because he
thought it was a nice comfortable spot for

Dandelion's Doings

himself ? said Lily, in a sad, surprised voice.
"That I do," answered green Froggy, his
voice growing angry and indignant, the self-
ish, self-seeking thing! I asked him who told
him to grow there, and he said nobody did.
He did n't believe in asking anybody's advice
but just pleased himself and grew where he
chose. I asked him if he did not think it
spoilt the green lawn to have his ragged
leaves and ugly yellow head right there in the
middle, and he laughed a very disagreeable
laugh, and said what did that matter, it suited
him very well,-and he did not care what any-
body said or thought about it.
Well," said Lily, after a long pause through
which they both sat thinking, I don't see
how such a perfectly selfish flower can possi-
bly be happy. I am sure I should hang my
head and fade away, if I felt I spoilt other
people's pleasure, and just lived for my own
selfish ends. Has Dandelion any scent to
make the world any sweeter ? "
None, at all," answered Froggy, only a
rather disagreeable odour, and his leaves and

Sleepy-Time Stories

stems stain the hands of those who try to
gather his flowers. I know that, because he
laughed and said he would teach anybody a
lesson who tried to take a leaf or flower off
Froggy, did you hear about Tiger-lily's
death ? Don't you think it might be wise to warn
Dandelion ? If proud flowers can be broken,
don't you think selfish ones might perhaps be
punished when they go and grow where we
know the gardener does not want us to be? "
Oh, I warned him straight enough, and he
told me to mind my own business, and said I
should talk about nothing but slugs and slimy
ponds, just as if I have n't cultivated the
friendship of flowers and ferns, and danced on
the lawn by moonlight, when he was no more
than a little weak-winged seed."
Just then the ground trembled beneath a
heavy tread, and they both looked up to see
the big, strong gardener pass, and in his hand
he carried a sharp garden tool.
"I '11 hop out and see if he notices Dande-
lion, and then I '11 shout back the news to

Dandelion's Doings.

you-yes, there he is, looking at him. I see
Dandelion trembling in the wind. Perhaps
he realises how selfish he has been and is
afraid. Oh! oh! what quick work! Look!
look! he has put his sharp tool right down
deep. There he goes; Dandelion is torn up,
flower and leaf and roots. What a lesson to
a flower who would go where he was not
wanted.!" And Froggy hopped away to see
how Dandelion felt now, lying limp and help-
less on the gravel path in the sun.
"Well, Dandelion, how is it now? You
have n't many hours to live; are you ashamed
of yourself?"
It was rather unkind of Froggy to speak so
sharply, and he stopped when he heard that
poor Dandelion was sobbing hard.
Oh, I am so sorry, so sorry. I have been
very selfish. I have n't helped anyone all my
life. I have only thought of pleasing myself,
so nobody loves me, and nobody cares. No
one will shed a tear over my faded leaves.
Oh, if only I could have one more chance,
I would try to be of some use in the world."

Sleepy-Time Stories

Froggy had a tender heart under his ugly,
wrinkled skin, so he felt very sad over poor
Dandelion, now that he was really very sorry
for having been so selfish. He hopped back
to Lily and told her all about it.
I don't think we can do anything to help
him," said Lily sadly.
No, we cannot, and there is only just one
person in the world who I think would care,
and that is Baby Dimple. She cries over the
flies in the spider's web. She pitied a worm
the gardener's spade had cut in two, and
wanted to kiss my poor cold nose," and tears
of gratitude came to green Froggy's round
eyes again.
Just then, who should come dancing down
the lawn but Baby Dimple herself, with little
fair curls bobbing and blue eyes full of joy
and fun. Out jumped the Frog and made
straight for the path where poor Dandelion
lay dying. "Shoggy, littlee Shoggy, stop; I
vont 'ou, tome to baby," but Froggy went
resolutely on. After him trotted baby feet,
and pink baby hands were stretched out to

Dandelion's Doings.

catch him, until at last those same little feet
almost tripped on the pale yellow flower that
lay limp on the path. Then Baby Dimple
stood stock still.
Poor, littlee flower, what 'ou doing? Don't
'ou vant vater ?"
Away she trotted, and soon Froggy from
behind a fern frond to which he had crept,
saw her trudging back down the path with a
tiny red watering-can, from which the water
was slopping over her little red shoes and
white socks.
She set down her can, and seated herself
plump in the very middle of the gravel path,
regardless of her clean dress.
Poor flower, poor flower, don't 'ou die,"
she whispered as she smoothed its leaves out,
and stroked its fast closing yellow heads.
I '11 give 'ou some vater, and then 'ou '1
feel better." Laying Dandelion on the grass,
she watered him gently and was still watering,
when the gardener passed.
"Why what are you doing, Miss Dimple?
not watering that miserable weed Well, never !

Sleepy-Time Stories

It's only a dandelion that I have just torn
up. It was spoiling the looks of the lawn."
It 's dying, poor flower and I's trying to
make it feel better," said a little pink mouth,
that looked very ready to cry.
Why throw the stupid weed away, Missy.
It can't live with its roots out of the ground.
Go and water the pretty pansies."
Baby von't, 'ou naughty man. I love it
tause it's sick, and 'ou must put it in the
ground adain."
No, no, little dear. I can't be bothered
with the old weed. Throw it away, there's a
good missy, and I '11 pick you a lovely red
But Baby Dimple had a mind of her own,
and could not have been got to cast away
poor Dandelion for a pile of red roses, so the
big blue eyes were filled with tears of indigna-
tion, and soon she was sobbing as if her little
heart would break, and hugging the Dandelion
to her breast while the tears trickled down
her cheeks in two little streams, and dropped
pitifully on to her white apron. In the midst



Dandelion's Doings.

of her sorrow, she heard the clear voice of the
much loved brother, and soon he came running
to see what could ail his own Baby Dim-
Oh Brudder, dis littlee flower is dying. Its
leaves look so sad and I tan't make it well
tause its roots vant to be in the ground."
"Oh, that's soon done, Baby dear," said
Brown Eyes laughing. "Come to my own
little garden. I '11 get my spade and we'll
plant him together."
So the little ones trudged contentedly off,
and soon Dandelion was planted in a nice
little shady corner and watered, while Brown
Eyes told Baby Dimple that though he was
only a weed, if he got well and strong again,
he would really be useful, for they could cut
his leaves off from time to time, for the two
plump rabbits, who especially fancied dande-
lion salad.
That evening, as the sun was setting, green
Froggy found Dandelion in his new home,
and inquired after his health.
I feel better, thank you, much better, and

Sleepy-Time Stories

I think I shall live. I do hope I shall, for I
do want to be of some use in the world."
So you have found out how good it is to
be loved, and you know now that gratitude
makes one's heart feel far better than that
horrid selfishness ?"
Yes, indeed, Froggy dear, and I promised,
as those soft hands were stroking me, and
that dear little voice was saying so sweetly,
'I love 'ou,' that if ever I got well enough, I
would be of some use to someone."
"Well, what are you going to do ?" asked
the Frog, for he really wondered of what good
a Dandelion could ever become.
"Why, I am going to grow nice, long
leaves, for Brown Eyes' rabbits, and I hope
he will cut them often so that I can grow
more and more, to show him how grateful I
"Well, that's the right sort of talk," said
green Froggy approvingly. "I '11 come and
eat all the slugs off those leaves for you, for
I really think you have learned your lesson
and are going to make some use of your life.

Dandelion's Doings. 69

Good night, I 'll call in the morning," and off
hopped little Froggy.
The Moonbeam told the Rosebud, that as
she passed by, she heard him repeating the
story to Lily, who was nodding her head, and
seemed thoroughly happy over the good news
of Dandelion's change of heart.



IT was a clear, beautiful night. The stars
shone and twinkled through the dark
branches of the old fir tree. From the long,
black shadows beneath it, little Lily-of-the-
Valley looked up, and her white heart was
full of gladness and song.
The fir tree had been whispering to her of
the quiet, grand, glittering heavens that he
could see, and she had been thinking what a
wonderful thing it was that the great God to
whom those thousands of diamond-bright stars
belonged, could care for, and watch over her.
" Yet your Father which is in heaven careth
for them," Jesus had said, and though little
Lily could not read, and no one had told her
those words, yet she knew that the soft dew

Sleepy-Time Stories

that watered her, came down from above, and
that gentle sunbeam and cool shadows were
given to bless her and make her fair.
Her sweet scent she gladly gave to all who
passed by, and she often whispered to herself,
" I must keep white and pure, for they once
called Him the Lily-of-the-Valley, and I must
let them all see that that means something
pure and sweet and gentle." So was the little
flower talking to her own heart when she
raised her head and saw a pure silvery light
moving out of the darkness toward her. She
turned quickly, for she knew him well, and
wafted her best fragrance on the night breeze,
as the Angel passed. He turned and smiled
upon her.
Dear Angel," she called, "you are going
to guard little Brown Eyes while he sleeps.
Do you know he has called me the Angel-
flower? Won't you stop on your way back,
and take me with you ? "
Be patient, little flower. You have not
bloomed in vain. Where I go eternal flowers
bloom, but you shall go where they cannot,

What Became of the Angel-Flower 75

and speak of the dear Lord, and do Him
service before you die." So saying, the Angel
passed on, and the Lily hid her head beneath
the leaves, and went to sleep.
When the pale streaks of yellow light, on
the far horizon spoke of the coming dawn, the
Angel passed back, and when he came to the
Lily-of-the-Valley bed he touched her gently,
and the half-closed buds opened wide, and be-
neath the cool leaves, were masses of fragrant
That day, quite early, Brown Eyes came
bounding into the garden. In his hands were
a pair of scissors, and on his arm a basket.
The Rose called after him, Come, dear
little boy. I have beautiful blossoms for you
to-day." But he did not hear. Brown Eyes
come here," cried the Pansies, "we are wait-
ing to fill your dear little hands. We are
gold and white, blue and purple, and velvety
brown, and we bloom for our dear little
friend." But Brown Eyes ran on, until he
reached the shadow of the big fir tree.
Lily, dear Lily-of-the-Valley, I have come

Sleepy-Time Stories

for you. Mother is going to see a poor, little
sick child, who is in a white cot all day, and
has no pretty toys or beautiful flowers. She
told me to pick my dearest and sweetest
flowers for her little sick child. Angels love
poor little children, don't they, Lily dear?
And so Angel-flowers must love them too.
So I am going to cut you all, and I '11 do it
gently so as not to crush or hurt your pretty
white bells." .Carefully the little fingers did
their work, until a big, sweet bunch of Lilies,
all surrounded by dark green leaves, were
tied with a narrow white ribbon, and then,
Stwo eager child-eyes looked up into mother's
face, and the dear little voice said, Mother,
I love these the best because they are white
Angel-flowers. I have kissed them, and I
want them to carry the kiss to the little
sick boy."
It was a poor little thin face, very different
from that of her little Brown Eyes, that lay on
the white pillow of the city hospital cot. The
mother's heart turned to him in pity and
sympathy. He had no mother, no happy


.' ;j
-:- ~~I

What Became of the Angel-Flower 79

home, and tiny as he was, he had tried to sell
newspapers in the streets until he got sick
from hunger and neglect, and was taken by
a kind-faced doctor to see if they could save
his little life in the hospital. How white and
thin and pinched his face was, and how weak
his poor little hands. The weary eyes opened
wide, as the kind mother's face smiled down
on him, and the thin little hand grasped the
flowers eagerly. "May I smell them?" he
Yes, indeed ; they are all for you, and there
is a kiss on them, sent by my own little boy,
for they were his flowers, and he sent them."
A smile lit up the poor little face, and he
kissed the flowers and laid them close to his
cheek on the pillow.
"Nobody ever sent me a kiss before. The
flowers are good to smell and they are so
pretty, like little bells. What do you call
them ?"
"Well, dearie, my little boy called them the
'Angel-flowers,' because they are so pure and
sweet. Don't you think that is a lovely name ? "

Sleepy-Time Stories

The tired eyes had closed again, and he did
not seem to have strength to answer. The
nurse and the doctor came up to the bed just
then, and the nurse's face looked very sad,
while the doctor was more tender and gentle
than ever. He took the little thin hand in
his, and held it a minute while he talked in
a whisper to the nurse, and then touching the
pale cheek, he said: "Little one, won't you
speak to Doctor ?" The big eyes opened
again and he said : "Yes, Doctor, but I 'm so
tired." "Why," said the doctor, "what lovely
flowers you have got! Where did they come
from?" "The Angels," he answered, so
faintly they could hardly catch the words.
Yes, the poor little head was tired. He
had forgotten the kind lady who came every
day, had forgotten the little boy who had sent
him the kiss, but he had remembered the
name, Brown Eyes' name, for the sweet Lily-
Then the doctor whispered: Listen, Sonny,
perhaps the Angels will soon come and take
you away with them to the place where their

What Became of the Angel-Flower 81

flowers grow, where the night never comes,
and where nobody ever had pain or is sick."
The child roused, and the little head turned
on the pillow, while two big, dark eyes were
earnestly fixed on the doctor's face.
Do you mean,

"In the Kingdom of Thy grace,
Give a little child a place ?"

The doctor looked puzzled a moment.
"That's what I say every night. Nurse,
you know," he added with an effort. Then the
nurse knelt down close to him and whispered,

Fain I would to Thee be brought,
Precious Lord forbid it not.
In the Kingdom of Thy grace,
Give a little child a place."

"Yes, that's it, Give a little child a place.'
Is that where the Angel-flowers grow?"
The doctor's eyes were rather misty, and
he took off his glasses to wipe them.
"Yes, Sonny, that's the place they take
God's sweet little flowers to, when they die
down here, and I think to-night the white

Sleepy-Time Stories

Angels may come, or better still, the dear
Jesus Himself, and take you away, to live
there forever."
"All right, Doctor, then you'11 know where
to find me, and the flowers won't fade, will
they ?" and he laid his face close to the white
bells, and his eyelids closed again.
The doctor, who had little boys of his own,
at home with rosy cheeks, and bright laugh-
ing eyes, stooped over and kissed the child's
white brow, and thought of the one little
Angel-baby who had gone from his home to
the one where the flowers never die.
Brown Eyes' mother went home, and oh,
how long and tenderly she kissed her little
son and Baby Dimple that night, and how
eagerly they listened before they went to bed,
to the story of the little boy who was going to
see the Angels, and play in the beautiful
garden where the flowers never die and where
it is always day.
That night, when all was still and dark in
the hospital, the Lily kept her white eyes
open. Every now and then the little hot

What Became of the Angel-Flower 83

hand that held her would move, and the sweet,
faced nurse would bend over and smooth the
wavy black hair, and stroke the weary little
Lily was fading. She knew she must soon
be dead as she had no water, but there was
someone she longed to see before she died.
The clock ticked minute after minute away,
the bell in the church tower near by rang out
hour after hour, and yet nobody came.
The little boy breathed heavily in his sleep,
and once or twice murmured some words which
the Lily could not understand. Morning was
dawning. The tired nurse had laid her head
on the pillow, and was sleeping, when the
Lily felt the child move and whisper, Gentle
Jesus-Look upon a little child."
Lily raised her head. Someone was stand-
ing by the cot. Oh, what a face full of tender
love. His clothes were white and shining,
and His hands were stretched out as if in
blessing. The Lily was happy, oh, so happy,
as she felt Him touch her, and knew that it
was the one they had once called the Lily-of-

Sleepy-Time Stories.

the-Valley, the altogether lovely, the fairest
among ten thousand.
He stooped over and kissed the little boy,
and the next moment a white Rose that stood
in a glass of water by another little cot, saw
Him pass out with a little angel-child in His
arms, and the child held tight in his hand a
bunch of fresh, pure, white Lilies. But it was
only the Rose who saw it, for when the nurse
opened her eyes, she saw nothing but a little
pale face, and some dead Lilies in a thin cold
hand that would never move again, but she
knew that the little angel -had gone to be in
the kingdom of His grace, and that all was
The next night, the Angel passed by the
lily bed. No white flowers scented the air,
for there were only green leaves there now,
but he smiled as he passed and whispered to
the Rose, Lily lived a sweet unselfish, pure,
life, and she is an 'Angel-flower,' now in deed
and in truth."
And the Rose whispered back, "Dear Angel,
I must try to be sweeter and put forth more

r rid



~ ---

T ~' ~'"- ''~5~!

What Became of the Angel-Flower 87

fragrance now, for we shall all sadly miss our
sweet Lily-of-the-Valley."
Brown Eyes was smiling in his dreams, as
the Angel bent over his little cot. "Tell him
I sent him a kiss on the flowers, Mother dear,"
he murmured in his sleep, and the Angel
whispered, "Yes, Brown Eyes, I will tell him,
for he has gone where mother cannot do it."
And then the little one's dream changed and
the Angel smiled to hear him say, Oh, Baby
dear, don't break my choo-choo, father's
mended the wheels."

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