Part 1 (1/2)
Little Folks Astray.
by Sophia May (Rebecca Sophia Clarke).
TO PARENTS.
Here come the Parlins and Cliffords again. They had been sent to bed and nicely tucked in, but would not stay asleep. They ”wanted to see the company down stairs;” so they have dressed themselves, and come back to the parlor. I trust you will pardon them, dear friends. Is it not a common thing, in this degenerate age, for grown people to frown and shake their heads, while little people do exactly as they please?
Well, one thing is certain: if these children insist upon sitting up, they shall listen to lectures on self-will and disrespect to superiors, which will make their ears tingle.
Moreover, they shall hear of other people, and not always of themselves.
Fly Clifford, who expects to be in the middle, will be somewhat overwhelmed, like a fly in a cup of milk; for Grandma Read is to talk her down with her Quaker speech, and Aunt Madge with her story of the summer when she was a child. It is but fair that the elders should have a voice. That they may speak words which shall come home to many little hearts, and move them for good, is the earnest wish of
THE AUTHOR.
LITTLE FOLKS ASTRAY.
CHAPTER I.
THE LETTER.
Katie Clifford sat on the floor, in the sun, feeding her white mice. She had a tea-spoon and a cup of bread and milk in her hands. If she had been their own mother she could not have smiled down on the little creatures more sweetly.
”'Cause I spect they's hungry, and that's why I'm goin' to give 'em sumpin' to eat. Shut your moufs and open your eyes,” said she, waving the tea-spoon, and spattering the bread and milk over their backs.
”Quee, quee,” squeaked the little mice, very well pleased when a drop happened to go into their mouths.
”What are you doing there, Miss Topknot,” said Horace: ”O, I see; catching rats.”
Flyaway frowned fearfully, and the tuft of hair atop of her head danced like a war-plume.
”I shouldn't think folks would call 'em names, Hollis, when they never did a thing to you. Nothing but clean white mouses!”
”Let's see; now I look at 'em, Topknot, they _are_ white. And what's all this paper?”
”Bed-kilts.”
”_In_-deed?”
”You knew it by-fore!”
”One, two, three; I thought the doctor gave you five. Where are they gone?”
”Well, there hasn't but two died; the rest'll live,” said Fly, swinging one of them around by its tail, as if it had been a tame cherry.
Just then Grace came and stood in the parlor doorway.
”O, fie!” said she; ”what work! Ma doesn't allow that cage in the parlor. You just carry it out, Fly Clifford.”