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not budge a foot. A lively skirmish followed, which ended in the
Eastern gentleman being upset into a sweet-fern bush, while the
better bred animal abased itself before the shining one.
The children were all in the dark till Mother Atkinson said, in an
"If that isn't Balaam and the ass, I'd like to know what it is. Rose
makes a sweet angel, doesn't she?"
"Ass" was evidently the word, and the angel retired, smiling with
mundane satisfaction over the compliment that reached her ears.
The next was a pretty little scene from the immortal story of
"Babes in the Wood." Jamie and Pokey came trotting in, hand in
hand, and, having been through the parts many times before, acted
with great ease and much fluency, audibly directing each other
from time to time as they went along. The berries were picked, the
way lost, tears shed, baby consolation administered, and then the
little pair lay down among the brakes and died with their eyes wide
open and the toes of their four little boots turned up to the daisies
in the most pathetic manner.
"Now the wobins tum. You be twite dead, Dimmy, and I'll peep in
and see 'em," one defunct innocent was heard to say.
"I hope they'll be quick, for I'm lying on a stone, and ants are
walking up my leg like fury," murmured the other.
Here the robins came flapping in with red scarves over their
breasts and leaves in their mouths, which they carefully laid upon
the babes wherever they would show best. A prickly blackberry
leaf placed directly over Pokey's nose caused her to sneeze so
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