And she dressed in a short white petticoat, And a kirtle of blue, with a looped-up look, And a snowy kerchief about her throat, And held in her hand a crook.

What eyes she had, the little Bo-Peep!

They had tears to laugh with, and tears to weep.

So fringy, and shy, and blue, and sweet, That even the summer skies in color, Or the autumn gentians under her feet, Less tender were and duller.

Now, a shepherdess ought to watch her sheep; But the careless little girl, Bo-Peep, Was hunting for late wild strawberries, The sweetest her tongue had ever tasted; They were few in number, and small in size, Too good, though, to be wasted.

And in that way the little Bo-Peep, The first she knew, had lost her sheep!

To the top of the nearest knoll she ran, The better to look the pasture over; She shaded her face, and called, "Nan! Nan!"

But none of them could discover.

About and about went little Bo-Peep; Her feet grew tired, the hills were steep; And in trying her fears to overcome She sighed, "I don't know where to find 'em.

But let 'em alone, and they'll come home, And bring their tails behind 'em!"

So down sat trustful little Bo-Peep, And in a minute was fast asleep!

Arm over her head, and her finger-ends All red with the fruit she had been eating; While her thoughts were only of her lost friends, And she dreamed she heard them bleating.

'Twas a happy dream for little Bo-Peep; As she lay on the gra.s.s, her flock of sheep, With scatter and clatter and patter of feet, Came hastening from all ways. .h.i.ther, thither; First one would bleat, then another would bleat, Then "b-a-a--a-a!" all together!

But ah, it was only while Bo-Peep Was tired enough to stay asleep That her flock was with her; for when she woke, Rubbing her eyes to see the clearer, She found that her dream was all a joke, And they were nowhere near her.

Tearful and sorrowful grew Bo-Peep!

Down from her lashes the tears would creep; But she started out, as there was need, Before it should be too dark to find them; She found them indeed, but it made her heart bleed, For they'd left their tails behind them!

Did she laugh or cry, our little Bo-Peep, To see such a comical crowd of sheep?

There were plenty of bodies, white and fat; And plenty of wide mouths, eating, eating; Plenty of soft wool, and all that: And plenty of noisy bleating;

Yet all of them stood, and tried to keep At a little distance from Bo-Peep!

They knew her voice, and were very glad To have her come with her crook to find them, But they felt so strangely because they had Not a single tail behind them.

The innocent-faced old mother-sheep, Who bleated and stamped to greet Bo-Peep, With their tails shorn close, were odd enough; But the very oddest of all was when a Group of the lambs went galloping off, All legs, and hadn't any!

Though sorry enough was little Bo-Peep That the tails were lost from her pretty sheep, She murmured, "I'll find them easily, And there's very little good in crying!"

So away she went, and at last, in a tree, She saw them hung a-drying!

She piled them up in a great white heap, And the best she could do, poor little Bo-Peep!

Was to try to fasten them where they grew-- Or that was, at least, what she intended,-- But if she did it I never knew, For now my story is ended!

[Color Plate:]

Buz, Buz, Buz--says the Great buzzing Bee.

Go away b.u.t.terfly--this flower is for me.

Why? Why? Why? says the little b.u.t.terfly, If you may sit on this flower, why may'nt I?

HOP-O-MY-THUMB

Once on a time there was a f.a.got-maker, And he had seven sons.

Who could be aught but poor to feed and shelter So many little ones?

For all were merely lads; not one was able To earn the crust of bread, Though scant it might be, coa.r.s.e and black and humble, With which he must be fed.

And, worst of all, the youngest one was puny, So odd, and still, and slight, That father, mother, and the other brothers, Thought him not over bright.

So small he was when he was born, so tiny Since then he had become, That--for he was no bigger than your finger-- They called him Hop-o'-my-Thumb.

Now at this time, for days and days together, There fell no drop of rain; The corn shrunk on the stalks; and in the sunshine Rustled the shriveled grain;

As if a fire had swept across the meadows They shriveled in the drouth; And what this meant for the poor f.a.got-maker Was famine, without doubt.

One night he sat before a smouldering fire, His head bowed down with grief, Trying with those weak wits of his to compa.s.s Some scheme for their relief.

His wife above the feeble embers hovered, And wrung her toil-hard hands; She knew there was no help for their starvation, No hope in making plans.

At last he spoke: "Ah, bad luck to the trying, I cannot find them food!

To-morrow morning with me to the forest I'll take the little brood!

"I cannot bear to watch this piece meal starving, So, while they run and play, Or gather f.a.gots for me, or pick berries To eat, I'll come away!"

"Oh!" groaned the wife, "I'm sure the wolves will eat them, Poor dears--poor little dears!

Yet do as you think best--we all must perish!"

Then went to bed in tears.

Meanwhile, though all the rest were sleeping soundly, Hop-o'-my-Thumb had heard, And at the thought of wolves and woods, in terror His little heart was stirred;

And so he lay and planned; and early dressed him, And ran with all his might Down to the river, where he filled his pockets With pebbles small and white.

And, as they started for the wood, he lingered Somewhat behind, and when They came to dismal places, dropped in secret A pebble now and then.

Thick grew the trees; 'twas twilight in their shadows, Although broad day without; But gay the laddies at the f.a.got-picking Went scampering about,

And chattering like a flock of busy sparrows; Till, having hungry grown, They turned to ask their mother for their dinner, And found they were alone!

Then all but Hop-o'-my-Thumb wailed out affrighted.

"Don't cry so hard!" said he.

"I'll find the path, if you'll but keep together And try to follow me!"

By the white stones strewn on the dead pine needles, Though night had fallen, he soon Led the way out, and spied their humble cottage, Low lying 'neath the moon.

They hurried near, and, pausing at the window, Hop-o'my-Thumb climbed up, And peeped within; his father and his mother Were just about to sup.

Some one had paid them two gold guineas On an old debt; and when They went for beef for two, they were so hungry They bought enough for ten.