And nobody need be afraid to read this story, ’cause it is going to be _baked in the oven_ before it is printed.
I KNOW a little bright-eyed boy Who lives not far away, And though he is his mother’s joy, He plagues her, too, they say. For when his task he’s bid to do, He sits him down and cries, “Boo-hoo! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!”
Yes! whether he’s to practise well, Or do his horrid sums, Or “Hippopotamus” to spell, Or clean to wash his thumbs: It matters not, for with a frown The corners of his mouth go down,— “I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!”
Oh! what a joyful day ’twill be For mother and for son, When smiling looks they both shall see Beneath the smiling sun. For in his heart he knows ’tis stuff, And knows that if he tries enough, He can! he can! he can! he can! he can!
“LOOK carefully!” said the kind Nurse, turning down a corner of the flannel blanket. “Don’t touch her, dears, but just look.”
The children stood on tiptoe and peeped into the tiny red face. They were frightened at first, the baby was so very small, but Johnny took courage in a moment.
“Hasn’t she got any eyes?” he asked. “Or is she like kittens?”
“Yes; she has eyes, and very bright ones, but she is fast asleep now.”
“Look at her little hands!” whispered Lily. “Aren’t they lovely? Oh, I do wish I could give her a hug!”
“Not yet,” said Nurse. “She is too tender to be hugged. But Mamma sends word that you may give her something,—a name. She wants you and Johnny to choose the baby’s name, only it must not be either Jemima, Keziah or Keren-Happuch.”
The Nurse went back into Mamma’s room, and left Johnny and Lily staring at each other, too proud and happy to speak at first.
“Let’s sit right down on the floor and think!” said John. So down they sat.
“I think Claribel is a lovely name!” said Lily, after a pause. “Don’t you?”
“I don’t care. She needn’t have such a _very_ girly name. How do you like Ellen?”
“Oh, Johnny! why, _everybody’s_ named Ellen. We don’t want her to be just like everybody. Now Seraphina is not common.”
“I should hope not. I should need a mouth a yard wide to say it. What do you think of Bessie?”
“Oh, Bessie is very well, only—well, I should be always thinking of Bessie Jones, and you know she isn’t very nice. I’ll tell you what, Johnny! suppose we call her Vesta Geneva, after the girl Papa told us about yesterday.”