Near by is a grand old oak tree, standing alone and majestic, like a king on his throne; and a lovely flower garden, at the side of the house, is so bright in colors that one would suppose a company of rainbows had gone to housekeeping there.
In the middle of this garden there stands, day and night, a beautiful young lady, in a round straw hat; but I wouldn't kiss her for a dollar! for her cheeks, as well as all the rest of her, are as white as chalk and as hard as a stone. I dare say her heart is too, if she happens to have any. Who wants to kiss stone people? I'd rather kiss _you_, and ilken Annie, and that other sweet little Annie who came to see me.
Ilken Annie, when she was about four years old, was one pleasant day sitting in her chair by the window, knitting a little white garter--that is, she was learning to knit one.
"Oh my," she said, "the stitch is so naughty! It is running away! What shall I do?"
You see, there were five stitches on the knitting needle, and Annie's little fat fingers had hard work to keep them there.
So her kind mamma showed her very carefully how to pull a stitch through with the other needle, before it had time to be off on its travels; and the dear little child, with a bright smile, kissed her mother, and said, "It is all tight now; oh, how glad I am!" And she put out her chubby little leg to try how much larger that celebrated stitch had made the garter.
Presently she cried out again, "Oh, mamma, here's a stitch all _climbed_ up, and another all rolled down; and one is so little I can't see his eye to poke the needle through. Oh, what a bad children!"
Her mother laughed at this funny speech, and said pleasantly, "'Try, try again,' ilken Annie." Then she pulled and twitched at the "bad children-stitches;" and once more Annie sat down to knit, singing, with a pretty little bird's note--
"'Tis a lesson you should heed: Try, try again; If at first you don't succeed, Try, try again."
Of course you know all of this pretty little song, don't you? Just sing it now.
By and by the little girl and her mother went down to luncheon; and there, on the table, were such lots of nice cream and raspberries, and white home-made bread! Oh! how I wish all the darling children in the world could have such a delicious lunch--so much better for them than pies or a whole bushel of sugar candy.