It was one of those days when strange things seem ready to happen, one after another. Dotty, whose little head was rather unsettled by seeing and hearing so many new things, had an impression that such events as these were always occurring out West, and that they would never have happened anywhere else.

Chegres in logs, pearls in oysters; and now somebody had fallen up stairs and broken her nose. In Maine who ever heard the like?

Dotty twirled her hair, in a state of wonder as to what would come next. It came before bedtime.

She and Grace had been marching about the dining-room, singing martial songs. They went into the darkened parlor, still promenading, Grace's arm about her little cousin's waist.

Suddenly Grace stopped, and whispered,—

"What's that?"

Dotty listened. It was a groan. It must proceed from a human throat; but there was no one in the room but their two selves.

"I think there is something in the hall," whispered Grace; "I must go tell papa."

Mr. Clifford immediately took a lamp, and went to investigate the mystery. Dotty insisted upon going too, though she hardly knew why, except that the prospect of some unknown horror fascinated her. She clung to the skirt of her uncle's coat, though he would have preferred not to be hindered. No one else, not even Horace, cared to follow.

As they entered the parlor there was the same sound from the hall, even more unearthly than ever. Dotty had entire faith in her uncle, and was not at all alarmed till they passed through the parlor doorway, and she saw the finger-prints of blood on the panels. Then she did tremble, and she had half a mind to draw back; but curiosity was stronger than fear.

What could it be that walked into people's houses Out West, and groaned so in their front halls? She must see the whole thing for herself, and be prepared to describe it to Prudy.

She soon knew what it meant. There was a poor intoxicated man lying on the mat. Seeing the door open, he had staggered in while the family were at tea. In some way he had hurt his hand, and stained the door with blood. So there was nothing at all mysterious or supernatural in the affair, when it was once explained.

The poor creature was too helpless to be sent into the street; and Mr. Clifford and Katinka carried him into the stable, and laid him upon a bed of sweet hay.

"I'm glad not to be a Hoojer," said Dotty, with a severe look at her Cousin Horace. "You don't ever see such bad men in the State of Maine. The whiskey is locked up; and I don't know as there is any whiskey."

"Down East is a great place, Dotty! Don't I wish I was a Yankee—I mean a 'Publican?"

"But you can't be, Horace," returned little Dotty, looking up at him with deep pity in her bright eyes; "you weren't born there. You're a Hoojer, and you'll have to stay a Hoojer."



CHAPTER XI.

SNIGGLING FOR EELS.

Next day Mr. Clifford said he would take all the children, except Miss Flyaway, to see a coal mine. It was nothing new to Horace, who was in the habit of exploring his native town as critically as a regularly employed surveyor. You could hardly show him anything which he had not already seen and examined carefully, from a steamboat to a dish of "sour-krout." Grace and Cassy were by no means as learned, and had never ventured under ground. They feared, yet longed, to make the experiment.

As for Dotty, she knew Jennie Vance's ring had been found in a mine. She had a vague notion that strange, half-human creatures were at work in the bowels of the earth, hunting for similar bits of jewelry. She had a secret hope that, if she went down there, she might herself see something shining in a dark corner; and what if it should be a piece of yellow gold, just suitable to be made into a ring to contain the oyster pearl!

How surprised Jennie Vance would be to see such a precious treasure on her little friend's finger!

"She didn't find her ring herself, and it isn't a pearl. But I shan't give mine away, and shan't promise to, and then tell that I never. That's a hyper'blee!"

Dotty had found a new name for white lies.

"It is so nice," said Grace, as they started from the door, "to have a little cousin visiting us! for it makes us think of going to a great many places where we never went before."

"Then I'm glad there is a little cousin, and very glad it's me."

"They like to have me here," she thought, "almost as much as if I was Prudy."

Horace enjoyed the distinction of walking with the handsome Miss Dimple. When they met one of the boys of his acquaintance, he found an opportunity to whisper in his ear,—

"This is our little cousin from Down East. Isn't she a beauty? She can climb a tree as well as you can."

Dotty heard the whisper, and unconsciously tossed her head a little. She could not but conclude that she was becoming a personage of some consequence.

"I'm a beauty; and now I'm growing pleasant, too. I don't have any temper, and haven't had any for a great while."

Dotty did not reflect that there had been no occasion for anger. If one cannot be amiable when one is visiting, and is treated with every possible attention, then one must be ill-natured indeed! Dotty deceived herself. The lion was still there; he was curled up, and out of sight in his den.

They passed several lager-beer saloons and candy shops; saw Dutchmen smoking meerschaums under broad awnings; and heard them talking in the guttural German language, as if—so Dotty thought—they had something in their throats which they could not swallow.

After walking a long distance on a level road, and seeing nothing which looked like a hill, they came to the coal mines. Such a dirty spot! There were men standing about with faces as black as night, and out of the blackness gleamed the whites of their eyes like bits of white paper surrounded by pools of ink.

Dotty stood still and gazed.

"Horace," she whispered, "my conscience tells me they are niggroes."

"Then, dear, your conscience has made a mistake; they are white men when they are clean."

Mr. Clifford went up to one of the men, and asked if himself and the little people, might have an inside view of the mine. The man smiled a black and white smile, which Dotty thought was horrible, and said,—

"O, yes, sir; come on."

There was a large platform lying over the top like a trap-door, and through this platform was drawn a large rope. Grace and Cassy both screamed as they stood upon the planks, and caught Mr. Clifford by the arms.

Dotty was not afraid; she liked the excitement. The men said it was as safe as going down cellar, and she believed them.

But she was not exactly prepared for the strange, wild, dizzy sensation in her head when they began to sink down, down into the earth. It was delightful. "It seemed like being swung very high in the air," she said, "only it was just as different, too, as it could be."

The men had live torches in their caps, which startled the dark mine with gleams of light and strange black shadows.

"I don't feel as if I was in this world," cried Dotty, with a sensation of awe, and catching Grace by the arm to make sure she was near some one who had warm flesh and blood. After this emotion had passed, she went around by herself, and explored the mine carefully, telling no one what she was seeking. There was the blackest of coal and the darkest of earth in abundance; but Dotty Dimple did not find a gold ring, nor anything which looked more like it than two blind mules. These poor animals lived in the mines, and hauled coal. They had once possessed as good eyes as mules need ask for; but, living where there was nothing but darkness to be seen, and no sunlight to see it by, pray what did they need of eyesight?

"Cassy," said Grace, "don't you remember, when we were children, we used to say we meant some time to live together and keep house? Suppose we try it here. We might have gas-light, you know, and all our food could be brought down on a dumb waiter."

"Yes," said Cassy, who was very fond of sleep; "and we needn't ever get up in the morning."

"No skeetos," suggested Dotty.

"Men have lived in the earth sometimes," said Horace. "There was St. Dunstan; his cell was hardly large enough to stand in—was it, father? And sometimes he stood in water all night, and sang psalms."

"What was that for, Uncle Edward?"

"He was trying to please God."

"But uncle, I don't believe God liked it."

"The man was, no doubt, insane, dear. But his perseverance in doing what he thought right was something grand. Now suppose, children, we ascend and see what is going on atop of the earth."

"I'm glad we didn't always have to stay in that black hole," said Dotty, catching her breath as they were drawn up.

Then the thought occurred to her that the One who had made the sunlight and the soft green earth was kinder than she had ever supposed.

"Well," said cousin Horace, "now we've done the mine; and this evening, Dotty, you and I will go and sniggle for eels."

Dotty dared not tell any one that she had expected to find gold, and had been disappointed.

Her first act, after reaching Aunt 'Ria's was to look in the little box for her precious pearl. It was gone! No doubt Flyaway had taken it. Dotty mourned over her own carelessness in leaving her treasure where the roguish little one could reach it. Instead of finding gold, she had lost something she supposed was more precious than gold. But she bore up as bravely as possible, and said to Mrs. Clifford,—

"You needn't punish the baby, Aunt 'Ria; she didn't know she was stealing."

Dotty had never seen an eel. Like a coal mine, a pearl, a Guinea pig, a drunken man, and a chegre, she supposed an eel was peculiar to the climate, and could be found nowhere but out West. As it had been described as being "really a fish, but looking more like a snake," she did not expect to be very much charmed with its personal appearance. She wished to catch one, or see one caught, because it would be something to tell Prudy.

There was no moon, and the night was cloudy.

"My son, be sure you take good care of your cousin," said Mrs. Clifford, the last thing.

"So funny!" Dotty thought. "They don't seem to think there's anybody else in this world but just me!"

Horace carried with him some light wood, and, when they reached the river bank, kindled a bright fire.

"We'll make things look friendly and pleasant," said he; "and by and by Mr. Eel will walk along to the fire, and ask if we entertain travellers. 'If so,' says he, 'you may count me in.'"

"How dried up the river looks!" said Dotty.

"That is because the draymen have taken so much water out of it, little cousin. Haven't you seen them going by with barrels?"

"I shouldn't think the mayor'd 'low them to do it, Horace; for some time there won't be any river left."

"It's too bad to impose upon you," said Horace, laughing; "I was only joking." Dotty drew herself up with so much dignity that she nearly fell backward into the fire.

Good-natured Horace repented him of his trifling.

"Look down in the water, Dotty, and see if there is anything there that looks like an eel?"

Dotty did not move.

"Don't go to being vexed, chickie; you're as bright as anybody, after all."

Dotty smiled again.

"There," said Horace, "now we'll begin not to talk. We'll not say a word, and next thing we know, we'll catch that eel."

But he was mistaken. They knew several other things before they knew they had caught an eel. Horace knew it was growing late, and Dotty knew it made her sleepy to sit without speaking.

"Enough of this," cried Horace, breaking the spell of silence at last. "You may talk now as much as you please. I've had my line out two hours. They say 'in mud eel is;' but I don't believe it."

"Nor I either."

But at that very moment an eel bit. Horace drew him in with great satisfaction.

Dotty gave a little start of disgust, but had the presence of mind not to scream at sight of the ugly creature, because she had heard Horace say girls always did scream at eels.

"He will know now I am as bright as anybody; as bright as a boy."

They started for home, well pleased with their evening's work.

"Did you notice," asked Dotty, "how I acted? I never screamed at that eel once."

"You're a lady, Dotty. I don't know but you might be trusted to go trouting. I never dared take Prudy, she is troubled so with palpitation of the tongue."

A proud moment this for Dotty. More discreet than Sister Prudy. Praise could no farther go!

An agreeable surprise awaited her at Aunt Maria's.

"Please accept with my love," said Grace, giving her a tiny box.

Dotty opened the box, and found, enveloped in rose-colored cotton, a beautiful gold ring, dotted with a pearl.

"I was the thief, Cousin Dotty. I hope you will excuse the liberty I took in going to your trunk."

"So it is my own oyster pearl," cried Dotty. "O, I never was so glad in my life."



CHAPTER XII.

"A POST OFFICE LETTER."

The "far-off" feeling rather increased upon Dotty. It seemed to her that she had never before reflected upon the immense distance which lay between her and home. The house might burn up before ever she got back. Prudy might have a lung fever, and mamma the "typo." It was possible for Zip to choke with a bone, and for a thousand other dreadful things to happen. And if Dotty were needed ever so much, she could not reach home without travelling all those miles.

Then, what if one of the conductors should prove to be a "non," and she should never reach home at all, but, instead of that, should be found lying in little pieces under a railroad bridge?

Sister Prudy had never troubled her head with such fancies. The dear God would attend to her, she knew. He cared just as much about her one little self as if she had been the whole United States. But Dotty did not understand how this could be.

"I wish I hadn't come out West at all," thought she. "They're going to take me up to Indi'nap'lis; and there I'll have to stay, p'raps a week; for my father always has such long business! Dear, dear! and I don't know but everybody's dead!"

Just as she had drawn a curtain of gloom over her bright little face, and had buried both her dimples under it, and all her smiles, Uncle Henry came home from his office, looking very roguish.

"Well, little miss, and what do you suppose I've brought you from up town? Put on your thinking-cap, and tell me."

"Bananas? papaws? 'simmons? lemons? Dear me, what is it? Is it to eat or wear? And have you got it in your pocket?"

Uncle Henry, who had had his hand behind him, now held it out with a letter in it—a letter in a white envelope, directed, in clear, elegant writing, to "Miss Alice B. Parlin, care of H.S. Clifford, Esq., Quinn, Indiana."

There could be no mistake about it; the letter was intended for Dotty Dimple, and had travelled all the way by mail. But then that title, Miss, before the name! It was more than probable that the people all along the road had supposed it was intended for a young lady!



When the wonderful thing was given her, her "first post-office letter," she clapped her hands for joy.

"Miss? Miss?" repeated she, as Horace re-read the direction; for she was not learned in the mysteries of writing, and could not read it for herself.

"O, yes. Miss, certainly! If it was to me, it would be Mr."

"Master, you mean," corrected Grace.

"No, Horace, you are not Mr. yet!" said Dotty, confidently; "you've never been married."

The next thing in order was the reading of the letter. Dotty tore it open with a trembling hand. I should like to see another letter that would make a child so happy as that one did! It was written by three different people, and all to the same little girl. Not a line to Uncle Henry or Aunt Maria, or Horace or Grace. All to Dotty's self, as if she were a personage of the first importance.

Mamma began it. How charming to see "My dear little daughter," traced so carefully in printed capitals! Then it was such a satisfaction to be informed, in the sweetest language, that this same "dear little daughter" was sadly missed. Dotty was so glad to be missed!

There was a present waiting for her at home. Mrs. Parlin was not willing to say what it was; but it had been sent by Aunt Madge from the city of New York, and must be something fine.

There were two whole pages of the clear, fair writing, signed at the close, "Your affectionate mother, Mary L. Parlin."

Just as if Dotty didn't know what mother's name was!

Then Susy followed with a short account of Zip, and how he had stuck himself full of burs. (He wasn't choked yet, thought Dotty; and that was a comfort.) Then a longer account of the children's picnic at Deering's Oaks.

Dotty sighed, and felt that fate had been rather cruel in depriving her of that picnic.

"But I have had something better than that," said she, brightening; "I've walked on an Ensmallment, and I have picked pecans."

But the best was to come. It was from Prudy.

"MY DEAR LITTLE DARLING SISTER: I want to see you more than tongue can tell. Norah let Susy bake some biscuits last night, because there wasn't anybody at home but mother, and grandma, and Susy, and Norah, and me. But they were as tough as sew leather. Susy forgot the creamor tartar, and soda, and salt. She wasn't to blame.

"I'm so lonesome I can't wait to see my darling sister.

"Now I have some news to tell:—

"Mother is going to be married!

"You will think that is funny; but she is going to be married to the same husband she was before.

"It will be a Crystal Wedding, because it is fifteen years.

"She invites you and father to come home to it; she couldn't have it without father.

"You are going to be the bridesmaid! How queer! Mamma didn't think, the first time she was married, that ever it would be you that would be her bridesmaid!

"From your dear, dear

"PRUDY."

"P.S. There will be wedding cake."

"P.S. No. 2. Johnny Eastman is going to be bridegroom, to stand up, if he doesn't do anything naughty before. P.P."

The look of "mouldy melancholy" disappeared from Dotty's face entirely.

"A wedding! A crystal wedding! What can that be? I didn't know my father and mother would ever be married any more. Aunt 'Ria, were you and Uncle Henry ever married any more?"

"This is a sort of make-believe wedding," replied Mrs. Clifford; "that is all. And since you are to be bridesmaid, Dotty, I wonder if I cannot find a pair of white slippers for you. I remember Grace had a pair some years ago, which she has never worn."



The slippers were produced, and fitted perfectly. Dotty danced about, embraced her auntie, made a great many wild speeches, and finally found herself in her uncle's lap, kissing him and laughing aloud.

"I suppose now," said Mr. Clifford, "we cannot keep you much longer and I am sorry, for it is very pleasant to have our little cousin here to talk with us."

"I don't wan't um go 'way, I don't want um go 'way," spoke up little Katie.

"But I must go to meet my papa," returned Dotty, with a business air. "I have to be at home to get ready for the wedding."

It was very pleasant to know people liked her to stay. She ran into the kitchen, and said to Katinka,—

"O, Katinka, my papa and mamma are going to be married again! Do you know I've got to start day after to-morrow?"

"So?" replied Katinka, not very much impressed. "I'm going to a party. I must up stairs go, and make my hairs and shut my dress. Gute Nacht."

"I'm only going to stay one more day; aren't you sorry?" said Dotty to broken-nosed Phebe, who came in from the pantry with a long face.

"Why, I reckoned you was going to-morrow," was Phebe's cool reply, rolling the whites of her eyes to hide a twinkle of fun. She knew Dotty expected her to say, "I am sorry;" but, though she really was sorry, she would not confess it just then, because she was an inveterate tease.

Dotty felt a little chilled. She could not look into the future and see the tomato pincushion Phebe was to give her, with the assurance that "she liked her a heap; she was a right smart child, and not a bit stuck up."

The day ended with Dotty's dear, dear letter under her pillow. She was going to be very happy by and by; but just now she thought she was so homesick that she should never go to sleep. She longed to see Prudy, and hear her say, "O, you darling sister!"

Then that wedding! Those white slippers!

How they did all miss her at home! Such dear friends as she had, and such beautiful things as were going to happen!

"But they are so good to me here! I've behaved so well they love me dearly. If I go home, I can't stay here and have good times. I should be happy if I was at my mother's house and out West too! Every time I'm glad, then there's something else to make me sorry."

So, between a smile and a tear, Dotty Dimple passed into the beautiful land of dreams; and the moon shone on a little face with a frown between the eyes and a dimple dancing in each cheek.

What happened to her on her way home and afterward will be told in the story of Dotty Dimple at Play.



"The authoress of THE LITTLE PRUDY STORIES would be elected Aunty-laureate if the children had an opportunity, for the wonderful books she writes for their amusement. She is the Dickens of the nursery, and we do not hesitate to say develops the rarest sort of genius in the specialty of depicting smart little children."—Hartford Post.

LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS, BOSTON.

COPYRIGHT, 1834, BY LEE & SHEPARD.

* * * * *



The children will not be left without healthful entertainment and kindly instruction so long as SOPHIE MAY (Miss Rebecca S. Clarke) lives and wields her graceful pen in their behalf. MISS CLARKE has made a close and loving study of childhood, and she is almost idolized by the crowd of 'nephews and nieces' who claim her as aunt. Nothing to us can ever be quite so delightfully charming as were the 'Dotty Dimple' and the 'Little Prudy' books to our youthful imaginations, but we have no doubt the little folks of to-day will find the story of 'Flaxie Frizzle' and her young friends just as fascinating. There is a sprightliness about all of MISS CLARKE'S books that attracts the young, and their purity, their absolute cleanliness, renders them invaluable in the eyes of parents and all who are interested in the welfare of children."—Morning Star.

"Genius comes in with 'Little Prudy.' Compared with her, all other book-children are cold creations of literature; she alone is the real thing. All the quaintness of children, its originality, its tenderness and its teasing, is infinite uncommon drollery, the serious earnestness of its fun, the fun of its seriousness, the naturalness of its plays, and the delicious oddity of its progress, all these united for dear Little Prudy to embody them."—North American Review.



SPECIMEN CUT TO "LITTLE PRUDY'S FLYAWAY SERIES."



"'My, what a fascinating creature,' said the Man in the Moon, making an eye-glass with his thumb and fore-finger, and gazing at the lady boarder. 'Are you a widow woman?'"

* * * * *

LITTLE GRANDMOTHER.

"Grandmother Parlen when a little girl is the subject. Of course that was ever so long ago, when there were no lucifer matches, and steel and tinder were used to light fires; when soda and saleratus had never been heard of, but people made their pearl ash by soaking burnt crackers in water; when the dressmaker and the tailor and the shoemaker went from house to house twice a year to make the dresses and coats of the family."—Transcript.

* * * * *

LITTLE GRANDFATHER.

"The story of Grandfather Parlen's little boy life, of the days of knee breeches and cocked hats, full of odd incidents, queer and quaint sayings, and the customs of 'ye olden time.' These stories of SOPHIE MAY'S are so charmingly written that older folks may well amuse themselves by reading them. The same warm sympathy with childhood, the earnest naturalness, the novel charm of the preceding volumes will be found in this."—Christian Messenger.

* * * * *

MISS THISTLEDOWN.

"One of the queerest of the Prudy family. Read the chapter heads and you will see just how much fun there must be in it. 'Fly's Heart,' 'Taking a Nap,' 'Going to the Fair,' 'The Dimple Dot,' 'The Hole in the Home,' 'The Little Bachelor,' 'Fly's Bluebeard,' 'Playing Mamma,' 'Butter Spots,' 'Polly's Secret,' 'The Snow Man,' 'The Owl and the Humming-bird,' 'Tales of Hunting Deer,' and 'The Parlen Patchwork.'"

* * * * *

ILLUSTRATION TO "LITTLE PRUDY'S FLYAWAY SERIES"



"She played in the old garret, with Dr. Moses to attend her dolls when they were sick."

* * * * *



FLAXIE FRIZZLE. TWIN COUSINS. DOCTOR PAPA. FLAXIE'S KITTYLEEN. LITTLE PITCHERS. FLAXIE GROWING UP. * * * * *

ILLUSTRATION TO "FLAXIE FRIZZLE SERIES."



"The next day it rained so hard 'the water couldn't catch its breath' but the Little Pitchers were eager to go to school."

* * * * *

FLAXIE FRIZZLE.

"FLAXIE FRIZZLE is the successor of the Dotty Dimple, Little Prudy, Flyaway, and the other charming child creations of that inimitable writer for children, SOPHIE MAY. There never was a healthy, fun-loving child born into this world that, at one stage of another of its growth, wouldn't be entertained with SOPHIE MAY'S books. For that matter, it is not safe for older folks to look into them, unless they intend to read them through. FLAXIE FRIZZLE will be found as bright and pleasant reading as the others."—Boston Journal.

* * * * *

FLAXIE'S DOCTOR PAPA

"SOPHIE MAY understands children. Her books are not books about them merely. She seems to know precisely how they feel, and she sets them before us, living and breathing in her pages. Flaxie Frizzle is a darling, and her sisters, brothers, and cousins are just the sort of little folks with whom careful mothers would like their boys and girls to associate. The story is a bright, breezy, wholesome narrative, and it is full of mirth and gayety, while its moral teaching is excellent."—Sunday School Times.

* * * * *

FLAXIE'S LITTLE PITCHERS

"Little Flaxie will secure a warm place in the hearts of all at once. Here is her little picture. Her name was Mary Gray, but they called her Flaxie Frizzle, because she had light curly hair that frizzled; and she had a curly nose,—that is, her nose curled up at the end a wee bit, just enough to make it look cunning. Her cheeks were rosy red, 'and she was so fat that when Mr. Snow, the postmaster, saw her, he said, "How d'ye do, Mother Bunch?"'"—Boston Home Journal.

* * * * *

SPECIMEN OF CUT TO "FLAXIE FRIZZLE SERIES."



"By and by the colts came to the kitchen window, which was open, and put in their noses to ask for something to eat. Flaxie gave them pieces of bread."

* * * * *

FLAXIE'S TWIN COUSINS.

"Another of those sweet, natural child-stories in which the heroine does and says just such things as actual, live, flesh children do, is the one before us. And what is still better, each incident points a moral. The Illustrations are a great addition to the delight of the youthful reader. It is just such beautiful books as this which bring to our minds, in severe contrast, the youth's literature of our early days—the good little boy who died young and the bad little boy who went fishing on Sunday and died in prison, etc., etc., to the end of the threadbare, improbable chapter."—Rural New Yorker.

* * * * *

FLAXIE'S KITTYLEEN.

"KITTYLEEN—one of the Flaxie Frizzle series—is a genuinely helpful as well as delightfully entertaining story: The nine-year-old Flaxie is worried, beloved, and disciplined by a bewitching three-year-old tormenter, whose accomplished mother allows her to prey upon the neighbors. 'Everybody felt the care of Mrs. Garland's children. There were six of them, and their mother was always painting china. She did it beautifully, with graceful vines trailing over it, and golden butterflies ready to alight on sprays of lovely flowers. Sometimes the neighbors thought it would be a fine thing if she would keep her little ones at home rather more; but, if she had done that, she could not have painted china.'"—Chicago Tribune.

* * * * *

FLAXIE GROWING UP.

"No more charming stories for the little ones were ever written than those comprised in the three series which have for several years past been from time to time added to juvenile literature by SOPHIE MAY. They have received the unqualified praise of many of the most practical scholars of New England for their charming simplicity and purity of sentiment. The delightful story shows the gradual improvement of dear little Flaxie's character under the various disciplines of child-life and the sweet influence of a good and happy home. The illustrations are charming pictures."—Home Journal.

* * * * *

ILLUSTRATION TO "FLAXIE GROWING UP."



"Laughing was the very mainspring of life at Camp Comfort; but the girls had never laughed yet as they did now, to see Buttons in full swing preparing to cook a pie."

* * * * *



PENN SHIRLEY'S STORIES

FOR THE LITTLE ONES

Miss Penn Shirley is a very graceful interpreter of child-life. She thoroughly understands how to reach out to the tender chord of the little one's feelings, and to interest her in the noble life of her young companions. Her stories are full of bright lessons, but they do not take on the character of moralizing sermons. Her keen observation and ready sympathy teach her how to deal with the little ones in helping them to understand the lessons of life. Her stories are simple and unaffected.—Boston Herald.



THE LITTLE MISS WEEZY SERIES

Three volumes Illustrated Boxed, each 75 cents

LITTLE MISS WEEZY

One of the freshest and most delightful, because the most natural of the stories of the year for children, is "Little Miss Weezy," by Penn Shirley. It relates the oddities, the mischief, the adventures, and the misadventures of a tiny two-year-old maiden, full of life and spirit, and capable of the most unexpected freaks and pranks. The book is full of humor, and is written with a delicate sympathy with the feelings of children, which will make it pleasing to children and parents alike. Really good child literature is not over-plenty, despite the multitude of books that come daily from the press; and it is pleasing to welcome a new author whose first volume, like this one of Penn Shirley, adds promise of future good work to actual present merit.—Boston Courier.

* * * * *

SPECIMEN ILLUSTRATION FROM "LITTLE MISS WEEZY."



Copyright, 1886, by LEE & SHEPARD.

* * * * *

LITTLE MISS WEEZY'S BROTHER

This is a good story for young children, bringing in the same characters as "Little Miss Weezy" of last year, and continuing the history of a very natural and wide-awake family of children. The doings and the various "scrapes" of Kirke, the brother, form a prominent feature of the books, and are such as we may see any day in the school or home life of a well-cared-for and good-intentioned little boy. There are several quite pleasing full-page illustrations.—The Dial.

We should like to see the person who thinks it "easy enough to write for children," attempt a book like the "Miss Weezy" stories. Excepting Sophie May's childish classics, we don't know of anything published as bright as the sayings and doings of the little Louise and her friends. Their pranks and capers are no more like Dotty Dimple's than those of one bright child are like another's, but they are just as "cute" as those of the little folks that play in your yard or around your neighbor's doorsteps.—Journal of Education.

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LITTLE MISS WEEZY'S SISTER

"It is one of the best of the series, and will please every child who reads it. It is brought out just at the holiday time, and is brimful of good things. Every character in it is true to nature and the doings of a bright lot of children, in which Miss Mary Rowe figures conspicuously, will entertain grown folks as well as little ones."

It is a thoroughly clever and delightful story of child life, gracefully told, and charming in its blending of humor and pathos. The children in the book are real children, and the pretty plot through which they move is fully in harmony with the characters. The young ones will find it a storehouse of pleasant things pleasantly related, and a book that will appeal at once to their sentiments and sympathies.—Boston Gazette.

A book that will hold the place of honor on the nursery bookshelf until it falls to pieces from such handling is "Little Miss Weezy's Sister," a simple, yet absorbing story of children who are interesting because they are so real. It is doing scant justice to say for the author, Penn Shirley, that the annals of child-life have seldom been traced with more loving care.—Boston Times.

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SPECIMEN ILLUSTRATION FROM "LITTLE MISS WEEZY'S SISTER."



Copyright, 1830, by Lee and Shepard.

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SOPHIE MAY'S COMPLETE WORKS.



Drone's Honey. A Novel. $1.50.

THE QUINNEBASSET SERIES.

6 Volumes. Illustrated. Per Vol. $1.50.

The Doctor's Daughter. Our Helen. The Asbury twins. Quinnebasset Girls. Janet; a Poor Heiress.

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LITTLE PRUDY STORIES.

6 Volumes. Illustrated. Per Vol. 75 cts.

Little Prudy. Little Prudy's Cousin Grace. Little Prudy's Sister Susie. Little Prudy's Story Book. Little Prudy's Captain Horace. Little Prudy's Dotty Dimple.

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DOTTY DIMPLE SERIES.

6 Volumes. Illustrated. Per Vol. 75 cts.

Dotty Dimple at Her Grandmother's. Dotty Dimple at Home. Dotty Dimple Out West. Dotty Dimple at Play. Dotty Dimple at School. Dotty Dimple's Flyaway.

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LITTLE PRUDY FLYAWAY SERIES

6 Volumes. Illustrated. Per Vol. 75 cts.

Little Folks Astray. Aunt Madge's Story. Little Grandfather. Prudy Keeping House. Little Grandmother. Miss Thistledown.

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FLAXIE FRIZZLE STORIES

6 Volumes. Illustrated. Per Vol. 75 cts.

Flaxie Frizzle. Little Pitchers. Flaxie's Kittyleen. Doctor Papa. Twin Cousins. Flaxie Growing Up.

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LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS, BOSTON.

THE END