Baby Pitchers Trials | Page 3

"Too bad!" said Flora.
"But when the poor queen was quite discouraged the little princess
thought that she would try; and what her poor mamma--I mean the
queen--had failed to do, she did. The little princess made the sunshine."
"Oh, goody!" exclaimed Flora, clapping her hands. "How did she do
it?"
"Why," said mamma, smiling, and putting her arm round the little girl's
neck, "she brought her footstool to the queen's side and told the queen a
story."
"Just like me!"
"Yes, dear. And the queen was very happy because the palace was no
longer dark and gloomy; it was bright with the sunshine her little girl
had made."
"The princess, you mean."
"The princess was a little girl."
"And was the queen a lady?"
"The queen was the little girl's mamma."
"Oh, I know!" said Flora, jumping about in high glee, "I am the little
princess and you are the queen, and this is the palace."
"Yes," said mamma.

"And papa is the king, and sister is the tall princess."
"Yes, dear."
"And I hope," she added, earnestly, "that the princess will never forget
that she knows how to make sunshine."
"The queen hopes so too," said mamma.
CHAPTER II.
FLORA WAITS FOR THE SUN TO DRINK UP THE WATER.
The next morning there was sunshine everywhere; inside of the palace
and out. The long storm was over. Flora waited in the porch for the sun
to drink up the moisture from the soaked ground, that she might run
about and enjoy her freedom. She had been housed so long--three
whole days! And now the grass was springing up all around, and the
swelling buds were ready to burst forth into leaves. And the birds were
singing gaily as if they too were glad to come out and play.
Flora watched them as they hopped from twig to twig, and wished she
could borrow their brown wings, for she wanted to fly away over the
tops of the houses and sing with them a joyful song. But she could not
borrow the brown wings, and she could not turn herself into a bird. So
she sat down on the upper step which the sun had dried, and tried to
feel satisfied with the nimble feet and curious fingers that God had
given to her instead of wings and claws.
The steam was rising from the ground, and the bright drops sparkled on
the tender blades of grass. When the last bright drop had disappeared,
and there was no longer any steam, she was at liberty to go where she
pleased. She felt very comfortable in her thick jacket and leather boots,
for it was as yet too early in the season to lay them by, but if she could
have had her own way, she would have welcomed the pleasant morning
in ankle-ties and a shaker.
"Mamma knows best," she whispered to Dinah, the black baby, with

blue buttons for eyes and ravelled-out yarn for hair. "Mamma knows
best, and I hope you are 'vinced of it."
The sun had gone away from the step, and Flora was somewhat chilly,
so she pinned the shawl tightly about Dinah and walked up and down
the porch. "You don't know everything," she said, sharply, "because
you ain't old enough. And I ain't. Did you think I was? No. I will tell
you who is. Mamma is. She is ever so old, and she knows all there is in
the world. When she tells me to put on my warm jacket, I don't cry. But
you do, and you ought to be ashamed of it. Will you do it without
crying next time? Eh?" She gave the baby a little shake and went on
with her lecture. "Naughty children say 'no' when mamma says 'yes.'
Good ones don't. Good ones say just as mamma says. And naughty
children tell stories. I don't tell stories and good children don't. If you
say you don't cry when you do cry, that's a story. And if you say you do
cry when you don't cry, that's a story. It is a story both ways, and both
ways are wicked. Mamma says so, and she knows. When you are as old
as mamma, you will know too. And I will. So don't ask any more
questions about it."
Dinah had come out to take the air and be company for Flora. To be
sure, Amy, the tall princess spoken of in the last chapter, was sitting at
the window that opened on to the porch; but then she was busy. She
could not be company for anybody, for she was studying her home
lesson. Flora pitied her very much, for she looked very sober and kept
repeating to herself words that Flora could not understand. It was a