The Seven Little Sisters Who Live on the Round Ball That Floats in the Air | Page 7

you wear your coral; for the sun shines very warmly there,
and she needs no clothes to keep her from the cold.
Her hair is straight and black, hanging softly down each side of her
small brown face; nothing at all like Bell's golden curls, or Marnie's
sunny brown ones.
Would you like to know how she lives among the flowers and the
birds?
She rolls in the long soft grass, where the gold-colored snakes are at
play; she watches the young monkeys chattering and swinging among
the trees, hung by the tail; she chases the splendid green parrots that fly
among the trees; and she drinks the sweet milk of the cocoanut from a
round cup made of its shell.
When night comes, the mother takes her baby and tosses her up into the
little swinging bed in the tree, which her father made for her from the
twisting vine that climbs among the branches. And the wind blows and
rocks the little bed; and the mother sits at the foot of the tree singing a
mild sweet song, and this brown baby falls asleep. Then the stars come
out and peep through the leaves at her. The birds, too, are all asleep in
the tree; the mother-bird spreading her wings over the young ones in
the nest, and the father-bird sitting on a twig close by with his head
under his wing. Even the chattering monkey has curled himself up for
the night.
Soon the large round moon comes up. She, too, must look into the
swinging bed, and shine upon the closed eyes of the little brown baby.
She is very gentle, and sends her soft light among the branches and
thick green leaves, kissing tenderly the small brown feet, and the crest
on the head of the mother-bird, who opens one eye and looks quickly
about to see if any harm is coming to the young ones. The bright little
stars, too, twinkle down through the shadows to bless the sleeping child.
All this while the wind blows and rocks the little bed, singing also a
low song through the trees; for the brown mother has fallen asleep
herself, and left the night-wind to take care of her baby.
So the night moves on, until, all at once, the rosy dawn breaks over the
earth; the birds lift up their heads, and sing and sing; the great round

sun springs up, and, shining into the tree, lifts the shut lids of the brown
baby's eyes. She rolls over and falls into her mother's arms, who dips
her into the pretty running brook for a bath, and rolls her in the grass to
dry, and then she may play among the birds and flowers all day long;
for they are like merry brothers and sisters to the happy child, and she
plays with them on the bosom of the round earth, which seems to love
them all like a mother.
This is the little brown baby. Do you love her? Do you think you would
know her if you should meet her some day?
A funny little brown sister. Are all of them brown?
We will see, for here comes Agoonack and her sledge.

AGOONACK, THE ESQUIMAU SISTER.
What is this odd-looking mound of stone? It looks like the great brick
oven that used to be in our old kitchen, where, when I was a little girl, I
saw the fine large loaves of bread and the pies and puddings pushed
carefully in with a long, flat shovel, or drawn out with the same when
the heat had browned them nicely.
Is this an oven standing out here alone in the snow?
You will laugh when I tell you that it is not an oven, but a house; and
here lives little Agoonack.
Do you see that low opening, close to the ground? That is the door; but
one must creep on hands and knees to enter. There is another smaller
hole above the door: it is the window. It has no glass, as ours do; only a
thin covering of something which Agoonack's father took from the
inside of a seal, and her mother stretched over the window-hole, to
keep out the cold and to let in a little light.
Here lives our little girl; not as the brown baby does, among the trees
and the flowers, but far up in the cold countries amid snow and ice.
If we look off now, over the ice, we shall see a funny little clumsy
thing, running along as fast as its short, stout legs will permit, trying to
keep up with its mother. You will hardly know it to be a little girl, but
might rather call it a white bear's cub, it is so oddly dressed