His long curls were blacker than the raven, and while holding him there
in my arms, I could think of nothing but a beautiful cherub with folded
wings, astray from heaven. After smoothing down his curls awhile, and
kissing him many times, I said to him,--

"Dear Jakey, pray where did you come from, and who brought you here?"

Then dropping both his little hands in mine, he said,--

"I come fon Germany. My moder, ce bring me. I come mit her, and mit ze
baby. Ven I come in ze America, ze flowers bees in ze garden, and ze
birds bees in ze trees, and ze opples bees on ze trees, and ze
pot-a-toes bees in ze ground. Zen ze vinds blow and ze birds go avay,
and ze opples bees in ze cellar, and ze pot-a-toes bees in ze cellar.
Zen ze vinds blow too hard and ze snow bees on ze ground, and it bees
cold vinter. Zen long time ze snow go avay, and ze leaves come on ze
trees, and ze birds come back again, and it bees varm; so long I bees in
ze America."

"And so you have been here one year? But pray, dear, where is your
father? Is he dead?"

"No, he bees not dead. He bees in Germany, mit Jeem and mit Fred and mit
my granfader."

"But, Jakey, why did your mother come away here to America, and leave
your father away there in Germany?"

I felt his little hands stir in mine; but after a moment he drew a
little sigh and said,--