"Let me take your foot out."

Billy's foot was about as fat as a bear's in July, and it came hard. He
shook his head. His tongue stuck to his mouth like a clam to his shell,
and moved not. Neither could he step.

"I will take you on my back, Billy!" said Sammy.

And that's the way they went home. Billy in his dress generally looked
like a seal standing on his hind flippers, and Sammy resembled one
also--nevertheless it was a pleasant sight.




NANNETTE'S LIVE BABY.


A good many years ago, in the city of Philadelphia, lived a little girl,
named Nannette.

One summer afternoon her mother went to pay a short visit to her aunt,
who lived near by, and gave her little girl permission to amuse herself
on the front door-steps until her return. So Nannette, in a clean pink
frock and white apron, playing and chatting with her big, wax "Didy,"
which was her doll's name, formed a pretty picture to the passers-by,
some of whom walked slowly, in order to hear the child's talk to her
doll.