echoes and wondered.

"Little boy! little boy!" they called, "why are you sleeping? Why are you
sleeping, little boy?"

Call on, dear voices! but the little boy will never hear. The dimpled
hands that caressed you are indeed folded upon his breast; the lips that
kissed your honest faces are sealed; the baby voice that sang your
playtime songs with you is hushed, and all about him are the fragrance and
the beauty of flowers. Call on, O honest friends! but he shall never hear
your calling; for, as if he were aweary of the love and play and sunshine
that were all he knew of earth, our darling is asleep forever.

1885.




+THE OLD MAN+




THE OLD MAN


I called him the Old Man, but he wuzn't an old man; he wuz a little
boy--our fust one; 'nd his gran'ma, who'd had a heap of experience in sich
matters, allowed that he wuz for looks as likely a child as she'd ever
clapped eyes on. Bein' our fust, we sot our hearts on him, and Lizzie