"Here I am all safe, sitting in a pleasant room, with the window opened—listening to the singing of the pretty birds, and looking at three little black picaninnies over the way, playing with a small white dog. They throw a little stick as far as ever they can, and then the little dog rushes after it, in such a hurry, that you would think he was going to leave his tail behind him; but he don't, because it is fastened on so very tight. The next minute he trots back with the stick in his mouth, and hands it with his mouth, you know, very politely to the children, while they jump up and down, and squeal, because they are so pleased.

"Now they have all scrambled heels over head into the yard, and shut the dog's tail in the gate; but he pulled it through, and so I can't see them any more.

"I hope the doll baby has been good, and the little heels on the boots have behaved themselves. Good-bye, my darling. Pray to God every night and morning for your loving

Bella smiled, and patted one little hand with the other, and a sweet loving expression came into her eyes as the last words of the letter was read to her, and she said: "Darling mamma. I love her. I want to go to Heaven with her."

The dear little child had been told that there would be no pain or crying in Heaven, and so she knew it must be a very happy place.

When her papa came home, Bella ran up to him with her letter, exclaiming: "Oh papa, see! see the letter mamma writed to me!"

"Is it possible! Why, what a big woman you are getting to be!" and he took her upon his knee, and read the letter—out loud of course, for Bella could have heard it fifty times with delight.

"Ah! that is a beautiful letter," said her papa; "you must answer it, you know."

"Oh yes, papa; and I want to, 'ight away now."

"Oh! do you? Well, here is a sheet of paper, and pen and ink. Put out your tongue; dear me, how long it is! it looks in very good talking order. Now you talk, and I'll write, and see if we won't have a letter, for which mamma will give two cents, and all her old shoes, to the postman. Come! you must begin first."

Then Bella put her little curly head one side, and stared up at a corner of the ceiling. She was thinking, you see. Presently she put her finger in her mouth, as if to pull the words out—then she looked at her father. Her father smiled, which made her take her finger out of her mouth, and shut her eyes—for she felt funny—and a little bashful. You see this was a very grave business—writing a letter that her mamma would have to pay two cents for—very serious business indeed.

All at once her eyes rested on her dolly, fast asleep in her pretty bed; and then the words came right out—"Oh, dear mamma! I love my little baby, and the heels, and the bedstead, and—and—oh, papa! I love mamma the mostest. I gave my baby a piece of apple pie for her dinner. It was made of paper, just for fun, you know; not really apple pie. She hates pepper, it makes her tongue bite—mine too. She wants you to come home s—o bad—the bedstead wants you to come home, and I want the postman to bring me a letter, and you too—and—and—I don't know any more this day."

"That is a beautiful letter," said her father; "now sign your name just here—and I will seal it up, and direct it on the outside, and send it to the post office."

So Bella made such a funny little scratch with the pen for her name, that it looked as if a fly had turned round and round, with ink on its legs, and then the letter went off on its travels.

The next day her cousin Stanny came to spend the day with Bella. Stanny was a dear little fellow, with light hair, and great blue eyes, and cheeks as fat as butter—they were so fat that the dimples had hard work to make holes in them.

Bella loved Stanny, and she ran to kiss him, and show him her new baby, and the other things; and what do you think Stanny did when he saw the baby in the bed? Why, he tilted up the bedstead, and out fell dolly flat on her nose! That was just like a boy—they will never do to be mothers, like little girls—because they play so roughly.

"Oh Stanny," cried Bella, picking up the dolly tenderly, "she's most killded."

"Why don't she cry then?" said Stanny.

"'Cause she isn't a cry baby," said Bella.

"I mean to punch her and make her cry," said Stanny.

So he doubled up his fist and gave the dolly a great punch in the stomach—but the dear little thing just stared at him without winking, and never said a word. You see the truth was that she had no crying place made inside of her, as some of the babies have—and I for one think it was quite an improvement, for who wants to hear a baby squealing like a pig—you don't, do you? you little kitten!

Bella did not like to have her baby treated in this manner—and it was very fortunate that their grandmamma came in the room just then, with two large slices of bread, with the most delightful currant jelly spread all over them, and gave one to each of the children, or perhaps Bella might have turned into a cry-baby—and that would have made you and me very sorry.

Pretty soon a lady came in—whom the children called Cousin Caroline, and said: "Oh! here is Stanny; why, where did you come from, little boy?"

"I come from Brooklyn. What you got your hat on for, Cousin Caroline? Say."

"Because I am going to see old Mrs. Badger, up the street."

"Are you? Which do you like best, Mrs. Badger, up the street, or grandmamma?"

"Why, Stanny! I like grandmamma a great deal the best."

"But, why for?" said Stanny.

"Why, because she is my aunt," said Cousin Caroline.

"Your aunt!" cried Stanny, in a tone of severe reproof. "Oh, Cousin Caroline, aren't you ashamed to call my grandma an ant! a little ugly black thing, crawling on the ground. She isn't an ant, now! she's a big grandma."

You may be sure that Cousin Caroline and grandma laughed at this long speech—and then Stanny and Bella laughed—and they all thought it was a very funny idea—to make a little black ant out of a big grandma.

The rest of the day Bella played she was the mother and Stanny the grandfather; and except he wanted to whip poor dolly very often, because he said she was naughty, they got along pretty well; and upon the whole they both had a very pleasant day.