Table of

seated in a low chair, with Tot in her arms; Dumps was rocking her doll back and forth, and Diddie was si

," said the old woman, scratching her head; "I reckon I'll tell yer 'bout de wushin'-stone, ain't neber told yer dat yit. I know yer've maybe hearn on it, leastways Milly has; but den she mayn't have hearn de straight on it, fur 'ta

tory beyond a doubt, Mammy hugg

things, whar all de little chil'en usen ter go and play, an' in dis gyarden de grass wuz allers green, de

die, contemptuously. "Why, Mammy, t

ound eyes stretched to their utmost; "I done seed 'em myse

I'm de one w'at's 'struck'n dese chil'en, done strucked dey mother fuss; I'll tell 'em w'at's becomin'

eb'y mornin' an' tech up de grass an' blossoms an' keep 'em fresh, fur she loved ter see chil'en happy, an' w'en dey rolled ober on de grass, an' strung de blossoms, an' waded up an' down de streams, an' peeped roun' de trees, Cheery

er herse'f, 'I ain't gwine ter be like dat foolish Cheery, dancin' an' laughin' foreber, caze she thinks sich things ez flowers an' grass kin make folks happy; but I'm gwine ter do er rael good ter eb'ybody;' so she laid er spe

An' she tol' de little birds dat stay in de tree de stone wuz under, when anybody sot on de stone dey mus' sing,' I wush I had,' an' 'I wush I wuz,' so as ter min 'em bout'n de wushin'-stone. Well, 'twan't long fo' de gyarden wuz plum crowded wid folks come ter wush on de stone, an' hit wuz er growin' bigger an' bigger all de time, an'

fren's, an' sense, an' happiness, an' 'ligion; an' 'twould all come true jes like dey wush fur. Den de little birds

had;' but all de time 'I wush I wuz,' 'I wush I had.' At last, one day dar come inter de gyarden er po' little cripple gal, who lived 'way off in er ole tumble

ed in the story, while tears gathered in Dumps's blue eyes; and even Diddie

ittle while ter enjoy de birds, an' de fresh air, an' flowers, same as de quality folks; fur she was mos' all de time sick, an' dis wuz jes de same as Christmus ter her. She hobbled erlong on her crutchers,

an' what nice little birds! I wush dat po' ole sick man

wush all de po' chil'en could come an' spen' de day here

sung de birds in er flutter, ho

aid de little gal, 'I wush dey could all git well, an strong,

n, to be sho'! Dey sot upon de bery topes' bra

had,' 'I

one wush fur blessin's fur tudder folks, de spell was loosen', an' de stone all drawed up ter a littl

exclaimed

s like I ben tellin

l? did she ever get well an' strong, a

thu de hebenly gates, an' soon as eber he sot her down, an' her foot totch dem golden streets, de lameness, an' sickness, an' po'ness all come right; an' her fader, an' her mudder, an' her ni