Who is this diligent little girl, I wonder? See how she is polishing the table! This is little Mary Tom, the gardener's daughter; and, as her mother is helping in the garden, she is keeping house with her sister Jane. Jane is just setting out to the village to buy something nice for her father's tea; and she is telling Mary to be careful, and not scrub the paint off,—as if Mary would be so foolish!
Fire! fire!" How could the old school-master expect to get his pupils to come to their lessons after hearing that cry! Why, just look! there's old Nanny, who keeps the apple-stall at the corner, looking quite bewildered, and asking the boys to tell her what is the matter. Instead of being angry, I think the school-master had better put on his hat and set off too after his pupils;—what do you think?
Hold hard! hold hard!" Don't you see Tom and Dick have gone down, and Harry is about to follow? Who would mind a tumble on such lovely ice? Oh, look there!—a gentleman has lost his balance, and he is going after his hat, I fear, crash down on the ice. It will be worse for him than for the boys.
What is this you are looking at so earnestly,
Miss Eliza? Ah, yes, the figure under the glass shade. You do well to look at it. It is very pretty indeed. Only be careful Don't let it slip from the table. See how near it is to the edge.
Trappers out hunting. This is in the far west of North America, and it is a very cold place. It is a pity the snow is so deep that it has covered the hunters' feet; for you would have got a surprise had you seen their snow-shoes, which are very curious and very large.
Here is a kind old grandmamma taking a pleasant stroll out in the woods. The girls have been filling their baskets with wild-flowers, and the boys have been playing at hounds and hares. They are now going to rest, and listen to some of grandmamma's old stories.
Here is a little boy setting out on his apprenticeship. His dog wants to go with him, but he is obliged to tell him that he must not go any further. The dog, which has been his faithful companion, is not able to understand that, though he is a clever dog. But he knows that there is something wrong, and at last he hears the words, "Go home, sir."
Yes, and we too must part, my dear. And here is Old Mother Hubbard for the last picture in my Scrap-Book; and for me she is making her very best courtesy for your patience; and the dog is making his most elegant bow, though I wish he had not been so rude as to turn his back when saying to you "Farewell."