THE BOOK OF BETTY BARBER.
“There, my dear,” she said, “take warning. You see what will happen to you.”
“She is nearly always cross,” said Jill, sighing. ‘I must talk to her and try to soothe her,” and Jill followed Bopeep up the road.
“I was cross, too, just now,” said Lucy. “I can’t bear to think the children are getting tired of me. What am I to do? Can’t you help me?” She held out her hands beseechingly to Mary.
“It seems to me,” said Mary, “that you have too much of the ‘Good-night, good-night,’ business. Couldn’t you cut outsome of that?”
“I might, of course,” said Lucy doubtfully. ‘Anything would be better than leaving out my dear animals, or birds, or flowers.”
“Caw, caw, caw,” called the Rooks.
“Moo, moo,” said the Oxen.
And the Horses neighed.
“I shouldn’t be very sorry to leave out the Violets,” said Lucy.
“Then, really, I don’t see any reason why you should not be able to do it,” said Mary.
“Beware, beware! In my youth” called a voice.
The two girls looked up quickly.
A stout old gentleman was running up the road, calling as he ran.
“Who is it?” whispered Lucy.
“Hush!” said Mary. “Wait a minute, you will see. He will tell us about his youth, and ask us the way to the Land of Poetry.”
The old gentleman was stopping at the gate.
“Good afternoon,” he said, “I am sorry to trouble you, but do you happen to know if I am in Rhyme Land? I never can find out where I am. I used to live always in the beautiful Land of Poetry. Then one day I found myself in Nonsense Land, and since then I cannot find my way back home.”
