This page has been validated.
WITHOUT PICTURES.
97
TWENTY-FIRST EVENING.
I saw a little girl weeping,—said the Moon,—she wept because of the wickedness of the world. She had had a present made her of the most beautiful doll—Oh, it was a doll, so lovely and delicate, not at all fitted to struggle with misfortune! But the little girl’s brother, a tall lad, had taken the doll and set it up in a high tree in the garden, and then had run away. The little girl could not reach the doll, could not help it down, and therefore she cried. The doll cried too, and stretched out her arms from among the green branches, and looked so distressed. Yes, this was one of the misfortunes of life of which her mamma had so often spoken. Oh, the poor doll! It already began to get dusk, and then
