CROOKED—EYES. BY
WIINIE
WILLIAI.
It was a pleasant May morning, I don’t care to tell how many years ago, when neatly arrayed in my new pink frock and white apron, and holding tightly by my brother's hand, I made my first appearance in a school-room. Dear! such rows of prim little children, with folded trms and weary looking faces; and then the teacher, seated before her table—the rale occupying a very conspicuous place thereupon—and a sort of Alexander-Selkirk-look stamped on her thin features, which plainly said:
"I'm monarch of all I survey.
She soon spied me, and after ascertaining that my name was “Mary Miller—but mamma called me Mollis”—I was led to a seat by the side of a Tery demure looking little girl with red hair and crooked eyes; being kindly told by the teacher, that if I whispered or made any noise during school-time, I should be punished.
The hours dragged by so heavily, and tired of sitting still, I had almost fallen asleep, when my seat-mate applied her finger nails to my bare inn in a manner that caused me to make a trial of my elocutionary powers, much to the indignation of my worthy teacher, who immediately seated me on a long bench by a row of little boys in blue-checked aprons. I cried until the teacher said, “School’s dismissed,” and oh! such a walk home as we had. The sun never shone so brightly, the birds sang so gaily, nor the flowers looked so radiantly beautiful. I enjoyed it all very much, but my happiness received a blow when, upon my reaching home, brother told our folks how “naughty Mary had been, and that the teacher made her sit with the boys!”
Mamma administered a severe reproof, and kept me in doors for a whole hour, when I was wanting so much to see how robin and his mate were progressing in their building operations.
“Is yonr name Mollie Butterfly?” asked my red-headed heroine, the next day at recess.
“No!” I answered, indignantly, “my name is Mary Miller.”
“Well butterflies and millers are the same, you know. Do you like candy?” handing me a quantity of pepper-mint drops. “I didn’t mean to hurt you yesterday, but it was such fun to see you wake up.” I thought the fun was all on one side: however, I accepted the peace- offering, and thereafter we were inseparable friends.
What times we used to have! Rebecca Wood and I, always being assisted in our sport by Charles Dean, the ringleader in all mischief. He was continually doing and saying funny things, for which he was daily kept after school to be “reckoned with” by our teacher; and after “doing penance” would join us girls not far from the school-house, and then for a ramble in the woods to search for flowers and berries, or a slide down hill in winter time. The year passed on and still we were scolded at home, and whipped at school, enjoying ourselves immensely the while, until Charlie Dean, then a handsome boy of fifteen, was sent away to pursue his studies preparatory to entering college. Before he started, he came to bid me good bye.
“I know I shan’t have any such fun away at school, as I had here with you and Becky,” he said, in a mournful tone as we stood by the garden gate. “I must see her before I go. Becky is a capital good girl, but she has such a comical expression in her crooked eyes. Isn’t it funny, Moll? but I never know when she’s looking at me. Don’t tell her I said so.”
“No,” said a mocking voice close by us, “don’t tell her I said so! You needn’t be scared, Charlie Dean, I wouldn’t take the trouble to look at you.”
“Don’t get mad, Becky,” replied Charlie in a conciliatory tone. “I don’t mean anything, and I do think your eyes are really pretty, that is, when you don’t look cross,” he added archly.
“Who cares what yon think, you ugly thing, you!” retorted Becky, now thoroughly provoked.
“Well, good bye, Moll,” said Charlie, giving my hand a fraternal grip, as I turned away to hide my tears. “Don’t feel bad, Butterfly. We'll have all the more fun during vacation: and don’t let old vinegar face make you study too hard.” I secretly thought there was not much danger of my being very studious.
“Come now, Crooked-eyes, let us part good friends,” said Charlie, playfully imprinting a kiss on her red curls, for she had averted her face. “Won't you say good bye?” Becky
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