StNicholas [serial] . THE THREE BY MARGARET JOHNSON A tuneful voice, all silver-sweet, A trill of happy song,An airy step that skips and trips And dances all day long;Pink ribbons, ruffles, curls, and lace,—? Such frills of fairy folly!—Two laughing eyes, a rosebud pout,—Enough! Your loving arms hold outTo greet the dear,—beyond a doubt,It s Dolly! A rustle soft as stir of leaves, A cooing, dovelike call;Arms filled with daisies, neatly picked By fingers soft and small;Shy lashes hiding violet eyes, Shy lips as red as holly,Shy, pretty ways and looks demure,—Ah, smile, the little lass to lure,
StNicholas [serial] . THE THREE BY MARGARET JOHNSON A tuneful voice, all silver-sweet, A trill of happy song,An airy step that skips and trips And dances all day long;Pink ribbons, ruffles, curls, and lace,—? Such frills of fairy folly!—Two laughing eyes, a rosebud pout,—Enough! Your loving arms hold outTo greet the dear,—beyond a doubt,It s Dolly! A rustle soft as stir of leaves, A cooing, dovelike call;Arms filled with daisies, neatly picked By fingers soft and small;Shy lashes hiding violet eyes, Shy lips as red as holly,Shy, pretty ways and looks demure,—Ah, smile, the little lass to lure,For, if she runs from you, be sureIt s Molly! A burst of bubbling laughter gay, A rush of romping feet,A small tornado coming fast And furious down the street;Some freckles, flying locks of brown, Blue eyes, and dimples jolly,A swirl of giddy skirts, a shout,A whirl of breezes put to rout,A pair of warm brown arms—look out!It s Polly!. BY ERNEST HAROLD BAYNES Look out there, sir ! Lhat big timber-wolf in thelast cage is a fiend; if you put your hand withinreach he 11 have your fingers off before youknow it. When a wolf in the next cage stuck hispaw through the bars, that fellow started ascrimmage that gave us all trouble. I was standing in front of the wolf dens in oneof our big zoological parks, and the above re-marks were addressed to me by a keeper. Myinterest was increased at once, and I stepped backto get a better look at the occupant of the lastcage. He was a large, powerful brute, with awonderfully handsome head, albeit on one sidethere was a long, red scar, the result, as I after-ward learned, of a recent desperate fight. Theexpression on his singularly strong face was nota bad one; in fact, it might have been calledgood-natured had it not been for the coldnessof his eyes. Lhe latter were distinctly the eyesof a wild thing, and it was apparent that withoutspecial effort, they were taking in everythingwhich w
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Keywords: ., bookauthordodgemar, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookyear1873
