Ilken Annie lives in a beautiful house on Staten Island.  Her mamma and I are great friends, and we have had plenty of pleasant fun together.  Near the house is a lovely little lake, shaped exactly like the figure “eight” turned sideways, so:  [symbol].  It has a cunning little bridge in the narrowest part, across which a whole regiment of dolls could march — and you and I, too, for that matter.  It is so small and pretty, that I do believe you and I could catch gold fish out of it.  I have looked very hard in it to find a mermaid, which, you know, is a lady with no feet:  instead of those, she has a fish’s tail.  I wonder how one would taste boiled; for she is only a fish, after all, like the sea horses which swim about in the aquarium at Barnum’s Museum.  If Annie and I ever catch a mermaid in this beautiful lake, we will be sure to tell you all about it.

Near by is a grand old oak tree, standing alone and majestic, like a king on his throne; and a lovely flower garden, at the side of the house, is so bright in colors that one would suppose a company of rainbows had gone to housekeeping there.

In the middle of this garden there stands, day and night, a beautiful young lady, in a round straw hat; but I wouldn’t kiss her for a dollar! for her cheeks, as well as all the rest of her, are as white as chalk and as hard as a stone.  I dare say her heart is too, if she happens to have any.  Who wants to kiss stone people?  I’d rather kiss you, and ilken Annie, and that other sweet little Annie who came to see me.

Ilken Annie, when she was about four years old, was one pleasant day sitting in her chair by the window, knitting a little white garter — that is, she was learning to knit one.

“Oh my,” she said, “the stitch is so naughty!  It is running away!  What shall I do?”

You see, there were five stitches on the knitting needle, and Annie’s little fat fingers had hard work to keep them there.

So her kind mamma showed her very carefully how to pull a stitch through with the other needle, before it had time to be off on its travels; and the dear little child, with a bright smile, kissed her mother, and said, “It is all tight now; oh, how glad I am!” And she put out her chubby little leg to try how much larger that celebrated stitch had made the garter.

Presently she cried out again, “Oh, mamma, here’s a stitch all climbed up, and another all rolled down; and one is so little I can’t see his eye to poke the needle through.  Oh, what a bad children!”

Her mother laughed at this funny speech, and said pleasantly, “’Try, try again,’ ilken Annie.”  Then she pulled and twitched at the “bad children-stitches;” and once more Annie sat down to knit, singing, with a pretty little bird’s note —

    “’Tis a lesson you should heed: 
      Try, try again;
    If at first you don’t succeed,
      Try, try again.”

Of course you know all of this pretty little song, don’t you?  Just sing it now.

By and by the little girl and her mother went down to luncheon; and there, on the table, were such lots of nice cream and raspberries, and white home-made bread!  Oh! how I wish all the darling children in the world could have such a delicious lunch — so much better for them than pies or a whole bushel of sugar candy.

When this nice lunch was over, Annie’s mother said, “My little darling, I am going to New York to buy a chest of tea, and hire a cook, besides taking a trunk which belongs to a friend.  You must keep house for me, dear; and if any company comes, behave very politely to them, and take off their bonnets, and talk to them, and ask them to stay till I come home.”

“So ilken Annie will, mamma,” she answered; “but I’ll tell them they mustn’t pull off their shoes and stockings and paddle in the lake, saying, ‘quack,’ and making believe they are a duck, like brother did.  I’ll tell them that’s naughty, won’t I?”

“Yes,” said the good mamma, laughing, “tell them what brother did.  That will amuse them very much, dear; and when I come home, I will give you a dozen kisses and a pretty new book.”

Oh, how Annie’s blue eyes sparkled at this! for, would you believe it, she could read!  Yes, read! and only four years old!  It did not seem to have hurt her; for she was just as round, and plump, and rosy as possible.  She learned her letters, nobody knows how — from the tops of newspapers; and the reading came so easy, that instead of having to learn in that pretty little school book called, “Reading without tears,” Annie seemed always to have on a ticklesome apron, which turned all her lessons into “reading with laughing;” and it was such a funny business, and Annie grew so fat and bright under it, that her mother did not feel worried; but I advise all the rest of you, little darlings, if you don’t like learning to read quite as well as bread and butter and raspberry jam, to put it off till your dear little heads and bodies have had at least two years more of play, and frolic, and tumbling about like kittens.  You like that advice, don’t you?

So Annie helped her mother to dress.  She ran to the closet, brought out a green bandbox, and raising the cover, lifted up her mother’s bonnet; then she opened one of the bureau drawers, and got her a pair of new kid gloves, and shut the drawer again.  “Oh!” cried she, with a little laugh, “I forgot to take out a clean hankfun — too bad!” By this funny word she meant “pocket handkerchief.”

So she ran back to the bureau, opened the drawer, and took a “hankfun” from a pile in the corner; and then her mother was quite ready.

Annie felt a little bit like crying when her mamma kissed her for good-by.  She was such a little thing, you see — only four years old.  You don’t want your mamma to go away either, do you? you precious little rose, pink, bluebell, daisy!

But ilken Annie tried to look pleasant, and that is a famous way to be pleasant.

The carriage was just driving away, when the little girl remembered that her mother had not taken a shawl.  It might be quite cool by the afternoon; so she ran quickly up stairs, got a plaid shawl, and Harry, one of her brothers, who is a right handsome little fellow, and as good as he is handsome, ran to the carriage with it; and then kissed his hand and raised his cap to his mamma for good-by; while Archie, the coachman, was looking on in great admiration.

Then he drove away with her, down to the Hunchback, at the landing, which was to take her to New York.

Now, don’t you think, you fanny darling, that the “Hunchback” was an old man with a great lump on his shoulders; and Annie’s mother was to take a seat on the top of it; and then the old man would swim to New York with her.  Not a bit of it!  The Hunchback was only an ugly old steamboat, which was all hunched up in the middle; and scratched through the water like a great crab trying to dance the polka.

Annie sat down and began to knit a little.

While she was knitting, she said this funny thing, which Eliza, the nurse, had taught her.  See if you can say it: 

“Little Kitty Kickshaw knotted and knitted for her kith and kinsfolk in her kinsman’s kitchen.

“This knotting and knitting by little Kitty Kickshaw, in her kinsman’s kitchen, kept her kinsfolk.

“So come and kiss kind little Kitty Kickshaw, for keeping her kith and kinsfolk by knotting and knitting in her kinsman’s kitchen.”

Pretty soon, down dropped a stitch off the needle.

“O — h,” said Annie, “too bad!  I must put it away till mamma comes home.”  So she opened a drawer in the table and laid her knitting down.  Then she put on a nice little pink sun bonnet, and ran out into the garden to pick some flowers.  The stone young lady smiled at her; but as she could not speak or run, Annie did not care a speck for her:  she thought a great deal more of the good little dog dozing on the mat before the door.

Pretty soon the dog, whose name was Grip, woke up, shook himself, and ran after her to have a frolic, for he was always ready for that; and Annie and he raced around, till her sun-bonnet fell off.  Then she sat down under the grand old oak tree, and had a real nice talk with Grip, who ran out his tongue, and wagged his tail, and looked as wise as Solomon.

He was just listening very attentively to a story about the beautiful new house her papa had had built for the ducks to live in, when there came a sound like the crunching of wheels on the gravelled road; and in a twinkling he cocked up his ears, and, without waiting for the end of the story, ran off barking, to see who had arrived.  I think he was very impolite; don’t you?

Then Annie got up and ran too, saying to herself, “Why!  I wonder if dear mamma has come back.”

No; it was not her mother’s carriage.  It was another one; and it soon whirled round the sweep, and stopped at the door.

“Oh, my,” said Annie, “that is the company.  I must go and help her out.  Why, grandmamma!” she exclaimed, “dear grandmamma, is that you?”

“Yes, little darling,” said a pleasant voice; and a tall, beautiful lady stepped from the carriage, and lifting Annie in her arms, gave her a good kissing.

“Oh, grandmamma, I’m so glad.  I am the house-keeping; and I must be very polite and kind to you.  Come in, grandmamma, and let me take off your hat.”

The lady sat down in the parlor, smiling at the sweet little child, and let her untie her bonnet with her small fat fingers.  It took quite a long time, for Annie could not get the right ribbon to pull; but her grandmamma never said “hurry,” but let the little one do just as she pleased.

“Mamma has gone to New York, grandma,” said Annie, “to buy a cook and hire a chest of tea.”

“Buy a cook?” asked her grandma, laughing.

“Oh, yes, grandma,” said Annie, quite serious; “she told me so.”

“Hire a cook and buy the tea.  Isn’t that it, darling?”

“O — h, yes, grandma!  I made a mistake, didn’t I?”

They both laughed merrily, and then Annie, sitting in her own tiny chair, put one little fat hand over the other, and began to think.

She looked up at her kind, beautiful grandma, with such a serious pair of blue eyes, that the good lady came near laughing; but she sat quite still, to see what Annie would do or say next.  She loved the little girl dearly.

You see, Annie was such a loving, obedient little child, that she was anxious to do just what her mother told her; and she was thinking of the best way to be kind to the company.

Suddenly her blue eyes brightened, as if she had got hold of a delightful thought; and looking up, with the expression of an angel, in her grandmother’s face, she said, in her sweet little voice, “Grandma, shall I read the Bible to you?"

“Oh, the precious child!” Truly, “of such is the kingdom of heaven.”

Her grandmother’s eyes filled with happy tears as she said, “Yes, darling;” and ilken Annie, getting her own pretty Bible, read about good little Samuel to her grandmother.

Then she got into her lap, and sang her ever so many little songs; and let me tell you, that anybody would have wished to be a grandmother right away, if they could have had such a delightful time as Annie’s grandmother did.  I’m sure I do.

And when the dear mamma came home, and heard all that her sweet little child had done, she took her in her arms and fondly kissed her, and prayed God in her heart that He would make her “ilken” Annie always as good and lovely as she was then.  I am almost certain she will be; for a good child will be sure to become a good woman or man.  So take care, little darlings, to be better than ever you were before; and above all, obedient to your parents.

Not long after this, a great event happened at Annie’s house.  You must know that she had no less than five loving brothers; all older than herself.  Quite a lot of them, isn’t there?  And their mother let them have all manner of innocent fun and frolic; because she was one of the very best mothers in the world, and knew that children ought to be made not only as good, but as happy as possible.  So, lo and behold! everybody and his wife, and I too, were invited to a splendid concert at Annie’s house.

The best of it was, that the concert was to be just like Christy’s minstrels; and the boys, and some of their friends who were to help, had bought the most splendid black woolly wigs; and were going to have their faces made very nearly as black as ink.  I tell you what it is!  I was just as full of the fun of it as I could hold; and I went directly to a jeweller I knew, and got him to lend me several breastpins, with such big make-believe diamonds in them, that they almost put your eyes out shining.  These the boys wore in their ruffled shirts; and they were such dandies! oh my, what dandies they were!

You must know, at a real concert, the people throw beautiful flowers to the singers that please them most.  Annie and I got up an immense bouquet, about the size of a peck measure, without telling anybody a word about it; and saved it up, to throw at one of the “colored gemmen.”

The evening came, and was warm and clear; little Alice and the “Doctor," my two children and I went early.  As we drove in at the gate it looked like fairy land; for, hanging to the trees in every direction, were beautiful colored Chinese lanterns; the long winding drive to the house was all a-light with them.

A band of music was playing on the wide piazza; and as we entered, everybody was presented with a beautiful red, white, or blue paper fan.  Wasn’t it splendid?

How little Annie’s eyes did sparkle! they were like real diamonds, and far more precious.  She nestled down in a seat close to me, and together we enjoyed all the comical songs and funny jokes of the minstrels.

You don’t know how queer their black wigs looked! and they kept Annie and me laughing all the time, with rolling their eyes, making funny faces, and telling conundrums.

Presently Willie, one of Annie’s brothers, who played the bones, called out to Robert, a neighbor’s son, who was banging the tamborine on his head and his elbow, and his knee and his foot, as fast and as hard as he could.

“Mister Julius.”

“What dat you want, Mister Snow?”

“You know dat ar olé saw you lent me, Mister Julius, to saw de dictionary in two, so to gib you half?”

“Yes, sar, I know him very well, sar.”

“Well, sar, dat ar saw, sar, he wort nottin, sar!  Ob all de saws dat I ebber saw saw, I nebber saw a saw saw as dat ar saw saws!  He! ho!”

“I don’t see dat ar saw, sar; but I want to ax you a question.”

“Berry well; succeed.”

“When de day breaks, what becomes ob de pieces?”

“I — I — don’t ’xactly know, sar.  Trow em in de ash barrel?”

“No, sar! dey jes let em alone.  He! ho!”

Then another brother got up, and made such a low bow that his black wig tumbled over his eyes, showing his brown hair behind.  He poked it back again, and began to sing this — all the rest playing on fiddles, bones, and triangles, as hard as they could: 

    “Come, brothers, now unite with us, and join us, one and all,
    The Stars and Stripes shall not come down, shall never, never fall: 
    We’ve got two splendid captains, to their country ever true;
    McClellan, and great Winfield Scott, and the Red, White, and Blue.

Chorus. “Then hurrah for the Union, Hurrah for the Union, Hurrah for the Union, And the Red, White, and Blue.”

“Ah! now’s the time for the bouquet!” I whispered to Annie; and I took it out from under the seat, and threw it as hard as I could.  The little dog who lived with Annie, thought I did it for him to catch.  He bounced upon the stage, barking and wagging his tail till he nearly wagged it off; and seized the bouquet, while Annie’s brother tried to get it away; and they chased each other up and down the room, the minstrels and the company all laughing ready to kill themselves.  What fun it was!

At last Annie’s brother got about a quarter of the flowers away from the dog; and then he put his hand on his heart, and made a bow lower than the first; and Annie was afraid he had almost broken the bone in his back.

After this funny concert was over, the musicians, who had been sent for from New York, began to play dancing tunes; and all the company went into another large parlor, and commenced to dance; while Annie’s brothers and their friends got scrubbing brushes, and soap, and hot water, and scrubbed and rubbed, and scrubbed and rubbed, till they nearly scrubbed the noses off their faces; but it was not very long before they came in, looking as white and clean as could be; only Annie thought they had made a great mistake — taking out their splendid breastpins.  She said, “Why, Aunt Fanny, those breastpins are so brighty bright! oh, how I wish I had one!  Don’t you?”

“Yes, dear,” I answered; “and I will go and ask the jeweller to give me one for you to keep.  You shall choose it yourself.”

This was delightful! and Annie and I danced and laughed, and had some ice cream in a snug little corner together; and she sat up ever so late, without wanting to shut her blue eyes once; and when the company went away they kissed Annie, and shook hands with the handsome, gentlemanly little boys, and thanked them for their nice, funny concert.  I don’t know but what some of them kissed one or two of the youngest of Annie’s brothers.  I did; but that’s because I’m only Aunt Fanny, which makes a difference, you see.  I’m so little, that half the time the children forget I am quite old.  They catch hold of me, and make me play so hard, that I am afraid I shall never get to be a very mouldy old lady, sitting in a corner, with my head tied up in a flannel petticoat, to keep off the draught.  I’m afraid I shall always be frisky.  What do you think about it, you little apple dumplings?

Would you like to hear the rest about the breastpin?  Well, I will tell you.  Annie chose the one with the great red stone in the middle and ten white ones all round it; and I went the very next day to the jeweller in New York, and said: 

“See here, Mr. Jeweller, here are all your breastpins, and I am very much obliged to you; but I want you to give me one, for a darling.”

“What kind of a darling, Mrs. Aunt Fanny?”

“Well, she is four years old, and has rosy cheeks, dark brown hair, large blue eyes, and a little dimpling, dainty mouth, full of small white pearls.  They are not set in gold, like the pearls in your glass case.  No, indeed! they grew fast in her dear little head; and she eats bread and milk with them.

“But let me tell you, Mr. Jeweller, that she has something far more precious than what I have been relating.  Shut up in her innocent breast is a beautiful heart, which is full of love to all around her; and it gently whispers to her, ’Ilken Annie, be obedient to your parents, kind to everybody, and faithful in praying night and morning, to the dear Saviour, to watch over and protect His little lamb, and all she loves.’  Oh, Mr. Jeweller, you cannot find such a precious jewel as ilken Annie’s heart, in all your store.”

Something came into the good jeweller’s eyes, and fell upon his cheeks.  They were two bright tears; and he softly said, “No; I have no such treasures here, and none now in my home; for, not long ago, God took my one little white lamb, my wee darling.  She has gone to heaven, and my house is empty.”

I felt very, very sorry for him — but I could not speak.  He wrapped up the breastpin in a piece of paper, and gave it to me for Annie; and I sent it to her with this fine poetry: 

    My dear “ilken” Annie,
    Your loving Aunt Fanny
    Has got this fine breastpin
      On purpose for you;
    So that, when in town,
    With your new hat and gown,
    And this red and white breastpin,
      You’ll be quite a view.

    Then the girls and the boys
    Will make a great noise,
    And cry, “Goody gracious!
      What a breastpin! just see! 
    ’Tis the color of roses! 
    And real, I supposes;
    I wish your Aunt Fanny
      Would buy one for me.”

    Then you’ll say, “But she can’t,
    For she isn’t your aunt,
    But my little auntie
      That lives down the lane;
    And I’m ilken Annie,
    So winsome and cannie,
    With my ‘hankfun’ and ‘too bad!’
      ‘And try, try again.’

    “I have a dear mamma,
    And good and grave papa,
    And such a kind grandmamma,
      Gentle and sweet,
    And my three, four, five brothers,
    Like three, four, five mothers,
    To love me and tend me,
      And guide my young feet.”

    And now, little maiden,
    With so much love laden,
    I pray that to you
      May all “good gifts” be given;
    And happiness rare,
    Without shadow of care;
    And then — this life ended,
      Your home may be — HEAVEN.

And so ilken Annie got her breastpin from me; and I received in return some kisses from her; and I think I had the best of the bargain.  And what is more — I do believe, if you will go down to Staten Island and call upon her, she will show you the garters, which must be finished by this time; and the breastpin, if it isn’t lost; and the poetry; and Grip, the dog; and the stone young lady in the garden; and the cunning little bridge; and ever so many dimples in her sweet face; and be so kind to you!  Perhaps she will say, “Shall I read the Bible to you.”  Wouldn’t that be lovely?  Come! let’s you and I go down together, this very minute!  Oh, dear me!  I quite forgot that the boats don’t run in the evening.  Never mind! we’ll go some other time.

Till then, don’t quite forget

    Your loving

    AUNT FANNY.

When the reading of these little stories was finished, it was found that twelve more pairs of nice warm mittens were ready for our brave soldiers; and the Little Mother sent them to George, with so much love, and so many prayers for his welfare, and the safety of his comrades — that it did seem as if God’s blessing would rest upon every soldier who wore them.

And now, little darling, reading this, or having a kind mamma or friend to read it to you — won’t you pray for the soldiers?  Will you say this little prayer to-night: 

“O my Heavenly Father:  Please watch over all the soldiers.  Send Thy Holy Spirit into their leaders:  then love and peace will surely come; and there will be no more of this dreadful war.  I pray for this, in the name of Jesus, my dear Saviour.  Amen.”