"
And I went and put it on Tabby, and Hildegarde saw me do it;
But I said to myself, "Oh, never mind, I don't believe she knew it!"
But I know that she knew it now, and I just believe, I do,
That her poor little heart was broken, and so her head broke too.
Oh, my baby! my little baby! I wish my head had been hit!
For I've hit it over and over, and it hasn't cracked a bit.
But since the darling is dead, she'll want to be buried, of course:
We will take my little wagon, Nurse, and you shall be the horse;
And I'll walk behind and cry, and we'll put her in this, you see--
This dear little box--and we'll bury her there out under the maple-tree.
And papa will make me a tombstone, like the one he made for my bird;
And he'll put what I tell him on it--yes, every single word!
I shall say: "Here lies Hildegarde, a beautiful doll, who is dead;
She died of a broken heart, and a dreadful crack in her head."
MARGARET VANDERGRIFT
* * * * *
LITTLE THINGS
Little drops of water
Little grains of sand,
Make the mighty ocean,
And the pleasant land.
Thus the little moments,
Humble though they be,
Make the mighty ages
Of eternity.
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