The little gate between the two parks was usually
left open during school hours, and one bright June morning, while the
sun was drinking up the dews from the leaves and the flowers, I chanced
to be walking there, and I heard the little gate opening and shutting,
opening and shutting; rattle went the chain, then bang went the gate,
until suddenly, as I was passing it, a little voice saluted me, so sweet
and musical and up so high, that for the moment I almost fancied one of
the birds had stopped his song to speak with me.
"I know you. I knows ven you come. Sometimes you tell stories to ze
girls, and I hear you ven I bees dis side."
Going up and putting my hand on the little speaker's head, I said,--
"Pray, what little girl is this here, with these long pretty curls,
swinging on the gate?"
"I bees not a girl,--I bees a boy, I be."
Then passing my hand down over a little coat covered with buttons, I
said,--
"Surely, so you are a little boy; but what is your name?"
"My name bees Little Jakey; dot is my name."
"Little Jakey! Indeed! and pray, when did you come here?"
Quick as thought his little foot struck out against the post again, and
the gate went flying to and fro, as before; then coming to a sudden halt,
he said,--
"Vell, I tink I tell you. I bees here von Sunday and von Sunday and
_von_ Sunday; so long I bees here.
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