II.
Little Jakey was indeed _little_ Jakey. I have often seen boys three
years old both taller and heavier; but never one more perfect in form
and feature. His little feet and hands might have belonged to a fairy.
His black eyes were bright and full, with long lashes and arched brows.
His long curls were blacker than the raven, and while holding him there
in my arms, I could think of nothing but a beautiful cherub with folded
wings, astray from heaven. After smoothing down his curls awhile, and
kissing him many times, I said to him,--
"Dear Jakey, pray where did you come from, and who brought you here?"
Then dropping both his little hands in mine, he said,--
"I come fon Germany. My moder, ce bring me. I come mit her, and mit ze
baby. Ven I come in ze America, ze flowers bees in ze garden, and ze
birds bees in ze trees, and ze opples bees on ze trees, and ze
pot-a-toes bees in ze ground. Zen ze vinds blow and ze birds go avay,
and ze opples bees in ze cellar, and ze pot-a-toes bees in ze cellar.
Zen ze vinds blow too hard and ze snow bees on ze ground, and it bees
cold vinter. Zen long time ze snow go avay, and ze leaves come on ze
trees, and ze birds come back again, and it bees varm; so long I bees in
ze America."
"And so you have been here one year? But pray, dear, where is your
father? Is he dead?"
"No, he bees not dead.
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