PUSS IN BOOTS. Published in The Independent, June 20, 1861, page 6.
Looking from my sitting-room window this morning, I saw two singular appendages to the lowest branch of a Siberian crab-apple tree. They swung side by side, and seemed a sort of compromise between an apple and a banana! Wondering if this was some new freak of Pomona, I walked out to examine. They proved to be two green calico bags, whose irregular but plentiful stitches testified to the small fingers that had made them. The bags were filled with corn meal, and hung with mouths wide open. I stood a moment, puzzled ; then my eye lit upon two little figures lying (apparently) asleep, like the Babes in the Wood. The girl's hair shone like a streak of sunshine in the grass, and two deep dimples betrayed that the sleep was feigned. As for the boy, he shut his eyes sp tightly, I could hardly see their long, black fringes, while his roguish mouth showed the white grinners nearly from ear to ear.
"Hey! little ones, what prank is this?"
"Don't speak loud, said the girl ; "you'll frighten the birds. We are playing Puss in Boots."
"How Puss in Boots?"
"Why, you know, she spread a bag half filled with meal upon the ground. While she pretended to be asleep, the rabbits came and ran into the bag, and then she jumped up as quick as a wink and caught them. So we thought we'd play Puss in Boots with the birds ; and if you believe it, the birds really do come and eat out of the bags every few minutes."
"Yes," said the boy. "It is such fun! The two cunningest sparrows that have their nest in that twin honeysuckle keep coming, and we only play we catch them ' 'cause, if we tried, it would frighten them, and we wouldn't do that for anything."
Sure enough, as we stood talking with low voices, two tiny brown chipping birds hopped along the branch, took a wee-crumb from each bag, gave a satisfied chip, and hopped away. The children's eyes dilated with delight to have me thus witness the success of their experiment. Walking away, I said to myself, "Go on with your innocent stratagems. If Heaven lies about our infancy, it surely lingers over the childhood of those who make the birds, the leaves, the winds, the shifting scenery of the seasons, their companions."
Methinks nothing can equal the tender grace of an affectionate child. I asked this same little boy, last evening, "Have you called your grandma to tea?"
"Yes. When I went in to call her she was asleep, and I didn't know how I'd waken her. I didn't wish to holler at grandma, nor to shake her ; so I kissed her cheek, and that woke her very softly. Then I ran into the hall and said pretty loud, 'Grandma, tea is ready.' And she never knew what woke her."
Do we find anything more sweet, delicate, and lovely than this in the annals of poetry? Can conventionality improve upon the politeness, spontaneous in the heart of a six years' boy?
RODENSE.