CHAPTER I.

TEASING POKY.

"I's Weezy Wozy, and I's _two_ old," said little Louise Rowe on her second birthday; and from that time forth everybody called her "Weezy," though it wasn't her real name any more than it is yours.

There were two other little Rowes in the family,--Kirke, six years old; and Molly, eight. Their father lived in a pretty Queen Anne cottage at the end of the street, and the Wymans just around the corner. Mrs. Wyman was aunt Clara, Mr. Rowe's sister.

Having no children of their own, Dr. and Mrs. Wyman were fond of borrowing their youngest niece; and this birthday morning the doctor's voice was heard calling from Mr. Rowe's gate,--

"Has anybody here a little girl to lend? a little girl two years old."

"Here I is, _unker Docker_. _I's_ two old," cried little Miss Weezy, toddling through the hall.

"Possible? Then you must be the very young lady I'm looking for. Get your bonnet, Snowy-locks."

Mrs. Rowe brought the dainty white Normandy cap, and tied it under Weezy's chin.

"You must be unker Docker's darling," said she, lifting her into the carriage.

Weezy bobbed her head till the cap-frill quivered like a spray of cherry-blossoms in a wind, and away she was whirled to her uncle's door.

Aunt Clara came out, with her bonnet on, to ask Dr. Wyman to drive down to the dress-maker's.

"And if you'll be a good girl, Weezy, and stay with Poky, we'll bring you home an orange," said she.

"A _dreat, bid_ ollange?" asked Weezy, always sharp on a bargain.

"Yes, dear; a great, big orange, the biggest in the store."

"Oh, ho, I _likes_ ollanges!" remarked Weezy, prancing away to find the colored girl, whose long name was Pocahontas.

Poky was washing. After giving Weezy the clothes-pins to play with, she hastened back to her tub on the other side of the kitchen. Suddenly two little white arms splashed into the soap-suds beside her own black ones.

"Poky tired. Weezy _he'p_," said the little guest, who had climbed a chair unnoticed.

"Sho, Miss Weezy! _peart_ help you are, _for shore_!" cried Poky, wringing her out, and standing her upon the table, while she herself put a basketful of clothes into the boiler on the range.

Then, believing the child safely penned, she brought her a cookie, and ran out to hang the clothes-line. Unfortunately, Poky had failed to notice that one end of the wash-bench was near the table. Left to herself, Weezy speedily dropped down upon the bench, and from that to the floor; and thus it came to pass that she ran and slammed the door behind Pocahontas almost as soon as the girl had crossed the threshold.

"Poky _tan't tum in_!" crowed Weezy, turning the key in the lock.

"_Please_ let Poky in! Oh, Weezy must let poor Poky in!" shrieked the startled maid, running back to the porch, and shaking the door.

"No, no! Poky tan't tum in," repeated the little tease, delighted to make a sensation.

Pocahontas could hear the soap-suds bubbling in the wash-boiler, and she knew it might at any moment overflow and scald the child. But what was to be done? Half wild, she ran from window to window, and found every one of them bolted. The front-door, too, was fastened, and the key was in Dr. Wyman's pocket. A sharp clattering in the kitchen drew trembling Poky to the window in the rear.

"Oh, oh! Little Miss Weezy'll kill herself, and the doctor'll blame me!" groaned she, looking in as Weezy thrust the poker into the range.

"I's makin' fire," shouted the child proudly, while in the boiler above the water foamed and seethed.

"Weezy'll burn! Weezy'll burn! Oh, please come!" cried Pocahontas with chattering teeth.

Weezy laughed roguishly, and rattled the poker.

"Quick! oh, quick!" sobbed Poky, almost beside herself, as she saw streams of water beginning to course down the sides of the boiler.

Weezy looked up, and the tears in Poky's eyes melted the child's perverse little heart.

"Poor Poky _ky_; Poky _s'all_ come in," said she, skipping across to the window.

Her flight was none too soon; for the soap-suds that moment boiled over, flooding the range and every thing within reach. Even far away as she was, Weezy's pretty Gretchen dress was spattered from neck to hem.

Little did aunt Clara think of that, as she sprang into the kitchen, and caught up her mischievous pet, crying,--

"Thank Heaven, my darling is safe! What _was_ Poky thinking of, to leave you alone!"

"Poky out doors! Weezy shut Poky out!" said the little rogue demurely.

"_You_ shut Poky out!" exclaimed astonished aunt Clara, kissing the wee meddling hands, still black from the poker. "Well, well, who ever heard the like?"

And it was Mrs. Wyman who let poor Poky in, as Weezy could not turn back the key.