Читать книгу Our Little Tot's Own Book of Pretty Pictures, Charming Stories, and Pleasing Rhymes and Jingles онлайн

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One of my pet playhouses was an old stump, out in the pasture. Such a dear, old stump as it was, and so large I could not put my arms more than half way round it!

Some of its roots were partly bare of earth for quite a little distance from the stump, and between these roots were great green velvety moss cushions.

On the side, above the largest moss cushion, was a little shelf where a bit of the stump had fallen away. On this little shelf I used to place a little old brass candlestick. I used to play that that part of the stump was my parlor.

Above the next moss cushion were a number of shelves where I laid pieces of dark-blue broken china I had found and washed clean in the brook. That was my dining-room.

There were two or three little bedrooms where the puffy moss beds were as soft as down. My rag dolly had many a nap on those little green beds, all warmly covered up with big sweet-smelling ferns.

Then there was the kitchen! Hardly any moss grew there. I brought little white pebbles from the brook, and made a pretty, white floor. Into the side of the stump above this shining floor, I drove a large nail. On this nail hung the little tin pan and iron spoon with which I used to mix up my mud pies.