CHAPTER III.

But one morning, when she was ten weeks old, Susy began to play with a plaything. What do you think it was? Why, her own little hand! She felt of it, lifted it up and looked at it, tasted of it, and admired it very much. A grave judge, sitting on his bench, and looking as wise as Solomon, could hardly look graver or wiser than Susy did when she first found out she had two little hands. How she turned them over, and tangled up the tiny fingers, and twisted and doubled them! Now she thought she had found out what those little things were for, that had been doing nothing but slap and scratch and grow fat. Why, they were to play with, to be sure! And she never would have to cry for them or get up to look for them, for there they were, always close by, and so nice and soft! So Susy played with her hands, and cooed to them, and told them stories in Greek, or Latin, or Dutch, nobody knows, and was quite cheery and happy.

Her mamma was very much pleased to see Susy playing with her hands, and after a time she offered her a little piece of paper. Susy looked at it and wanted to take it. But her hands did not know how; all they were good for was to play with each other. But they wanted to learn to hold things for Susy, and tried very hard, every day, until at last they did learn to hold her rattle for her, and then an orange, and then a bunch of keys. Nice little servants! Don't you think so? And by this time Susy made a great discovery. She found out that she had two feet of her own, and thought it would be a good plan to get one of them into her mouth. She worked very hard, before she succeeded, and was such a busy little baby that she could hardly spare time to eat her breakfast. I suppose she thought all those fat little feet were made for, was just for her to play with; just as she had thought about her hands.

Perhaps you would like to see a letter that Susy wrote to her little cousin about these times. I rather think she must have got her mamma, or some body, to write it for her.

MY DEAR COUSIN:

Since I last wrote you, I have grown a good deal, for I am now six months old. I can not sit alone yet, for when I try, I fall over sideways. But with a pillow behind me, I can sit up very well, and play with my toys. I have an old basket half full of playthings, about which I will tell you. First I have an ivory ring, with a blue string in it; but I don't think much of that. Then I have a large glass stopper that came out of a vinegar cruet. Thirdly I have two spools tied together, and fastened to them, some how, is a whole piece of tape that I snatched out of my mamma's basket, and sucked till she said it was good for nothing, and I might as well keep it. Fourthly I have a cork that used to be in a bottle of something sweet, for it tastes very good: I am fond of this cork, and lie on the floor and play with it, just as a cat plays with a mouse. I have also a half dollar with a hole in it, that my grandmamma gave me; but I always cry when I play with it, for it is so hard it hurts my mouth. I have a great many rags that my mamma has given me. When she cuts out my little frocks, she gives me the pieces that are left, and some are white, some pink, and some blue. You see I am going to wear short frocks pretty soon. But my best playthings are two red sticks that were a part of an old fan your mamma left here. The other day I was lying on the floor, and I thought I would see how far I could get one of them down my throat. When I had pushed it a good way, I began to cry. My mamma caught me up and pulled it out, but my throat bled and was sore, so I guess I won't push it in so far, next time.

Sometimes I go and pay a visit to our old cat and her three kittens. I talk to them as loud as I can, but they do not seem to understand what I say. And they don't like it when I try to put them in my mouth.

I am sorry to say that as I increase in wisdom I grow in naughtiness. I always cry all the time mamma is washing and dressing me, and am very angry with her, for I don't like to be washed. And the moment I see her take out my basket at night, so as to undress me and put me to bed, I scream with all my might, and never stop till I feel something soft in my mouth. Last night as I lay on the floor playing with my beloved cork, mamma came behind me and unfastened all my clothes, so that time I did not cry. I have two feet that I find very handy to kick with when I am angry, and two hands that pick up my toys when I want to play, and two eyes that show me pictures and other pretty things, and that never get any rest except when I am asleep. And if you ever answer this letter, I have two ears with which I hear it read.

I am a very good baby when I wake in the morning. I lie in bed a good while, playing with my feet, or any thing else I can get hold of. Sometimes I untie mamma's cap strings and sometimes I scratch and pull her cheeks and chin. Very often I almost pull papa's nose off his face, for I don't know what he wants of it when he is fast asleep. Doesn't this remind you of old times, three or four years ago, when you were a baby? If you ever come here I shall not know what to do to amuse you, for I can not talk. I should scratch your face and pull your hair, and put my fingers in your eyes; I don't know any better, I am such a little baby. I am very tired now, and must bid you good by; but one of these days I will write you another letter.

Your little cousin,

SUSY.