The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1878-11-23
NAUGHTY ZAY.

Once upon time there was dear
little naughty girl, not bad, she would
not have been so dear had she been
really bad, but sometimes, and must
confess sometimes" came pretty often.
She had all sorts of loving, scolding
names, such as "precious torment, -"
darling bother" and she kept her
poor dear grandmother on a contin-
uous trot to see what mischief she was
in, and frightened her mother (who
thought everybody must want to steal
Zay) by hiding behind the Missouri
currant bush until every nook and
corner had been searched; and she
made her uncle shake his head gravely
because she never could get beyond the
first question in catechism, "What is
your name" and even then would an
swer "Zay," although he had told her
that "that was not her name at all;
she had been baptized Salome; and Gay
was name she had no right to what
ever" Nor can BEGIN to tell YOU the
times | have exhausted all my strength
putting her sturdy little self into the
closet, and then standing first on one
foot and then on the other, until l was
ready to drop, listening at the keyhole
for the first small sob of repentance.
Things had gone wrong with our
naughty little Gay this morning. Mary,
the good old cook, who had been in the
house years before Gay was born, had
actually refused to let her make any
more mud-pies on her kitchen window,
and mamma and grandma had sided
with the enemy.
Gay was little dumping of a girl,
with hard, round cheeks, like red APP
pies, fat dimpled arms, and such wide
open eyes, and she looked very funny
now as she drew herself up to her fullest
height, which was not much of height
after all, brushed off her pretty blue
dress, shook down her clean ruffled
apron and addressed us all in very
solemn tones:
81 jes' want to tell you I've been re-
suited, and | am never going to live
here any more! I'll go way; clear off
in the woods! And then guess you'll
all be sorry! Mary need never make
any more scrambled eggs for breakfast,
cause" (she almost broke down at the
bare thought of so direful catastro-
phe), cause there'll never be any
chill en- to eat 'em any more! And then
] guess grandpa will be sorry when he
comes home tired and doesn't have his
slippers all yeddyr'
o." said her mamma, gravely,
"you are going right off, are you, be-
fore dinnerP
Eyes, wight st'ait away, moac! I'll
go get my hat"
Down stairs the quick feet battered
to the hall closet where the little sun
hat hung, always ready for the garden.
Soon she was back and held her chin
up with great composure for grandma
to tie the string.
The dear grandmother quietly laid
her fine sewing down beside her on the
sofa. SIS my little girl going away of
by herself in the woodsP"
4" Yes, miles and ntleSesr'
"And what will you do when you
get hungryP.'
."Why, I'm going to take all my
money" forthwith going to a drawer
in an old-fashioned bookcase and tax
ing out a diminutive portemonnaie,
which contained her whole fortune,
three silver three-cent pieces, and, hang
ing it on her fat little hand, land can
go to some g'ocery in the woods and
buy lots of butter crackers
l, sitting in an easy chair, just re-
covering from long illness, suggested:
"But, Gay, you might want something
besides crackers. know little girl
who is very fond of drum-sticks and
wish-bones."
81 can eat bears and wolves; | can
make gravy, and,' she added, Ppm
going to take grandpa's gun wifi me-"
Every WE'LL" answered her mamma,
going to grandfather's closet and bring
ing out the gun, which was twice as
large as the child.
There she stood before us-a little
blue-eyed girl, with demure sun-hat
shading very resolute and, as yet, un.
troubled face, the gun held up tight
against her with one fat, dimpled hand,
while from the other dangled the little
purse.
"rm all yeddy now, so goodbye
ev'ybody," she said at last.