And thou, twin orbs of love and joy! Unveil thy glories with the morn-- Dear eyes, another day is born-- Awake, O little sleeping boy! Bright are the summer morning skies, But in this quiet little room There broods a chill, oppressive gloom-- All for the brightness of thine eyes. Without those radiant orbs of thine How dark this little world would be-- This sweet home-world that worships thee-- So let their wondrous glories shine On those who love their warmth and joy-- Awake, O sleeping little boy.
"So that ended the fairy operetta, did it?" inquired the match-box.
"Yes," said the little shoe, with a sigh of regret. "The fairies were such bewitching creatures, and they sang so sweetly, I could have wished they would never stop their antics and singing. But, alas! I fear I shall never see them again."
"What makes you think so?" asked the brass candlestick.
"I 'm sure I can't tell," replied the little shoe; "only everything is so strange-like and so changed from what it used to be that I hardly know whether indeed I am still the same little shoe I used to be."
"Why, what can you mean?" queried the old clock, with a puzzled look on her face.
"I will try to tell you," said the little shoe. "You see, my mate and our master and I were great friends; as I have said, we roamed and frolicked around together all day, and at night my little mate and I watched at master's bedside while he slept. One day we three took a long ramble, away up the street and beyond where the houses were built, until we came into a beautiful green field, where the grass was very tall and green, and where there were pretty flowers of every kind. Our little master talked to the flowers and they answered him, and we all had a merry time in the meadow that afternoon, I can tell you. 'Don't go away, little child,' cried the daisies, 'but stay and be our playfellow always.' A butterfly came and perched on our master's hand, and looked up and smiled, and said: 'I 'm not afraid of _you_; you would n't hurt me, would you?' A little mouse told us there was a thrush's nest in the bush yonder, and we hurried to see it. The lady thrush was singing her four babies to sleep. They were strange-looking babies, with their gaping mouths, bulbing eyes, and scant feathers! 'Do not wake them up,' protested the lady thrush. 'Go a little further on and you will come to the brook. I will join you presently.' So we went to the brook."
