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“Say no more, Poppy. I never wish to see you barefooted,” replied mamma.

“Well, you needn’t: I’ll go and do it in the barn,” muttered Poppy, as she walked away.

Into the barn she went, and played country girl to her heart’s content, in spite of Nelly’s warnings. Nelly never got into scrapes, being a highly virtuous young lady; but she enjoyed Poppy’s pranks, and wept over her misfortunes with sisterly fidelity.

“Now I’ll be a bear, and jump at you as you go by,” said Poppy, when they were tired of playing steam-engine with the old winnowing machine. So she got up on a beam; and Nelly, with a peck measure on her head for a hat, and a stick for a gun, went bear-hunting, and banged away at the swallows, the barrels, and the hencoops, till the bear was ready to eat her. Presently, with a loud roar, the bear leaped; but Nelly wasn’t eaten that time, for Poppy cried out with pain:

“Oh! I jumped on a pitchfork, and it’s in my foot! Take it out! take it out!”

Poor little foot! There was a deep purple hole in the sole, and the blood came, and Poppy fainted away, and Nelly screamed, and mamma ran, and the neighbors rushed in, and there was such a flurry. Poppy was soon herself again, and lay on the sofa, with Nelly and Cy to amuse her.

“What did the doctor say to mamma in the other room about me?” whispered Poppy, feeling very important at having such a bustle made on her account. Nelly sniffed, but said nothing; Cy, however, spoke up briskly:

“He says you might have lockjaw.”

“Is that bad?” asked Poppy gravely.

“Oh, ain’t it, though! Your mouth shuts up, and you can’t open it; and you have fits and die.”

“Always?” said Poppy, looking scared, and feeling of her mouth.

“‘Most always, I guess. That’s why your ma cried, and Nelly keeps kissin’ you.”

Cy felt sorry, but rather enjoyed the excitement, and was sure, that, if any one ever could escape dying, it would be Poppy, for she always “came alive” again after her worst mishaps. She looked very solemn for a few minutes, and kept opening and shutting her mouth to see if it wasn’t stiff. Presently she said, in a serious tone and with a pensive air:

“Nelly, I’ll give you my bead-ring: I shan’t want it any more. And Cy may have the little horse: he lost his tail; but I put on the lamb’s tail, and he is as good as ever. I wish to give away my things ‘fore I die; and, Nelly, won’t you bring me the scissors?”

“What for?” said Nelly, sniffing more than ever.

“To cut off my hair for mamma. She’ll want it, and I like to cut things.”

Nelly got the scissors; and Poppy cut away all she could reach, giving directions about her property while she snipped.

“I wish papa to have my pictures and my piece of poetry I made. Give baby my dolly and the quacking duck. Tell Billy, if he wants my collection of bright buttons, he can have ’em; and give Hattie the yellow plaster dog, with my love.”

Here mamma came in with a poultice, and couldn’t help laughing, though tears stood in her eyes, as she saw Poppy’s cropped head and heard her last wishes.

“I don’t think I shall lose my little girl yet, so we won’t talk of it. But Poppy must keep quiet, and let Nelly wait on her for a few days.”

“Are fits bad, mamma? and does it hurt much to die?” asked Poppy thoughtfully.

“If people are good while they live, it is not hard to die, dear,” said mamma, with a kiss; and Poppy hugged her, saying softly:

“Then I’ll be very good; so I won’t mind, if the jawlock does come.”

And Poppy was good,–oh, dreadfully good! for a week. Quite an angel was Poppy; so meek and gentle, so generous and obedient, you really wouldn’t have known her. She loved everybody, forgave her playmates all their sins against her, let Nelly take such of her precious treasures as she liked, and pensively hoped baby would remember her when she was gone. She hopped about with a crutch, and felt as if she was an object of public interest; for all the old ladies sent to know how she was, the children looked at her with respectful awe as one set apart and doomed to fits, and Cy continually begged to know if her mouth was stiff.