Little Annie's Ramble

From "Twice Told Tales"

DING-DONG! Ding-dong! Ding-dong!

The town crier has rung his bell, at a distant corner, and little Annie
stands on her father's doorsteps, trying to hear what the man with the
loud voice is talking about. Let me listen too. O, he is telling the
people that an elephant, and a lion, and a royal tiger, and a horse with
horns, and other strange beasts from foreign countries, have come to
town, and will receive all visitors who choose to wait upon them!
Perhaps little Annie would like to go. Yes; and I can see that the
pretty child is weary of this wide and pleasant street, with the green
trees flinging their shade across the quiet sunshine, and the pavements
and the sidewalks all as clean as if the housemaid had just swept them
with her broom. She feels that impulse to go strolling away--that
longing after the mystery of the great world--which many children feel,
and which I felt in my childhood. Little Annie shall take a ramble with
me. See! I do but hold out my hand, and, like some bright bird in the
sunny air, with her blue silk frock fluttering upwards from her white
pantalets, she comes bounding on tiptoe across the street.

Smooth back your brown curls, Annie; and let me tie on your bonnet, and
we will set forth! What a strange couple to go on their rambles
together! One walks in black attire, with a measured step, and a heavy
brow, and his thoughtful eyes bent down, while the gay little girl trips
lightly along, as if she were forced to keep hold of my hand, lest her
feet should dance away from the earth. Yet there is sympathy between us.
If I pride myself on anything, it is because I have a smile that children
love; and, on the other hand, there are few grown ladies that could
entice me from the side of little Annie; for I delight to let my mind go
hand in hand with the mind of a sinless child. So, come, Annie; but if I
moralize as we go, do not listen to me; only look about you, and be
merry!

Now we turn the corner. Here are hacks with two horses, and stage-
coaches with four, thundering to meet each other, and trucks and carts
moving at a slower pace, being heavily laden with barrels from the
wharves, and here are rattling gigs, which perhaps will be smashed to
pieces before our eyes. Hitherward, also, comes a man trundling a
wheelbarrow along the pavement. Is not little Annie afraid of such a
tumult? No; she does not even shrink closer to my side, but passes on
with fearless confidence, a happy child amidst a great throng of grown
people, who pay the same reverence to her infancy that they would to
extreme old age. Nobody jostles her; all turn aside to make way for
little Annie; and, what is most singular, she appears conscious of her
claim to