Gold-Locks' Dream Of Pussie Willow.

By Clara Doty Bates.     One sunny day, in the early spring,     Before a bluebird dared to sing,     Cloaked and furred as in winter weather,--     Seal-brown hat and cardinal feather,--     Forth with a piping song,     Went Gold-Locks "after flowers."     "Tired of waiting so long,"     Said this little girl of ours.     She searched the bare brown meadow over,     And found not even a leaf of clover;     Nor where the sod was chill and wet     Could she spy one tint of violet;     But where the brooklet ran     A noisy swollen billow,     She picked in her little hand     A branch of pussie-willow.     She shouted out, in a happy way,     At the catkins' fur, so soft and gray;     She smoothed them down with loving pats,     And called them her little pussie-cats.     She played at scratch and bite;     She played at feeding cream;     And when she went to bed that night,     Gold-Locks dreamed a dream.     Curled in a little cosy heap,     Under the bed-clothes, fast asleep,     She heard, although she scarce knew how,     A score of voices "M-e-o-w! m-e-o-w!"     And right before her bed,     Upon a branching tree,     Were kittens, and kittens, and kittens,     As thick as they could be.     Maltese, yellow, and black as ink;     White, with both ears lined with pink;     Striped, like a royal tiger's skin;     Yet all were hollow-eyed, and thin;     And each one wailed aloud,     Once, and twice, and thrice:     "We are the willow-pussies;     O, where are the willow-mice!"     Meanwhile, outside, through branch and bough,     The March wind wailed, "M-e-o-w! m-e-o-w!"     'Twas dark, and yet Gold-Locks awoke,     And softly to her mother spoke:     "If they were fed, mamma,     It would be very nice;     But I hope the willow-pussies     Won't find the willow-mice!"     Little girl,     Little girl,     Where have you been?     Gathering roses to give to the queen.