(KATE BOLT, AGED ELEVEN, IN CHARGE OF HER LITTLE BROTHER) 'GEORGIE, whom do you love best?' 'Kittie,'—comes the arch reply. Baby lips are wildly prest, Dimpled arms are flung on high. Georgie's love, I fear, will fade, Sissie's too will some day wane He will claim another maid, She some simple, loving swain. Yet to me their tender loves Bear the seal of Heaven's impress, When the spirit swiftly moves At a little maid's caress. |