One, Two--buckle my shoe; Three, Four--open the door; Five, Six--pick up sticks; Seven, Eight--lay them straight; Nine, Ten--a good fat hen; Eleven, Twelve--I hope you're well; Thirteen, Fourteen--draw the curtain; Fifteen, Sixteen--the maid's in the kitchen; Seventeen, Eighteen--she's in waiting; Nineteen, Twenty--my stomach's empty. [Illustration: "AH, AH! SO THAT'S WHERE HE BURIES HIS OLD BONES!"] #STORIES _for_ LITTLE GIRLS# A PAIR OF GLOVES BY H. G. DURYEE The little girls who lived on Amity Street all wore mittens when they went to school in winter. Nobody's mother ever thought of anything else to keep small hands warm. Some mothers or grandmothers crocheted them, and some knit them with fancy stitches down the back, or put other mark of distinction upon them; but they were always mittens, and were always fastened to a long ribbon or piece of braid or knitted rein, so that they might not get lost, one from the other. This connecting-link frequently gave rise to confusion, for when two little girls put their arms around each other's necks as they walked to school, they sometimes got tangled up in the mitten string and had to duck and turn and bump heads before the right string was again resting on the right shoulder. But as it was possible to laugh a great deal and lose one's breath while this was going on, it was rather an advantage than otherwise, and little girls who were special chums were pretty sure to manage a tangle every other day at least. Clarabel Bradley did her tangling and untangling with Josephine Brown, who lived at the end of Amity Street. They both went to the same school and were in the same class. They waited for each other in the morning, and came home together, and shared each other's candy and ginger cookies whenever there were any, and took firm sides together whenever the school-yard was the scene of dispute. But into this intimacy came a pair of gloves, almost wrecking it. The gloves were sent by Clarabel's aunt, who was young and pretty and taught school in a large city; and they came done up in white tissue-paper inside a box with gilt trimming around the edges and a picture on the center of the cover. Taken out of the paper, they revealed all their alluring qualities. They were of a beautiful glossy brown kid with soft woolly linings and real fur around the wrists, and they fastened with bright gilded clasps. With them was a note which said: For Clarabel, with love from her Aunt Bessie. =Not to be kept for Sundays, but worn every day.= And the last sentence was underscored. Clarabel's mother looked doubtful as she read the message. Such gloves were an extravagance even for best--and mittens were warmer. But when she encountered Clarabel's shining eyes she smiled and gave in.