"I want to tut drass," she said in her most persuasive tones. So Bessie gave her the rusty scissors she was allowed to use, and let her play make hay till her toy wagon was full. "I want a dint a water, pease," was the next request, and Bessie went in to get it. She was delayed a few moments, and when she came out no sign of Queenie remained but a pile of yellow hair cut off in a hurry, and the end of the cord. Slyboots was gone, scissors and all. Then there was racing and calling, scolding and wailing, but no Queenie was to be seen anywhere on the premises. Poor Bessie ran one way, Aunt Morton another, and Billy, who happened to be at home, poked into all the nooks and corners for the runaway. An hour passed, and things began to look serious, when Harry came in much excited, and laughing so he could hardly speak. "Where _do_ you think that dreadful baby has turned up? Over at Pat Floyd's. He found her in the water pipes. You know a lot of those big ones are lying in the back street ready to use as soon as the place is dug. Well, that little rascal crept in, and then couldn't turn round, so she went on till she came out by Pat's house, and nearly scared him out of his wits. The pipes were not joined, so she had light and air, but I guess she had a hard road to travel. Such a hot, dirty, tired baby you never saw. Mrs. Floyd is washing her up. You'd better go and get her, Bess." Bess went and returned with naughty Queenie, looking as if rats had gnawed her curls off, and the sand of the great desert had been ground into her hands and knees,--not to mention the iron rust that ruined her pretty pink frock, or the crown of her hat rubbed to rags. "I wasn't frighted. You said Dod be'd all wound, so I goed wite alon, and Mis Foyd gived me a nice cold tater, and a tootie, and the bid dord washed my hands wif his wed tun." That was Queenie's account of the matter, but she behaved so well after it that her friends suspected the perilous prank had made a good impression upon her. To keep her at home she was set to farming, and the little house was a barn. In it lived a rocking horse, several wooden cows, woolly sheep, cats and dogs, as well as a queer collection of carts and carriages, tools and baskets. Every day the busy little farmer dug and hoed, planted and watered her "dardin," made hay, harvested vegetables, picked fruit, or took care of animals,--pausing now and then to ride her horse, drive out in her phaeton, or go to an imaginary fire with the engine Billy had made for her. The little friends came to help her, and the flower-beds soon looked as if an earthquake had upheaved them; for things were planted upside down, holes dug, stones piled, and potatoes laid about as if expected to dig themselves. But cheeks bloomed like roses, small hands got brown, and busy feet trotted firmly about the paths, while the red barn echoed with the gayest laughter all day long.