In a city not far from Boston, there once lived a stout little fellow named Willie Wilkins. He was six years old, had red cheeks and blue eyes, and such curly hair that it was always in a tumble, no matter how much it was brushed.
One summer his mamma took him into the country to spend a few weeks at a farm-house. The farmer's wife, Mrs. Hill, was very glad to have him come, for she had no girls or boys of her own, to make the house pleasant. She liked to see Willie running about, and hear his shrill voice calling after the great house-dog Bruno.
One morning Willie had been as busy as ever at his play: he had been in the orchard, hunting for ripe apples; he had been in the barn, looking for hen's eggs in the sweet hay; he had been down to the brook, sailing his boat; and he had played market-man, with Bruno harnessed for a horse.

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