Ma wanted a good, new picture of me; so pa says, “‘ Lizabeth Ann, You come down town at noon to-day, and we'll go to the picture man; But do n't tell mother — we'll have a surprise for her on Christmas day, And give her a real nice photograft — I know just what she will say.”
“Oh, goody!” I says, “I am awful glad! I'll be there at noon, you see.” ( I like to have a secret with pa — it's awful much fun for me. ) I runned away at‘ leven o'clock, and ma did n't see me go, Although I had dressed in my very best — and that takes time, you know —
My party frock, and my best kid shoes; my furs and my “picture” hat, And my new red coat — the one she says, “Be careful, my dear, of that.” And when I got to his office, pa looked awful surprised, and said, “Dear me, what a dressed-up little girl! Why, really, you turn my head!”
And then we went to the picture man. He's nice enough, I s'pose, But what do you think he said to me? “You seem to be mostly clothes!” So pa and the man made me undress, till all that I had on me Was my shirtwaist slip — my arms and neck was bare as they both could be!
It made me feel umbarrassed! And then I guess that I nearly cried, But pa just patted me on the head and said he was satisfied. And now the pictures are finished up, and one is already framed; But ma'll be mad, I am pretty sure — I know that I feel ashamed;
For all that you see is my head and neck — and not a bit of my dress — She'll think I was funny to go down-town with so little on, I guess! Yet pa says, “Never you mind, my dear — blame it on me or the man; But mother will like it, you see if she do n't — she wanted you,
‘ Lizabeth Ann.”
Cookies on Poetry Cove