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[Illustration: The good-natured Giant]




THE

TWO STORY MITTENS

AND THE

LITTLE PLAY MITTENS:


BEING

THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE SERIES.


BY

AUNT FANNY,


AUTHOR OF THE SIX NIGHTCAP BOOKS, ETC.


          NEW YORK:
          D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
          443 & 445 BROADWAY.
          LONDON: 16 LITTLE BRITAIN.
          1867.

  Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1862, by
  FANNY BARROW,
  In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States
      for the
  Southern District of New York.




                        I DEDICATE

          THESE TWO STORIES AND THIS LITTLE PLAY

                      TO MY FRIEND

                    MR. FRANK A----,

who makes fun of me before my face and speaks well of me behind my back.

I don't mind the first a bit; and as long as he continues to practise
the second, we will fight under the same flag.

              LONG MAY IT AND HE WAVE!




CONTENTS.


                                                      PAGE

          MORE ABOUT THE MITTENS,                        7

          THE PARTY LILLIE GAVE FOR MISS FLORENCE,      12

          THE FAIRY BENEVOLENCE,                        45

          MASTER EDWARD'S TRIAL,                        80

          THE LITTLE PLAY MITTENS,                     139




MORE ABOUT THE MITTENS.


THE mittens were coming bravely on. Some evenings, Aunt Fanny could not
send a story; and then the little mother read an entertaining book, or
chatted pleasantly with her children.

There had been twelve pairs finished, during the reading of the third
book, and several more were on the way. George had written the most
delightful letters, each of which was read to his eagerly-listening
sisters and brothers several times, for they were never tired of hearing
about life in camp.

This evening, the mother drew another letter, received that day, out of
her pocket. The very sight of the envelope, with the precious flag in
the corner, caused their eyes to sparkle, and their fingers to fly at
their patriotic and loving work.

"Attention!" said the mother in a severe, military tone. Everybody burst
out laughing, choked it off, immediately straightened themselves up as
stiff as ramrods, and she began:

          "DEAR MOTHER, CAPTAIN, AND ALL THE BELOVED
          SQUAD:--Our camp is splendid! We call it Camp
          Ellsworth. It covers the westward <DW72> of a
          beautiful hill. The air is pure and fresh, and our
          streets (for we have real ones) are kept as clean
          as a pin. Not an end of a cigar, or an inch of
          potato peeling, dare to show themselves. Directly
          back of the camp strong earthworks have been
          thrown up, with rifle pits in front; and these are
          manned by four artillery companies from New York.
          Our commissary is a very good fellow, but I wish
          he would buy pork with less fat. I am like the boy
          in school, who wrote home to his mother, his face
          all puckered up with disgust: "They make us eat
          p-h-a-t!!" When I swizzle it (or whatever you call
          that kind of cooking) in a pan over the fire,
          there is nothing left of a large slice, but a
          little shrivelled brown bit, swimming in about
          half a pint of melted lard, not quarter enough to
          satisfy a great robin redbreast like me; but I
          make the most of it, by pointing my bread for some
          time at it, and then eating a lot of bread before
          I begin at the pork. The pointing, you see, gives
          the bread a flavor."

The children screamed with laughter at this, and wanted to have some
salt pork cooked immediately to try the "pointing" flavor. Their mother
promised to have some for breakfast, and went on reading:


          "We are very busy at drills. I give the boys
          plenty of field exercise, quick step, skirmishes,
          double quick, and all manner of manoeuvres. After
          drill, we sing songs, tell jokes, and _play_ jokes
          upon each other, but we don't forget, in doing
          this, that we are _gentlemen_.

          "Oh dear mother, I am crazy to be in action! I am
          afraid, if we don't have a battle soon, I shall
          get motheaten. Our General is a glorious fellow,
          and is just as anxious as we are to have it over;
          peace will come all the sooner. Hol