11. Tired of Being a Little Girl

“Oh, dear me,” sighed a little girl one fine morning, “I wish I could be something else!” “What would you like to be?” said a little voice. “I would like to be a rosebud,” she said. In a moment she felt her skirts twisting about her body, and when she touched her pink dress it was not calico but rose-leaves. She looked at her feet and they had turned green. So she knew she was a rosebud, growing on a bush in a garden. The wind swung her back and forth. It was so nice to be a rosebud. Suddenly a beautiful Fairy bent over and said, “I will drink the dew and eat the tender leaves of the rosebud for dinner.” “Don’t, don’t,” cried the little girl, “if you do you will eat my head.” The Fairy began to laugh. “Please, make me something else, quick,” cried the little girl; “make me into a bird.” In a minute she was a real, live bird hopping around among the daisies. “This is great fun,” she cried, “but I begin to feel hungry.” “Do you?” said a little voice; “then I’ll feed you.” In front of her stood the ugliest little man, holding in his hand a slimy worm, which he wanted to put into her mouth. She screamed out, “I won’t eat that worm! I’m not a real bird! I’m a—I’m a——” Just then she awoke and found she had been dreaming under the apple tree. Then she ran as fast as she could into the house, and cried, “O mamma, I’d rather be a little girl than anything else.”