Where is Mary Alice Smith? by James Whitcomb Riley

"Where -- is -- Mary -- Alice -- Smith? Oh -- / she -- has -- gone -- home! " It was the thin / mysterious voice of little Mary Alice Smith herself / that so often queried and responded as above -- / every word accented with a sweet and eery intonation, / and a very gaiety of solemn earnestness that / baffled the cunning skill of all childish imitators. A / slender wisp of a girl she was, not more than ten / years in appearance, though her age had been / given to us as fourteen. The spindle ankles that / she so airily flourished from the sparse concealment / of a worn and shadowy calico skirt seemed scarce / a fraction more in girth than the slim blue-veined / wrists she tossed among the loose and ragged tresses / of her yellow hair, as she danced around the room. / She was, from the first, an object of curious and / most refreshing interest to our family -- to us children / in particular -- an interest, though years and / years have interposed to shroud it in the dull dust / of forgetfulness, that still remains vivid and bright / and beautiful.

Whether an orphan child only, or / with a father that could thus lightly send her adrift, / I do not know now, nor do I care to ask, but I do / recall distinctly that on a raw bleak day in early / winter she was brought to us, from a wild country settlement, by / a reputed uncle -- a gaunt round- / shouldered man, with deep eyes and sallow cheeks / and weedy-looking beard, as we curiously watched / him from the front window stolidly swinging this / little, blue-lipped, red-nosed waif over the muddy / wagon-wheel to father's arms, like so much country / produce. And even as the man resumed his seat / upon the thick board laid across the wagon, and / sat chewing a straw, with spasmodic noddings of / the head, as some brief further conference detained / him, I remember mother quickly lifting my sister / up from where we stood, folding and holding the / little form in unconscious counterpart of father and / the little girl without. And how we gathered round / her when father brought her in, and mother fixed / a cozy chair for her close to the blazing fire, and / untied the little summer hat, with its hectic / trimmings, together with the dismal green veil that had / been bound beneath it round the little tingling ears. / The hollow, pale blue eyes of the child followed / every motion with an alertness that suggested a / somewhat suspicious mind.