A Jolly Jingle-Book | Page 6

she forget.
What wonder that her garden grows
And blooms, and blooms again,

When every grateful blossom knows
Who "carries round the rain!"
HANNAH G. FERNALD.
OUR LITTLE BROOK
Our little brook just sings and sings
In such a happy way,
I'd love to
sit beside it,
And listen all the day.
In spring it has a merry sound,
I know the reason why--
Because the
ice has gone and now
The brook can see the sky.
It loves to glisten in the sun
And sparkle in its light.
I'm sure it
loves the silvery moon
And sings to it at night.
The summer song is not so gay,
The brook is now quite still,
With
here and there a darling song
Sung by a tiny rill.
I love to watch the bubbles float,
I wonder where they go,
I see the
little "skaters"
All darting to and fro.

When leaves are falling from the trees
As fast as they can fall,
I
love to sail them in the brook--
Though there's not room for all.
They sail like little fairy boats
And start out merrily,
But sometimes
find a stopping place
Before they reach the sea.
The winter brook is soon with ice
All covered up with care,
But I
can hear a tiny voice,
I know the brook is there!
EDITH DUNHAM.
THE PINEWOOD PEOPLE
When winds are noisy-winged and high,
And crystal-clear the day,

Down where the forest meets the sky
The Pinewood People play.
Far off I see them bow, advance,
Swing partners and retreat,
As
though some slow, old-fashioned dance
Had claimed their tripping
feet.
Or hand to hand they wave, and so,
With dip and bend and swing,

Through "tag" and "hide" and "touch and go"
They flutter, frolicking.
But when I run to join the play,
I find my search is vain.
Always
they see me on the way,
And change to pines again.
ELIZABETH THORNTON TURNER.
THE STUDENTS
I say to Tommy every day,
"Now let us read awhile,"
But Tommy
doesn't like to read,
He'd rather be a prancing steed,
And have me
drive him many a mile,
And often run away.
I like to do as grown folks do.
Our house is full of books.
My
sisters gather every night
About the cheery study light.
I often think

how wise it looks,
And wish I could stay, too.
So I coax Tommy every day
To read a little while.
I know my M's
and N's and P's
And everything, 'way down to Z's.
When Tommy
reads I have to smile,
For Tommy just knows A!
HANNAH G. FERNALD.
THE LADY MOON
There's a lady in the moon,
With a floating gown of white;
You can
see her very soon,
When mamma turns out the light.
Tis a lady and she smiles
Through my narrow window way,
As she
sails on miles and miles,
Making night as fair as day.
ALICE TURNER CURTIS.
THE JOURNEY
Whither away shall the baby ride?
How many miles shall he fare?

Under the trees whose arms spread wide,
Out to the meadow there.
Down by the brook that flows rippling by,
Bordered by moss and fern.

From flower and bird and tree and sky
How many things shall he
learn?
Baby'll journey all safe and sound
Out in the world of green,

Traveling over the grassy ground,
Where wild flowers are seen.
Leaves will whisper and birds will trill,
And all things display their
charms,
And, when he's journeyed as far as he will,
He'll ride back
to mother's arms.
Then, though he thought the green world good,
He'll gladly come
back to rest,
And will drowsily feel, as a baby should,
That mother's

arms are the best.
ANNIE WILLIS MCCULLOUGH.
PRETENDING
We played we were lost in the wood,
But home was just over the hill.

With only one cooky for food,
We played we were lost in the wood.

We talked just as loud as we could,
The world seemed so big and
so still.
We wished we had always been good,
And we said in our
hearts, "Now we will."
We gathered fresh grass for our bed,
And then there was nothing to
do.
A robin flew over my head
As we gathered fresh grass for our
bed.
"He'll cover us up," brother said,
And then he began to
boo-hoo,
And home to our mother we fled,
Or, really, I might have
cried too.
HANNAH G. FERNALD.
A LITTLE APRIL FOOL
One day in the midst
Of an April shower.
This dear little girl
Was
missed for an hour.
And under the trees
And over the grass,
We all went hunting
The
little lost lass.
We found her at last
Where two walls met,
A-looking naughty

And a-dripping wet.
"I was April-fooling,"
She softly said;
And down she dropped
A
shamed little head.
[Illustration: A Little April Fool]
FROST FIRES

Look! look! look!
The woods are all afire!
See! see! see!
Aflame
are bush and brier!
The trees are all unhurt, I know--
Oak, maple,
elm and all--
But, oh, they all seem burning up
In red fires of the
fall!
WHISTLING IN THE RAIN
Whistle, whistle, up the road,
And whistle, whistle down the lane!

That's the laddie takes my heart,
A-whistling in the rain.
Winter wind may whistle too--
That's a comrade gay!
Naught that
any wind can do
Drives his cheer away.
Whistle, whistle, sun or storm;
And whistle, whistle, warm or cold!

Underneath his ragged coat
There beats a