Buttercup Gold | Page 5

be opened so that my butterflies can come out. I shall have to make good soil and get my clover beds ready for the honey makers. Come at once, as some have been sleeping too long already. Whisper to the trees as you pass that it is time they were budding, Be gentle with all, for they are my children, and I love them.
Good-bye, from your Mother Nature
This she directed to the Sunbeams at Blue Sky Park, and the Raindrops at Cloud Land. When the message reached these little helpers, they started off at once to obey the call, and the sun gave such a merry laugh, that Grandma came to the door of the farm house and remarked: "How warm it is today, quite like spring; I believe I will set out my geraniums." But just then a silvery voice said: "Wait a little while longer till we make the ground soft," and pop came a raindrop upon the dear old lady's nose, and she hurried into the house, saying "What queer weather we are having! first sun and then rain." Then the Raindrops and Sunbeams smiled at each other, and danced more merrily, for they knew what good work they were doing to the great brown house where the flowers dwell.
The tap, tap, of the Raindrops wake them up, and when they raised their sleepy heads and felt the warm kisses of the Sunbeams, they were glad and began to grow. Soft breezes called to the leaves to come out, and soon the brown coats which the trees had worn all winter were replaced by new green dresses. Pussy willow and snowdrop were the first to herald the spring, and crocus and violet soon followed. Out in the woods blossomed tiny pink and white May flowers. Little seeds burst off their jackets and sent up green plumes. Then Mother Nature called her helpers again and told them to search for the lilies, and dress them in white robes for Easter. And so each beautiful flower came again--and the birds sang once more, and the children were glad that spring had come again. The little helpers had done their work well, and were happy--and every one thanked God for the spring.

Rock-A-By Baby
"Rock-a-by baby in the tree top, When the wind blows the cradle will rock."
Helena was playing with her dolls under the Maple tree in the garden. It was the first warm day of spring, and the little girl was glad to be out of doors again, and to rock her babies to sleep on one of the low branches.
But she was not the only one singing a lullaby that bright sunny morning, for Mother Nature was singing one, too, and a soft breeze was gently tucking some little brown cradles to and fro in the tree tops. Some were very, very small, and others wen larger, but each held a wee leaf baby, fast asleep. The next time Helena came out to play, the babies in the treetop were waking up, and she could see them in their dainty green nightdresses, peeping out at the world. During the next week they grew a great deal, and one of them crept out of their cradles which fell down to the ground, leaving the babies still up in the tree top.
By the time Spring went away, the babies had grown large and strong, and spread beautiful green parasols to give shade to their friends through the hot, dusty days of summer. When Autumn came, Mother Nature gave them a holiday, and how pretty they looked in their gay gowns as they frolicked with the wind!
Then they said good-by to the Maple tree, and went dancing and whirling over the fields to meet King Winter. When Helena looked into their old homes on the tree, she found some more tiny brown cradles, and knew that in them were new leaf babies that sleep safely til Spring comes again to visit Earthdom, and wakes each "baby in the tree top."

A Child of Spring
I know a little maiden, She is very fair and sweet, As she trips among the grasses That kiss her dainty feet; Her arms are full of flowers, The snow-drops, pure and white, Timid blue-eyed violets, And daffodillies bright.
She loves dear Mother Nature, And wanders by her side; She beckons to the birdlings That flock from far and wide. She wakes the baby brooklets, Soft breezes hear her call; She tells the little children The sweetest tales of all.
Her brow is sometimes clouded, And she sighs with gentle grace, Till the sunbeams, daring lovers, Kiss the teardrops from her face. Well we know this dainty maiden, For April is her name; And we welcome her with gladness, As the springtime comes again.

Mr. Frog's Story
Down in the garden is a pretty