She wanders off, nor listens to call,
But the pine cone chips that fall on me,
Remind me of squirrels far up in the tree--
The nuts they're gath'ring to store away
'Gainst skies of winter's cold and grey.
There's something else that skips so free
Through the brush with hardly a glance at me;
With his furry coat, he's quick as a wink,
Would I be a rabbit? I stop and think.
But between you and I--
After all, what's the use
In spending my time regretting?
There's only one thing I'll turn into--
A goose!
If I waste many moments in fretting!




The Things in the Garden

By GERTRUDE WARNER


Rose and Marguerite were playing in the nursery when they heard a queer
bumping noise down in the back yard.

"What's that?" asked Rose, stopping to listen.

"That's Stubby, kicking his heels against the settee. He's awful cross