"But who'll write the verses for us?" asked Emma. "There must be a verse
for every season."

"Oh, the teacher will write them for us!" cried Ruth. "No one could do
it better."

And so, on the morning of grandmother's birthday, as she sat in her
large armchair, with her own pussy on a stool at her side, the "Four
Seasons" entered the room, one after another, and formed a semicircle
in front of her. Grandmother was not a bit frightened. She smiled
kindly; and then the "Seasons" spoke as follows:--

[Illustration: Celebrating Grandmother's Birthday]


SPRING.

I am the Spring: with sunshine see me coming;
Birds begin to twitter; hark! the bees are humming:
Green to field and hillside, blossoms to the tree,
Joy to every human heart are what I bring with me.


SUMMER.

See my wealth of flowers! I'm the golden Summer:
Is there for the young or old a more welcome comer?
Come and scent the new-mown grass; by the hillside stray;
And confess that only June brings the perfect day.