Or picnics by the creek,
Or apple pies, or pantomimes,
I love to hear you speak.

The date of Magna Charta or
The doings of the Dutch,
Or capes, or towns, or verbs, or nouns
Do not excite me much;
But when you mention motor rides--
Down by the sea for choice
Or chasing games, or chocolates,
I love to hear your voice.



THE BOY WHO RODE INTO THE SUNSET

Once upon a time--it was not so very long ago, either--a little boy,
named Neville, lived with his people in a house which was almost in
the country. That is to say, it was just at the edge of the city; and
at the back of the house was a rather large hill, which was quite
bald.

Neville, who was fond of playing by himself, would often wander to the
top of the bald hill; and if he stood right on top of it and looked
one way, toward the East, he could see right over the city, with all
its tall buildings and domes and spires and smoking chimneys. But
looking the other way, to the West, he could see for miles over the
beautiful country, with its green fields and orchards and white roads
and little farm houses.