doors which led straight into the garden, and the children were with
her.

Jack was lying on the floor with his face to the garden, and supposed to
be reading a book; while the little girls were busy with some easy
fancy-work, making something to take home to their mother when they left
Woodside.

Jack seemed to be more interested in something out of doors than he was
in his book. At last he exclaimed, "Grandmamma, do look; isn't that a
beautiful white fleecy cloud?"

"Yes, it is indeed, Jack. Clouds _are_ beautiful and well worth looking
at."

The girls put down their work and went to the doors to look out, or
rather up, at the deep blue sky, covered with patches of downy white.

"That cloud looks as if it were made of snow mountains and caves," said
Mary. "See how it changes its shape: now there is another cloud coming
to it: now they have melted into one."

"The sky is one beautiful thing that you can watch anywhere, in town or
country, in summer or winter," said grandmamma. "It is like a
picture-book that is always open; and the pictures are always changing."

The children stood and watched the clouds as they sailed about like
majestic swans. Some moved faster than others, and came in front of
them. They mingled and they parted, and took all sorts of shapes. The
colour changed from pure white to delicate gray; and again a stormy