When the day is done and the shadows cower under the trees, I
shall come back in the dusk.

I shall never go away from you into the town to work like father.

Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman of
the ferryboat when I am grown up.




THE FLOWER-SCHOOL


When storm clouds rumble in the sky and June showers come down,

The moist east wind comes marching over the heath to blow its
bagpipes among the bamboos.

Then crowds of flowers come out of a sudden, from nobody knows
where, and dance upon the grass in wild glee.

Mother, I really think the flowers go to school underground.

They do their lessons with doors shut, and if they want to come
out to play before it is time, their master makes them stand in a
corner.

When the rains come they have their holidays.