[Ill.u.s.tration: Sympathy]

A SPRING SONG

Out in the woods, Where the wild birds sing, It is all alive With the happy spring.

It gets in my feet, And the first I know They are dancing-glad, And away they go.

I race with the brook Till my breath is gone, And it laughs at me As it races on.

I rock with the trees, And I sway and swing, And make believe I am part of the spring.

SECRETS

I know a man that's big and tall, With gla.s.ses on his nose, And canes and shiny hats and all Such grown-up things as those; But we have secrets I won't tell!

Here in the nursery, Before they ring the dinner-bells He's just a boy like me.

He comes home from the office, where They think he's just a man The same as they are, with his hair All slick and spick and span.

Oh, don't I make it in a mess!

It makes us scream for joy.

"Sh--sh!" he says, "they mustn't guess I'm nothing but a boy!"

And sometimes when the doorbell rings, The girl knocks at the door.

"An' is the doctor in?" she sings, A dozen times or more.

"Good-by, old man!" he says. "That bell Means business. Here's your toy!"

And off he goes. I'll never tell He's nothing but a boy.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Secrets]

SOMEBODY DID IT

Hunting, hunting, high and low, Where do the caps and "tammies" go?

Ned's--he hung it, he knows he did, Right on a nail, and it went and hid!

Rob's--"Well, mother, I'm almost sure I hung it"--"Right on the parlor floor?"

"_Where_ is my 'Tam'?" cried Margery; And the household echoes, "Where _can_ it be?"

"Somebody does it!" Yes, they do!

And not a person to "lay things to!"

Ned will sputter and Rob complain, And Margery weeps till it looks like rain; And the family puts its gla.s.ses on And hunts and hunts till the day is gone; Somebody! wicked old Somebody!

No end of trouble you make for me.

Hunting, hunting, here and there!

Rob's was under the Morris-chair; Ned's, by a strange coincidence, _Was_ on a nail--of the garden fence; And Margery's little pink Tam-o'-shanter I chanced to spy in a morning saunter Out through the barn, where 'tis wont to hide When they've been having a "hay-mow slide."

IN SUMMER

When all the roads are white with dust, And thirsty flowers complain, Our little la.s.sie cries, "I must Go carry round the rain."

As up and down the garden plots With busy feet she treads, The pansies and forget-me-nots Lift up their drooping heads.

She waters all the lilies tall, The fragrant mignonette, And hollyhocks beside the wall-- Not one does she forget.

What wonder that her garden grows And blooms, and blooms again, When every grateful blossom knows Who "carries round the rain!"

HANNAH G. FERNALD.

OUR LITTLE BROOK

Our little brook just sings and sings In such a happy way, I'd love to sit beside it, And listen all the day.

In spring it has a merry sound, I know the reason why-- Because the ice has gone and now The brook can see the sky.

It loves to glisten in the sun And sparkle in its light.

I'm sure it loves the silvery moon And sings to it at night.

The summer song is not so gay, The brook is now quite still, With here and there a darling song Sung by a tiny rill.

I love to watch the bubbles float, I wonder where they go, I see the little "skaters"

All darting to and fro.

When leaves are falling from the trees As fast as they can fall, I love to sail them in the brook-- Though there's not room for all.

They sail like little fairy boats And start out merrily, But sometimes find a stopping place Before they reach the sea.

The winter brook is soon with ice All covered up with care, But I can hear a tiny voice, I know the brook is there!

EDITH DUNHAM.

THE PINEWOOD PEOPLE

When winds are noisy-winged and high, And crystal-clear the day, Down where the forest meets the sky The Pinewood People play.