NANCY BYRD TURNER.

A BATH-TUB JOKE

Clean and sweet from head to feet Is Jerry, but not his twin.

"Now for the other!" says merry mother, And quickly dips him in.

Jim and Jerry, with lips of cherry, And eyes of the selfsame blue; Twins to a speckle, yes, even a freckle-- What can a mother do?

They wink and wriggle and laugh and giggle-- A joke on mother is nice!

"We played a joke,"--'twas Jimmie who spoke,-- "And you've washed the same boy twice!"

HER OWN WAY

When Polly goes into the parlor to play, She never minds what the little notes say, Nor peeps at a music-book; "I play by ear," says the little dear (When some of us think the music's queer), "So why should I need to look?"

When Polly goes into the kitchen to cook, She never looks at a cookery-book, Nor a sign of a recipe; It's a dot of this and a dab of that, And a twirl of the wrist and a pinch and a pat-- "I cook by hand," says she.

THE MONTH OF MAY

It comes just after April, And right before 'tis June; And every bird that's singing Has this same lovely tune: You needn't ask your mother To let you go and play; The very breezes whisper, "You may! You may! You may!"

There are no frosts to freeze you, And no fierce winds to blow; But winds that seem like kisses, So soft and sweet and slow; The lovely sun is shining 'Most every single day.

Of course you may go out, dears-- It is the _month_ of "May"!

THE BIRTHDAY

Bring the birthday-marker!

That's the way to show How much I've been growing Since a year ago.

All my last year's dresses Are too short for me; This one--with the tucks out-- Only to my knee!

Grandpa rubs his gla.s.ses; Whispers, "Yes, indeed!

How that child is growing-- Growing like a weed!"

Mother's word is sweetest: "Yes, in sun and shower She's been growing, growing, Growing like a flower!"

BABY'S PLAYTHINGS

Ten cunning little playthings He never is without-- His little wiggle-waggle toes That carry him about.

They look so soft and pinky, And good enough to eat!

How lucky that the little toes Are fastened to his feet!

Ten little pinky playthings He cannot eat or lose; Except when Nursey hides them all In little socks and shoes.

WHEN IT RAINS

We don't mind rainy days a bit, my brother Ted and I; There's such a lot of games to play before it comes blue sky.

Sometimes we play I'm Mrs. Noah, and Ted's Methusalem!

I put him in his little box and hand his little drum (There has to be some way, you see, to let the Ark-folks know That Father Noah expects them all, and where they are to go) And then they come by twos and twos, and twos and twos and _twos_, Till trotting with them 'cross the floor 'most wears out my new shoes.

They all go in, and when it's time, we let the flood begin; The rainier it rains the more we like it staying in.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Staying In]

THE SLEEPING TREES.

I know how the apple-tree went to sleep!

Its fluttering leaves were so tired of play!-- Like frolicsome children when dusk grows deep, And mother says "Come!" and they gladly creep To knee and to nest at the end of day.

Its work was all done and it longed to rest; The reddening apples dropped softly down; The leaves fell in heaps to the brown earth's b.r.e.a.s.t.s And then, of a sudden, its limbs were dressed (The better to sleep) in a soft white gown.

The maples and beeches and oaks and all-- When summer was over, each cool green tent Seemed suddenly turned to a banquet hall, Pavilions with banners, a flaming wall!

And then all was gone and their glory spent.

Then quickly the sky shook her blankets out, And robes that were softer than wool to don She gave all her children the winds to flout-- I wish I knew what they are dreaming about, So quiet and still with their white gowns on!

A SUMMER HOLIDAY

Can you guess where I have been?

On the hillsides fresh and green!

Out where all the winds are blowing, Where the free, bright streamlet's flowing Leap and laugh and race and run Like a child that's full of fun!-- Crinkle, crinkle through the meadows, Hiding in the woodland shadows; Making here and there a pool In some leafy covert cool For the Lady Birch to see Just how fair and sweet is she.

Can you guess where I have been?

By a brook where willows lean; With a book whereon to look, In some little shady nook, If that I should weary grow Of that lovelier book I know Whose sweet leaves the wind is turning-- Full of lessons for my learning.

There are little songs to hear If you bend a listening ear; And no printed book can be Half so dear and sweet to me.