This is a nice story reminding us to be happy as the seasons change, for there is something special about every time of year.
Recollections of Summer
Ellen and Ruth sat on the sofa in the nice warm room where their father kept his books. A fire burnt in the grate; but, out of doors, the wind blew hard, and the snow beat against the windows.
“Don’t you remember,” said Ruth, “when we used to work in our little garden, with a watering-pot and the rake?”
“Yes, ” said Ellen; ” and don’t you remember how I used to get my little basket full of flowers, and bring them in, and fix them in a vase, and then put them on father’s table?”
“Yes; and then we would go and you rake hay in the field where the men had been mowing. How sweet the hay used to smell! Oh, I do not like the winter at all!”
“Do not say so, Ruth! Think how much that is sweet the winter brings us. We can slide on the ice; we can drag our little sleds; and we are to have, each of us, a pair of skates soon. It was only the other day I heard you say you were glad to see the snow.”
“It is very odd, Ellen; but in winter, when I think of summer, I like the summer best; and in summer, when I think of winter, I like the winter best.”
” That shows, my dear little Ruth, that God, who gives us winter and summer, and autumn and spring, knows best what is good for us. Our true way is to be content with every season as it comes, and not to keep finding fault with the weather.”
” Yes, that is the true way,” said Ruth; ” and, though it is so dark and stormy out of doors now, we can sit here before this nice, cheerful fire, and read our good books, and look at pictures of the summer-time, till we almost feel as if we were plucking flowers and raking hay once more.
This one’s a nice one to look at for the winter season!
A Dialogue for George and Frank
Somebody’s been in the garden,
Nipping the blossoms fair:
All the green leaves are blackened – –
Who do you think was there?
Somebody’s been in the forest,
Cracking the chestnut-burrs:
Who is it dropping the chestnut
Whenever a light wind stirs?
Somebody’s been at the windows,
Marking on every pane:
Who made the delicate drawings
Of lace-work and moss and grain?
Somebody’s all the time working
Out on the pond so blue,
Bridging it over with crystal, – – –
Now can you tell me who?
While he is building his bridges
We will patiently wait;
And, when he has them all finished,
Then we will slide and skate.
And I will hurrah, and you will hurrah – – –
And we both will hurrah – – –
For Jack Frost!
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