The rest of the bricks were either broken or blackened a little. Those bricks were my naughty, idle scholars. I used to stand them up in a row to learn their lessons. The first thing I knew those bad bricks would all tumble down in a heap. Numbers of little lilac-switches grew about my schoolhouse, and I fear I was a severe teacher.
When the lilacs were in bloom, that dear little summer-house was a very gay little place. The great, purple plumes would nod in every little wind that blew. The air was full of sweetness. Butterflies made the trees bright with their slowly-waving wings. There was a drowsy hum of many bees. Sometimes we would catch hold of one of the slender trunks of the lilac trees, and give it a smart shake. Away would flash a bright cloud of butterflies, and a swarm of angry, buzzing bees!
Pleasant Sabbath afternoons, we used to take our Sunday-school books out under the lilacs to read. And as we read about good deeds and unselfish lives, our own choir of birds would sing sweet hymns. Then we would look up and smile, and say, “They have good singing at the lilac church, don’t they?”
Percia V. White.
I HAD A ROW OF BRICKS FOR SCHOLARS.
EIGHT YEARS OLD.
THE SINGING-LESSON.
A slender, liquid note,
Long-drawn and silver-sweet.
Obediently the little maid