"The wheatfield is being ploughed, that Jack Frost may break the earth for next year's crop. On the roadside the empty grass-heads stand, white and beautiful with fine frost-work, but dead beneath their beauty.
"Of the birds who sang their joyous way through the other seasons only the braver ones are left. The rest have flown to find a warmer land till spring returns. So ends the tale."
WINTER TIME
Snow, snow! How the winds blow.
Across the sky the white flakes go.
Their steps are fast—their steps are slow—
They mean some mischief, that I know.
Cold, cold! Jack Frost is bold.
He nips the toes of young and old.
But better laugh than cry and scold.
Come for a slide with me. Take hold!
Run, run! The slide is done.
We'll warm ourselves without the sun.
Now snow is here and frost's begun,
The Winter will be splendid fun.
PRINTED BY CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED, LA BELLE SAUVAGE, LONDON, E.C.