"Mother," they said one day, "we know now where the colours go from the flowers. See, they are there," and as they spoke they thought of the maiden sitting silently at work in her cloud-home. They knew that she was weeping at sending forth her most beautiful one, and yet smiling as she watched the soft archway she had made. "See, they are all there, dear mother," the children repeated, looking at the falling rain and the shining sun, and pointing to the rainbow that spanned the river.
OVER THE PORRIDGE.
They sat down to eat their porridge. The naughty little girl turned her back upon her sister, and put a large spoonful into her mouth.
"Oh—oh—oh!" she cried, "I have burnt my tongue."
"Eat it slowly," said the good little sister. She took up her porridge carefully, and after blowing it very gently, and waiting for a minute or two while it cooled, ate it, and found it very nice.
"I shall not eat mine until it is quite cold," said Totsey, getting cross.
"Then it will be nasty," said the good little sister, still going on with her own porridge.
"Oh, dear," said Totsey, "if I eat it too hot it burns me, and if I eat it too cold it's nasty. What shall I do?"