Hunting, hunting, here and there!
Rob's was under the Morris-chair;
Ned's, by a strange coincidence,
Was on a nail—of the garden fence;
And Margery's little pink Tam-o'-shanter
I chanced to spy in a morning saunter
Out through the barn, where 'tis wont to hide
When they've been having a "hay-mow slide."
IN SUMMER
When all the roads are white with dust,
And thirsty flowers complain,
Our little lassie cries, "I must
Go carry round the rain."
As up and down the garden plots
With busy feet she treads,
The pansies and forget-me-nots
Lift up their drooping heads.
She waters all the lilies tall,
The fragrant mignonette,
And hollyhocks beside the wall—
Not one does she forget.
What wonder that her garden grows
And blooms, and blooms again,
When every grateful blossom knows
Who "carries round the rain!"
HANNAH G. FERNALD.