One of them anywhere, send her to me.
I would give a medal of purest gold
To one of those dear little girls of old,
With an innocent heart and open smile,
Who knows not the meaning of “flirt” or “style.”
THE FLOWERS AND THE WATER DROPS.
DOWN in an earth garden were some flowers all drooping and sad. Father Sun saw them, and calling his little children, the sunbeams, to him, said, “To-day, my little helpers, I need you to do some work for me. Go down to the big, round earth far below, and bring back to the sky country all the water dust that you can carry.”
The little sunbeams started, and although it was a long, long journey, they were so bright and merry that it seemed like play to them. By and by they drew near to Mother Earth, and before long saw myriads of tiny drops of water, some taking hold of hands forming part of the great ocean, others rushing along in a strong, deep river, while some were dancing and tumbling in a merry little brook, singing sweet songs. But how could the sunbeams coax the water drops to come up into the sky country? Surely the ocean, or the river, or even the little laughing brooks could not be carried up so high!