A SUMMER AT WILLOW-SPRING.
The trunks were strapped on the back of the carriage; we children, with Nurse, were bundled inside; the door shut—the driver snapped his whip—and without any time for last good-byes, we were whirled away to the station. How excited and glad we were, for Papa and Mamma were to follow us next day, and we left the city far behind to spend the whole beautiful summer at Willow-spring. The very first day after our arrival, we were out—Willie, my brother, Elsie, our little four-year-old sister, and myself—scouring the premises, and I guess there were not a nook or corner we had not visited by night. It was a lovely place, with broad shady walks through which we raced, or Willie drove us as two spirited young colts, for like most boys he was rather masterful.
I wish I could tell you of the grand time we had that summer. We formed the acquaintance of several little neighbor children, who proved pleasant playmates, and together we would wander through the cool leafy woods, or roam the sunny meadows gathering sweet wild strawberries and armsful of golden-eyed daisies, and taking our treasures home, would have a little treat on the shady veranda, and garland ourselves with long daisy chains, making believe we were woodland fairies. Once in a while the rabbits from the near wood ran across the garden path, timid and shy little creatures at first—they grew quite tame from our feeding—and Elsie dearly loved her bunnies, as she called them.
Rapidly the days flew by, and the time for our departure was at hand. We felt sorry to leave, but Mamma, to console us in part, planned a little out-door feast for the day before our going, to which our little friends were all invited, and a happy, merry band of children played out under the trees, and ate the goodies so generously provided. Just before breaking up, we all joined in playing our favorite game of “snap the whip,” and with screams and laughter, one after another of the weakest ones rolled over in the soft grass. The last night at Willow-spring wound up with a grand frolic, in which all took part.
GREAT EXPECTATIONS.
Every little grape, dear, that clings unto the vine,
Expects some day to ripen its little drops of wine.
Every little girl, I think, expects in time to be
Exactly like her own mamma—as sweet and good as she.
Every little boy who has a pocket of his own,
Expects to be the biggest man the world has ever known.
Every little lambkin, too, that frisks upon the green,
Expects to be the finest sheep that ever yet was seen.
Every little baby colt expects to be a horse;
Every little puppy hopes to be a dog, of course.
Every little kitten pet, so tender and so nice,
Expects to be a grown-up cat and live on rats and mice.
Every little fluffy chick, in downy yellow dressed,
Expects some day to crow and strut or cackle at his best.
Every little baby bird that peeps from out its nest,
Expects some day to cross the sky from glowing east to west.
Now every hope I’ve mentioned here will bring its sure event,
Provided nothing happens, dear, to hinder or prevent.