Within my soul there dwells a thought that knows
No words, but silent, sweet, it sings to me.
Peace smiles above the scene, ’tis Sabbath day.
Carrie B. Sanborn.
“HAMMOCK STORIES.”
MRS. FIG TREE’S FAMILY HISTORY.
It was a nice, bright, sunshiny day, and the trees were freshly washed from a warm rain the night before, but it seemed to me when I first lay down in my hammock that they were not in as good humor as usual. Mrs. Pepper Tree had lost her sprightly manner, and her voice was quite peevish when, seeing some children pass on their way from school, she exclaimed:
“It beats me what those children do day after day, and year after year! They can’t be very smart or they would have learned all their lessons long ago.”
Grandma Liveoak reminded her that according to what she had heard tell, children had a lot more to learn than trees; that they were obliged to study about people and everything they ever did, and about stones and birds and the sky and the flowers, and bugs and flies and the rest, and she expected it took them some time.
“I presume they spend a great deal of their time studying my family history,” said Mrs. Fig Tree. “It is a very old and important one, and even grown people go to big buildings when the bells ring, and read and learn about my family.”
Her voice was as satisfied, oh, just as satisfied as could be, and she seemed to be quite pleased over something while she was talking. Mrs. Pepper gave her branches a toss, as she crossly exclaimed: