VOL. 37. No. 18. WEEKLY.
DAVID C. COOK PUBLISHING CO., ELGIN, ILLINOIS.
GEORGE E. COOK. EDITOR.
MAY 3, 1914.
It was a warm May afternoon: all the little flowers were stretching up their heads to catch the rain that was falling patter-spatter everywhere. Francis stood by the window pouting. He had been playing lovely games outside, and now the rain had spoiled his fun.
Mother was at her sewing machine. She felt sorry for Francis, he was such a little boy and he had no playmates, but she was too busy to invent games for him. But he began to make up one for himself. He came and stood by the machine and hummed as it hummed, louder and louder. Then the humming almost died away, as mother ran the wheel slower.
Mother was at her sewing machine.
"Oh, dear." Francis said. "I want something to do." Just then he heard a robin singing in the rain. He tried to sing with the bird, as he had hummed with the machine, and was surprised that he couldn't.
"Why can't I, mamma?" he asked.
"Because you are Francis, and the robin is robin, I suspect," said mother, laughing. "You can do many things that the robin can't, you know."