A Rain-Y Day
Rain, rain, rain! How it did rain! The great drops ran down the glass in streams. Tom, Jack, and lit-tle Meg watched it for a long time. “O dear!” they said at last, “do you think it will nev-er clear? We want to go out and play.”
Three children in line marching with brooms over their sholders.
“Why do you not go up to the gar-ret, and play?” asked their mam-ma.
That struck them as a fine plan; and off they trooped, pound-ing up the bare stairs with their nois-y feet. They found three old brooms, and be-gan to play soldier,—Tom first, then Jack, with Meg last of all. The gar-ret was ver-y large; and their mam-ma could hear them as they tramped a-long, and could hear Tom’s com-mand to right a-bout face when they had reached the farth-er end.
By and by they tired of play-ing sol-dier; and then they pulled down some old dress-es and hats that hung on a peg, and put them on, and made be-lieve that they were grown peo-ple. Then, out of an old box, they dragged a scrap-book full of pic-tures, and sat them down to look them o-ver.
A young girl entering a room where three children are collapsed asleep in the corner.
Mean-time their friend Rose had come, all wrapped up, through the rain, to make them a call. She brought a bas-ket, in which were her two kit-tens.
“The chil-dren are in the gar-ret,” said their mam-ma.
So Rose ran up to find them. She did find them; but what do you think?—they were fast a-sleep.
Mult-layer picture with a man holding a shovel in a field; some flowers; and wheelbarrow with birds nearby.
Sweet is the voice that calls
From bab-bling wa-ter-falls
In mead-ows where the down-y
seeds are fly-ing,
And soft the breez-es blow,
And ed-dy-ing come and go,
In fad-ed gar-dens where the
rose is dy-ing