StNicholas [serial] . for, although we may tip, we will notmotors often do. turn turtle, as KEEPING LUC BY NORMAN A. ALDRICH, AGE 14. (SILVER BADGE.) fortable carriage behind a poky horse and go jogging alongover the country roads. We have not the smooth, wide roads of the East, but ifpeople can concentrate their attention on a butte of beautifulcolor or some mountain scenery, they may manage to ig-nore that shivery sensation that goes up and down theirspines when they are going down a steep, rocky hill withthe grinding of the brake in their ears. Such myriads of gorgeous flowers as we have in
StNicholas [serial] . for, although we may tip, we will notmotors often do. turn turtle, as KEEPING LUC BY NORMAN A. ALDRICH, AGE 14. (SILVER BADGE.) fortable carriage behind a poky horse and go jogging alongover the country roads. We have not the smooth, wide roads of the East, but ifpeople can concentrate their attention on a butte of beautifulcolor or some mountain scenery, they may manage to ig-nore that shivery sensation that goes up and down theirspines when they are going down a steep, rocky hill withthe grinding of the brake in their ears. Such myriads of gorgeous flowers as we have in summer!Great patches of vivid yellow daisies bordered with purplebanks of meadow flowers, and here and there along theroad huge rocks sheltering thick clusters of wild red gera-. Z&gr** t\ \. KEEPING COOL. BY EVELYN CALDWELL, AGE 14. Way ahead of us, a mere spot among the pines, isTeepee Lodge, our destination. When we arrive there, weget out, shake off the dust, and say: Well, have nt we had a lovely drive? GROWING THINGS BY ALICE M. MAC RAE (AGE l6)(Silver Badge) Oh, I am a child of the country, and I love not the cities grim,My heart is akin to the wild things, and the woodlands vast and dim,Where the winds and the brook make music, and, faint from his cool retreat,Comes the voice of the thrush at even, in a madrigal wild and sweet. Oh, I am a child of the country, and the orchard knows my tread,When the boughs shine white with blossoms, and the budslie pink and , we stop and gather large bunches of blossoms, with And hand in hand, in the moonlight, go my souls belovedwhich we decorate our horse and carriage. and I, Again we drive for miles through dry and desolate And we need no words to question, no words to makeregions where queer little prai
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookidstnicholasse, bookyear1873
