. In the child's world : morning talks and stories for kindergartens, primary schools and homes . the porch,Pondering what the preacher had said. Even the youngest, humblest child Something may do to please the Lord;Now, what, thought she, and half sadly smiled, Can I, so little and poor, afford? Never, never a day should pass, Without some kindness kindly shown, The preacher said. Then down to the grassA skylark dropped, like a brown-winged stone. Well, a day is before me now; Yet what, thought she, can I do, if I try?If an angel of God would show me how!But silly am I, and the hours they fly
. In the child's world : morning talks and stories for kindergartens, primary schools and homes . the porch,Pondering what the preacher had said. Even the youngest, humblest child Something may do to please the Lord;Now, what, thought she, and half sadly smiled, Can I, so little and poor, afford? Never, never a day should pass, Without some kindness kindly shown, The preacher said. Then down to the grassA skylark dropped, like a brown-winged stone. Well, a day is before me now; Yet what, thought she, can I do, if I try?If an angel of God would show me how!But silly am I, and the hours they fly. Then the lark sprang singing up from the sod, And the maiden thought, as he rose to the blue,• He says he will carry my prayer to God; But who would have thought the little lark knew! Now she entered the vi! •• et, With book in hand :ind tare demure,Ami soon she came, with sober fei-t, To a crying babe at a cottage door. It wept at a windmill that would not move,It piKteil with its rMuil re,l cheeks in rain, One sail slit n a puzzling groove, And babys breath could not stir it LITTLE CHRISTEL. 112 IN THE CHILDS WORLD. So baby beat the sail and cried, While no one came from the cottage door:But little Christel knelt down by its side, And set the windmill going once more. Then babe was pieased, and the little girlWas glad when she heard it laugh and crow; Thinking, Happy windmill, that has but to whirl,To please the pretty young creature sol No thought of herself was in her head, As she passed out at the end of the street,And came to a rose-tree tall and red, Drooping and faint with the summer heat She ran to a brook that was flowing by, She made of her two hands a nice round cup, And washed the roots of the rose-tree high,Till it lifted its languid blossoms up. O happy brook! thought little Christel, You have done some good this summers day,You have made the flowers look fresh and well!Then she rose and went on her way. UNKNOWN. The Wake-up Story. The sun was up
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