. St. Nicholas [serial] . ning Shore ; While George, who sat upon a stool near by, Looked on and listened, and forgot to sigh. And papa, all at once, began To sing; the noise he made was moreLike swarming bees, or thunder, than The tune we know as Shining little George, with blue, wide-open eyes,Regarded papa with a pained surprise. His loving, loyal little soul Was troubled by a nameless dread As, with a noiseless step, he stoleTo where his mama sat and read. He laid one little hand upon her book, And met her eyes with anxious, pleadinglook. She closed the book, and on his hairShe l
. St. Nicholas [serial] . ning Shore ; While George, who sat upon a stool near by, Looked on and listened, and forgot to sigh. And papa, all at once, began To sing; the noise he made was moreLike swarming bees, or thunder, than The tune we know as Shining little George, with blue, wide-open eyes,Regarded papa with a pained surprise. His loving, loyal little soul Was troubled by a nameless dread As, with a noiseless step, he stoleTo where his mama sat and read. He laid one little hand upon her book, And met her eyes with anxious, pleadinglook. She closed the book, and on his hairShe laid her fingers, soft and cool;But, with a gesture of despair, George pointed to the music-stool,And, in two words, voiced pity, fear, anddread: Poor papal This was all that Georgie said. Why mama shrieked, and dropped her book,And laughed aloud, George could not see ; Nor why his grandpa fairly shookWith merriment and childlike glee. George left the room and started down the hall; He did not understand the joke at all. 7. IN DAISY DAYS. By Mary Elizabeth Blake. Suns that sparkle and birds that sing,Brooks in the meadow rippling over, Butterflies rising on golden wing Through the blue air and the deep-red clover, Flower-bells full of sweet anthems rungOut on the wind in lone woodland ways — Oh, but the world is fair and youngIn daisy days! Lusty trumpets of burly bees Full and clear on the sweet air blowing;Gnarled boughs of the orchard trees Hidden from sight by young leaves growing. Scars of the winter hide their pain Under the grasses tangled maze,And youth of the world springs fresh againIn daisy days. Down the valley and up the slope Starry blooms in the wind are bending; Glad eyes shine like the light of hope, Comfort and cheer to the dark earth lending. Buoyant with life they spring and soarLike the lark that carols his matin lays, Climbing to gates of heaven once moreIn daisy days. 712 HOW THE PILGRIMS CAME TO PLYMOUTH. By Azel Ames, {Author of The May-Flower and
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