he farmyard animals, and all the country games delight them.

_Father Time._ Children are so fond of play and the long summer days
out-of-doors that I wonder what they think of you, my older daughter,
Autumn?

_Autumn._ Children do like to play and I am glad they get so well and
strong with the vacation my sister, Summer, gives them. Yet all children
like to learn, too. We must not forget that. What joy it is to read the
beautiful stories that great men and women have written for them. What
delight they have in learning to write, to sing, to draw, and to make
pretty objects of paper, clay, and wood.

_Father Time._ Yes, that is true, but have you no pleasures out-of-doors
for them?

_Autumn._ Some people say my days are the most pleasant of the year. The
gardens have many beautiful flowers, and the fruits are ripening in the
orchards and vineyards. The apples hang red on the boughs, and children
like to pick them and eat them, too! I have the harvest moon, the time
when the farmers bring home the crops ripened by August suns, and the
earth seems to gather the results of the year's work, the riches of
field, orchard, and meadow. The squirrels gather their hoard of nuts and
hide them away for their winter's food. Gay voices of nutting parties
are heard in the woods, and all the air is filled with songs of praise
and thanksgiving for the bounty of the year.

_Father Time._ Your work is surely one of worth and I rejoice with you,
my daughter, in your happiness. You are a true friend of men, showing
them that honest effort and its work will always bring proper reward.
Now, my merry laughing child, what have you to tell us?

_Winter._ Some people think I am your oldest daughter, Father Time, but
they forget that two of my months are always in the New Year. Although
my hair and garments are white, the cold is only outside; my heart is
warm. Have I not jolly St. Nicholas who never grows old? I cover the
earth with my warmest blanket of softest snow, softer and whiter than
ermine, and all the tender flowers sleep cozily and warm until sweet
Spring awakes them. The children get out their sleds and skates, and the
merry sleigh bells ring. What fun it is to build the snow man, and even
if the hands get cold, the eyes shine brighter than in warm days and the
cheeks are rosy as the reddest flower. "Hurrah for Winter!" shout the
boys. The merriest holidays I have when all hearts are gay and filled
with loving care for others. I