ed leaves
that shed the water. When a little New Zealand girl pulls this over her
head she does not mind any shower. You may see a circle of these funny
objects sitting in the pelting rain, talking to each other and looking
just like tiny haystacks.

New Zealand children have, strange to say, many toys. They swim like
ducks, and, as I have said, revel in the natural hot baths, where they
will sit and talk by the hour. In fact, the life of a New Zealand child
is full of occupation, and both girls and boys are bright,
light-hearted, and intelligent.

The Breeze from the Peak.

A stiff Sea Breeze was having the wildest, merriest time, rocking the
sailboats and fluttering the sails, chasing the breakers far up the
beach, sending the fleecy cloudsails scudding across the blue ocean
above, making old ocean roar with delight at its mad pranks, while all
the little wavelets dimpled with laughter; the Cedar family on the
shore, old and rheumatic as they were, laughed till their sides ached,
and the children shouted and cheered upon the beach. How fresh and
strong and life-giving it was. The children wondered why it was so
jolly, but never guessed the reason; and its song was so wonderfully
sweet, but only the waves understood the words of the wild, strange
melody.

"I have come," it sang, "from a land far across the water. My home was
on the mountain top, high up among the clouds. Such a white, white world
as it was! The mountain peak hooded in snow-ermine, and the gray-white
clouds floating all around me; and it was so very still; my voice, the
only sound to be heard, and that was strange and muffled. But though the
fluffy clouds were so silent, they were gay companions and full of fun;
let them find me napping once, and, puff! Down they would send the
feathery snow, choking and blinding me, then would come a wild chase;
once in a mad frolic my breath parted the clouds and I saw down the
mountain side! Never shall I forget the picture I saw that day, framed
by the silvery clouds. I, who had known nothing but that pale stillness
and bitter cold, for the first time saw life and color, and a
shimmering, golden light, resting on tree and river and valley farm; do
you wonder I forgot the mountain peak, the clouds--_everything_ that was
behind, and, without even a last farewell, spread my wings and flew
swiftly down the mountain side? Very soon I was far below that snowy
cloud world, with a bright blue sky above me, and