.

"Mother," they said one day, "we know now where the colours go from the
flowers. See, they are there," and as they spoke they thought of the
maiden sitting silently at work in her cloud-home. They knew that she
was weeping at sending forth her most beautiful one, and yet smiling as
she watched the soft archway she had made. "See, they are all there,
dear mother," the children repeated, looking at the falling rain and
the shining sun, and pointing to the rainbow that spanned the river.

OVER THE PORRIDGE.

They sat down to eat their porridge. The naughty little girl turned her
back upon her sister, and put a large spoonful into her mouth.

"Oh--oh--oh!" she cried, "I have burnt my tongue."

"Eat it slowly," said the good little sister. _She_ took up her
porridge carefully, and after blowing it very gently, and waiting for a
minute or two while it cooled, ate it, and found it very nice.

"I shall not eat mine until it is quite cold," said Totsey, getting
cross.

"Then it will be nasty," said the good little sister, still going on
with her own porridge.

"Oh, dear," said Totsey, "if I eat it too hot it burns me, and if I eat
it too cold it's nasty. What shall I do?"

"Take it as I do mine," said the good little sister. "It is the right
way."

"There are two wrong ways and only one right way; it isn't fair,"
sighed the naughty little girl. "And, oh! my porridge is so nasty."
Then she asked, "Did you ever eat your porridge too hot and burn your
tongue?"

"No," answered the good little sister; "I never ate my porridge too hot
and burnt my tongue."

"Did you ever eat your porridge when it was quite cold and very nasty?"

"No," answered the good little sister again; "I never ate my porridge
when it was quite cold and very nasty."

"Well, I have," said Totsey; "and so I know about two things that you
do not know about." And the naughty little sister got up and walked
away, and the good little sister sat still and thought about many
things.

A-COMING DOWN THE STREET.

I.

The baby she has golden hair,
Her cheeks are like a rose,
And she sits fastened in her chair,
A-counting of her toes.
The mother she stands by the door,
And all the place is neat,
She says, "When it is half-past four,
He'll come along the street."
And O! in all this happy world
There's not a sight so sweet,
As 'tis to see the master, dear,