apers, precious but rare half-sheets, and
any other scrap of paper on which she could write, all carefully
concealed in a hole in the roof, from which she tore the whole
treasure now in her haste.

"Winter, summer, Sammy," she kept saying to herself. "Autumn,
autumn-tinted woods--my king--_Ministering Children_--ministering--king.
Moon, noon. Story, glory. Ever, never, endeavour. Oh, I can do it! I
can! I can! Slips round the steady year--"

It took her some days to do it to her satisfaction, but they were days
of delight, for the whole time she felt exactly as she had done when
first she found Sammy. She had the same warm glow in her chest, the
same sort of yearning, half anxious, half pleasant, wholly desirable.

It was late in the evening when she finished, and she had to put her
work away in a hurry, because her mother sent Harriet to tell her she
must go to bed; but all night long she lay only half asleep, and all
the time conscious of joy to come in the morning.

She was up early, but had too much self-restraint to go to the
acting-room till lessons were over. She was afraid of being disturbed
and so having her pleasure spoilt. As soon as she could safely lock
herself up, however, she took her treasure out. It was written on the
precious half-sheets in queer little crabbed characters, very
distinctly:--

Slips round the steady year,
Days dawn and disappear,
Winters and springs;
March storms and clouds and rain,
Till April once again
Light with it brings.

Then comes the summer song,
Birds in the woods prolong
Day into night.
Hot after tepid showers
Beats down this sun of ours,
Upward the radiant flowers
Look their delight.

O summer scents at noon!
O summer nights and moon!
Season of story.
Labour and love for ever
Strengthen each hard endeavour,
Now climb we up or never,
Upward to glory!

Winter and summer past,
Autumn has come at last,
Hope in its keeping.
Beauty of tinted wood,
Beauty of tranquil mood,
Harvest of earned good
Ripe for the reaping.

Thus on a torrid day
Slipped my fond thoughts away,
Book from thy pages