GRANNY.* Granny's come to our house, Fetched a cake fer little Jake, And fetched a pie fer Nanny, And fetched a pear fer all the pack That runs to kiss their Granny! Lucy Ellen's in her lap, And Wade and Silas Walker Both's a-ridin' on her foot, And 'Pollos on the rocker; And Marthy's twins, from Aunt Marinn's And little Orphant Annie, All's a-eatin' gingerbread And giggle-un at Granny! Tells us all the fairy tales And 'bundance o' other stories Bet she knows a hunderd!- Bob's the one fer "Whittington," 'Jack the Giant-Killer" 's good; And "Bean stalk" 's another!- And her old godmother: Where the mices scampers home Granny's come to our house, All the childern 'round the place Fetched a cake fer little Jake, And fetched a pie fer Nanny, - James Whitcomb Riley. From "Afterwhiles." Copyrighted. By permission of The Bobbs-Merrill Co., Publishers. FLORIDA PINES. Come with me to visit the pine woods, where we shall escape the glare of the sun on this white sand. We may enter by any one of the numerous paths that lead anywhere and nowhere. We pass many trees, but do not realize that we are actually in the pine woods until we find ourselves surrounded, on every side, by lofty trees, whose upreached finger-tips seem to touch the tender blue of the over-arching sky. These trees never grow in groups, but rise singly to a great height. When we have accepted this sparseness of growth as a characteristic feature, we begin to like it. It gives a length of view and a sense of freedom which we find delightful. The entire absence of undergrowth, the swaying branches, sixty, seventy, even eighty feet above us, and the fine vistas, all together make these woods seem like a room of noble proportions. This spacious drawing-room of Mother Nature's has the swaying pine branches for its ceiling, with often a wide opening to let the blue of the sky shine through. Its carpet is of brown pine needles and is so deep and so soft that our footsteps make no sound upon it. There is something human about the pines themselves. Often they seem suddenly to cease their conversation and to ask each other: "Who is this intruder, and does she think to be admitted to our secrets?" Then they resume their low-toned speaking among themselves; but I cannot make out their meaning. It is something glad and uplifting, I know. But they are reserved folk and speak freely only to their intimates. I can only guess their mysterious secrets by the changing vibrations of their voices. Sometimes they seem to whisper together of the sea. Sometimes I catch the sound of a far-off organ-tone echoing through the aisles of a vast cathedral. Sometimes a hymn of glad thanksgiving comes to my waiting ear. Sometimes it is but the subtle sense of life upreaching to a higher life. Whatever their mood, it is always in harmony with the great, throbbing heart of Nature, and so it always brings peace and rest. |