DISCONTENT

OWN in a field, one day in June,
The flowers all bloomed together,
Save one, who tried to hide herself,
And drooped-that pleasant weather.

A robin, who had flown too high
And felt a little lazy,

Was resting near the buttercup,
Who wished she were a daisy.

For daisies grow so trim and tall;
She always had a passion

For wearing frills around her neck,
In just the daisies' fashion.

And buttercups must always be

The same old, tiresome color,

While daisies dress in gold and white,

Although their gold is duller.

"Dear robin," said this sad young flower,
Perhaps you'd not mind trying
To find a nice white frill for me
Some day, when you are flying."

"You silly thing," the robin said,
I think you must be crazy;
I'd rather be my honest self,
Than any made-up daisy.

"You're nicer in your own bright gown;
The little children love you;

Be the best buttercup you can,
And think no flower above you.

"Though swallows leave me out of sight,

We'd better keep our places.

Perhaps the world would all go wrong,
With one too many daisies.

"Look bravely up into the sky,
And be content with knowing
That God wished for a buttercup,
Just here, where you are growing."

SARAH ORNE JEWETT.

OUR LITTLE FRIENDS IN NORWAY

In the far-off land of Norway, there are some little children, whom I know and love dearly. You would like to know them, too. Let me introduce them. Here are Olga, Henrik, Hans and little Nikolina.

This picture was taken in the summer, as you see. Then the days are happy and long, the meadows are sweet with new-mown hay, and roses and tulips are blooming everywhere.

Oh, such flowers! There are daisies, buttercups, dandelions, violets, ragged robins and marigolds, and all are very large and fine, for you see the sun shines almost all the time. The day is very, very long, and the night is very short. The flowers can grow in the sunshine almost twenty-four hours each day, and they make good use of their time.

The children, too, make good use of their time. They gather wild flowers, they chase the butterflies in the daisy field or they climb the mountains of pine and fir, while the birds are singing joyously in the tree tops.

But now it is Christmas time. The days are cold

and spruce, and now they are trimming the house with the beautiful green branches. Over every door and window, over pictures and bookshelves, over the clock and mantel, they hang the green garlands. To-morrow is Christmas day, and all will be happy and gay in the farmhouse.

Olga and her mother have made some delicious cakes, rich with citron and nuts for the Christmas feast. Henrik has shot some wild game, and there will be plenty of cheese, coffee and "flat bread."