In a few moments she said, "Mother, shall I read you what I have written?" "No, not now," answered her mother;
I am going into the dining room. You may sit and write until I return.
As Susie went on writing, she became very much interested in her occupation, and for a time forgot all about the dreaded composition.
She wrote about the sunset clouds, the appearance of the distant hills, the trees, the river,
the garden with its gay flowers, and the birds flying past the window.
Just as she had reached the bottom of the page, her mother came in.
"Well, Susie," said she, with a smile, "how does that composition come on?"
"Composition!" exclaimed Susie; you told me not to think about my composition, and I have not thought of it once;
I have had such a nice time writing about what I could see from the window.
Mrs. Smith took the paper and read aloud what Susie had written,
I am sitting on a low seat at the bay window, one half of which is open, so that I can smell the sweet flowers in the garden.
The sky is all bright with sunset; I can see purple, and pink, and golden.
I do not believe that any one on earth has a paint box with such lovely colors in it.
I can see one cloud, far above the rest, that looks like a ship sailing in the blue sea.
I should like to sail on a cloud, if it would not make me dizzy.