Now, while I have been writing, the clouds have changed in color and form, but they are just as beautiful as they were before.
The green hills are tipped with light, and look as if they were wearing golden crowns.
I can see a river a great way off, and it looks quite still, although I know it is running as fast as it can to get to the ocean.
The birds are flying past the window to go home and take care of their little ones.
I am glad the birds are not afraid to live in our garden, and to build nests in our trees.
Our garden is full of flowers—pinks, lilies, and roses. Mother calls this the month of roses.
My birthday will come in a week, and we can have all the flowers we wish for wreaths and bouquets.
"There, Susie," said Mrs. Smith, "that is a very nice composition, indeed."
"A composition!" exclaimed Susie, "is that a composition?"
"Yes, my dear, and a very good one, too," replied her mother. "When it hasn't even a subject?"
"We can find one for it, and I do not doubt it will please your teacher, as it does me.
You see, my dear," continued her mother,
that it is easy enough to write if you have anything interesting to write about.
The next morning Susie copied her composition very neatly,
and started to school with a happy heart, saying, as she gave her mother a kiss,
Just think how funny it is, dear mother, that I should have written so long a composition without knowing it.