November

NOVEMBER.

How dark and dismal it is! No more flowers! no more pleasant sunshine! no more haymaking! The sky is very black: the rain pours down. Well, never mind it; we will sit by the fire, and read, and tell stories, and look at pictures. I wonder what poor little boys do that have no fire to go to, and no shoes and stockings to keep them warm, and no victuals to eat? Here is a halfpenny, Harry, and when you see one of those poor boys you shall give it to him. He will say, “Thank you, you are very good!” and then he will buy a roll.

Where are Billy, and Harry, and Betsy? Now tell me who can spell best. Good boy! Now you shall all have some cake. That is right, Jane, shut the cupboard door.