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Though snows may gather cold and deep,

Little folk their sunshine keep,

And mother-love makes summer still.

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Gathered in a smiling ring,

Lightly dance and gayly sing,

Still at heart remembering

The sweet story all should know,

Of the little Child whose birth

Has made this day throughout the earth

A festival for childish mirth,

Since that first Christmas long ago.

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WHAT'S that?"—and Daisy sat up in her little bed to listen; for she had never heard a sound like it before.

It was very early, and the house was still. The sun was just rising, and the morning-glories at the window were turning; their blue and purple cups to catch the welcome light. The sky was full of rosy clouds; dew shone like diamonds on the waving grass, and the birds were singing as they only sing at dawn. But softer, sweeter than any bird-voice was the delicate music which Daisy heard. So airy and gay was the sound, it seemed impossible to lie still with that fairy dancing-tune echoing through the room. Out of bed scrambled Daisy, her sleepy eyes opening wider and wider with surprise and pleasure as she listened and wondered.