The Little Tea Book Part 6

_A CUP OF TEA_

_From St. Nicholas, December, 1899_.

Now Grietje from her window sees the leafless poplars lean Against a windy sunset sky with streaks of golden green; The still ca.n.a.l is touched with light from that wild, wintry sky, And, dark and gaunt, the windmill flings its bony arms on high.

"It's growing late; it's growing cold; I'm all alone," says she; "I'll put the little kettle on, to make a cup of tea!"

Mild radiance from the porcelain stove reflects on s.h.i.+ning tiles; The kettle beams, so red and bright that Grietje thinks it smiles; The kettle sings--so soft and low it seems as in a dream-- The song that's like a lullaby, the pleasant song of steam: "The summer's gone; the storks are flown; I'm always here, you see, To sing and sing, and s.h.i.+ne, and s.h.i.+ne, and make a cup of tea!"

The blue delft plates and dishes gleam, all ranged upon the shelf; The tall Dutch clock tick-ticks away, just talking to itself; The brindled p.u.s.s.y cuddles down, and basks and blinks and purrs; And rosy, sleepy Grietje droops that snow-white cap of hers.

"I do like winter after all; I'm very glad," says she, "I put--my--little--kettle--on--to make--a cup--of--tea!"

--HELEN GRAY CONE.

[Ill.u.s.tration of landscape]