For, when you are very, very young you dream that the summer is all sunny
days and moonlight nights, that the wind blows always softly from the
west, and that roses will thrive anywhere. But, as you grow older, you
grow tired of waiting for the gray sky to break. So you close the door
and come in, and crouch over the fire, wondering why the winds blow ever
from the east: and you have given up trying to rear roses.
I knew a little cottage girl who saved up her money for months and months
so as to buy a new frock in which to go to a flower-show. But the day of
the flower-show was a wet day, so she wore an old frock instead. And all
the fete days for quite a long while were wet days, and she feared she
would never have a chance of wearing her pretty white dress. But at last
there came a fete day morning that was bright and sunny, and then the
little girl clapped her hands and ran upstairs, and took her new frock
(which had been her "new frock" for so long a time that it was now the
oldest frock she had) from the box where it lay neatly folded between
lavender and thyme, and held it up, and laughed to think how nice she
would look in it.
But when she went to put it on, she found that she had out-grown it, and
that it was too small for her every way. So she had to wear a common old
frock after all.
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