It's So Different To Be A Sparrow.

On The Hob Was A Little Brass Kettle, Hissing And Boiling; Spread Upon The Floor Was A Warm, Thick Rug; Before The Fire Was A Folding-chair, Unfolded And With Cushions On It; By The Chair Was A Small Folding-table, Unfolded, Covered With A White Cloth, And Upon It Were Spread Small Covered Dishes, A Cup And Saucer, And A Tea-pot; On The Bed Were New, Warm Coverings, A Curious Wadded Silk Robe, And Some Books. The Little, Cold, Miserable Room Seemed Changed Into Fairyland. It Was Actually Warm And Glowing.

People Never Like Me And I Never Like People

The Difficulty Will Be To Keep Her From Learning Too Fast And Too Much. She Is Always Sitting With Her Little Nose Burrowing Into Books. She Doesn't Read Them, Miss Minchin; She Gobbles Them Up As If She Were A Little Wolf Instead Of A Little Girl. She Is Always Starving For New Books To Gobble, And She Wants Grown-up Books--great, Big, Fat Ones--french And German As Well As English--history And Biography And Poets, And All Sorts Of Things. Drag Her Away From Her Books When She Reads Too Much.

Never Thee Stop Believin' In Th' Big Good Thing An' Knowin' Th' World's Full Of It - And Call It What Tha' Likes. Tha' Wert Singin' To It When I Come Into T' Garden.

Imagine, If You Can, What The Rest Of The Evening Was Like. How They Crouched By The Fire Which Blazed And Leaped And Made Much Of Itself In The Little Grate. How They Removed The Covers Of The Dishes, And Found Rich, Hot Savory Soup, Which Was A Meal In Itself, And Sandwiches And Toast And Muffins Enough For Both Of Them.