The sun hastened to mix his paint, and in answer to the request that he would be professor of art, painted one of the most glorious sunset scenes that mortal eye has ever looked upon. Rapidly he dashed on the color, delicate greens and blues blending with the sea-shell pink, and glowing with deep crimson and gold, till the assembled committee fairly held their breaths with delight. The crimson and gold and purple in the west were beginning to fade and mix with soft greys and tender yellows, before the committee thought of returning to their work. “What a lot of time we have wasted,” said the oldest squirrel; “to-morrow is Sunday, and of course we can’t work then, and now it is time to go home.” “Not wasted, dear squirrel,” said White Violet, “not wasted when we were looking at God’s beautiful sunset.” Bachelor looked down at her in all her sweetness and purity, and some of the flowers say that later when he went to bid her good-night—under the shadow of a fern—he kissed her. “To-morrow being Sunday reminds me that we have not made any arrangements for our Sunday sermons. They always have great sermons at Chautauqua, and I have often heard the passengers on the steamer scolding because the boats did not run on Sunday, for they said the great men always kept their best thoughts for sermons.” This from the fish. They all paused. “We can’t any of us preach sermons, what shall we do?” questioned a fern. “I’m sure I don’t know; we might each of us go to church and listen to a sermon and preach it over again,” said a thoughtful bird. “But we couldn’t remember it all, and by next summer we would have forgotten it entirely,” said one more cautious. “Well, we must go,” said the wind. “Monday we will consider these subjects. To-morrow is God’s day, and we must go immediately, for it is getting dark.” And so they all rested on the Sabbath day, and praised the great God, and never a wee violet, nor even a chattering chipmunk, allowed his thoughts to wander off to the great programme for the next summer, but gave their thoughts to holy things. * * * * * The busy Monday’s work was all done up, and the committee gathered again, waiting for the work to go on, when there came flying in great haste, a little bluebird, and, breathless, stopped on a branch to rest a moment ere he tried to speak. “What is the matter?” they all cried. “Were you afraid you would be late? You ought not to risk your health; it is not good to get so out of breath,” said a motherly old robin. [Illustration: “CLOSE TO A WINDOW WHERE SAT AN OLD LADY.”]