Beth jumped down from the beech boughs, ran round to the old wooden pump, clambered up by it on to the back-kitchen roof, and made for the acting-room window. It was open, and she screwed herself in round the bar and fastened the door. It was quite dark under the sloping roof, but she found the end of a tallow candle, smuggled up there for the purpose, lighted it, and stuck it on to the top of the rough deal box which formed her writing-table. She had a pencil, sundry old envelopes carefully cut open so as to save as much of the clean space inside as possible, margins of newspapers, precious but rare half-sheets, and any other scrap of paper on which she could write, all carefully concealed in a hole in the roof, from which she tore the whole treasure now in her haste. "Winter, summer, Sammy," she kept saying to herself. "Autumn, autumn-tinted woods--my king--_Ministering Children_--ministering--king. Moon, noon. Story, glory. Ever, never, endeavour. Oh, I can do it! I can! I can! Slips round the steady year--" It took her some days to do it to her satisfaction, but they were days of delight, for the whole time she felt exactly as she had done when first she found Sammy. She had the same warm glow in her chest, the same sort of yearning, half anxious, half pleasant, wholly desirable. It was late in the evening when she finished, and she had to put her work away in a hurry, because her mother sent Harriet to tell her she must go to bed; but all night long she lay only half asleep, and all the time conscious of joy to come in the morning. She was up early, but had too much self-restraint to go to the acting-room till lessons were over. She was afraid of being disturbed and so having her pleasure spoilt. As soon as she could safely lock herself up, however, she took her treasure out. It was written on the precious half-sheets in queer little crabbed characters, very distinctly:-- Slips round the steady year, Days dawn and disappear, Winters and springs; March storms and clouds and rain, Till April once again Light with it brings. Then comes the summer song, Birds in the woods prolong Day into night. Hot after tepid showers Beats down this sun of ours, Upward the radiant flowers Look their delight. O summer scents at noon! O summer nights and moon! Season of story. Labour and love for ever Strengthen each hard endeavour, Now climb we up or never, Upward to glory! Winter and summer past, Autumn has come at last, Hope in its keeping. Beauty of tinted wood, Beauty of tranquil mood, Harvest of earned good Ripe for the reaping.