"Who is there?" said the little Rosebud.
"It's the Sunshine," said a little, soft,
cheery voice, "and I want to come in!"
"N--no," said the little pink rose, "you
can't come in." And she sat still again.
Pretty soon she heard the sweet little
rustling noise at the key-hole.
"Who is there?" she said.
"It's the Sunshine," said the cheery
little voice, "and I want to come in, I
want to come in!"
"No, no," said the little pink rose,
"you cannot come in."
By and by, as she sat so still, she heard
TAP, TAP, TAP, and RUSTLE, WHISPER, RUSTLE,
all up and down the window pane, and
on the door, and at the key-hole.
"WHO IS THERE?" she said.
"It's the Rain and the Sun, the Rain
and the Sun," said two little voices,
together, "and we want to come in! We
want to come in! We want to come in!"
"Dear, dear!" said the little Rosebud,
"if there are two of you, I s'pose I shall
have to let you in."
So she opened the door a little wee
crack, and in they came. And one took
one of her little hands, and the other
took her other little hand, and they ran,
ran, ran with her, right up to the top of
the ground. Then they said,--
"Poke your head through!"
So she poked her head through; and she
was in the midst of a beautiful garden.
It was springtime, and all the other flowers
had their heads poked through; and
she was the prettiest little pink rose in the
whole garden!
THE COCK-A-DOO-DLE-DOO[1]
[1] From "The Ignominy of being Grown Up," by Dr.
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