human
If the rain fell, there was sorrow, she says, and she laid her curly head against the window, while her little finger followed the
gpt
down the pane, and, like other children, she would gently sing,
human
Rain, rain, come to-morrow, to try and drive it away. When she went out, it was not along the sheep paths over the hills that she cared to go, but to wander into the little woods, where the sheep could not stray. Now and then, she tells us, one of them would venture in, but its wool caught in the thickets, and with a