ing time. Very few Months have the work put upon them that I have. June pretends to be busy; but, after all, most of it is finishing off what I began. And as for April, she is a sad, idle girl, and does almost nothing. Why, I came upon her just now," said May, in an aggrieved voice; "and there she was having a game of play with that good-for-nothing Jack Frost, tickling him with her warm fingers and screaming with laughter; and of course I shall be expected to make up for all she leaves incomplete. There's the great wash of the year, for instance. It fairly belongs to her; but she never will do it. And I've all the plants to wake too, which is a hard job, for they are the sleepiest little things imaginable; and the gardens to tidy, and all. So you won't wonder that I can't spare many minutes for telling stories.
"Did you ever have a garden?" she went on.
"Oh, yes!" replied Thekla. "Max makes me one every summer."
"It's very pleasant," said May; "but when
