ALL ON A HAPPY TOWN MORNING

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 732, 3 August 1929, Page 29

ALL ON A HAPPY TOWN MORNING

GOOD !” cried the Doorkeeper, rubbing his hands with delight. “Here’s a daffodil painting competition. I shall use That daffodil over by the Wishing Well as a model.” 'But there are several daffodils in this picture,” mused the T.ittle thought, ‘'and they are looking in different directions. How are you going to manage it?” “Perhaps I had better resort to mirrors,” answered the Doorkeeper, with a troubled air. “It is really rather puzzling.” "You forget that I have taken up my residence in Happy Town,” said a genial voice. “If you visit the Wishing Well this morning you will find at least a dozen sturdy young daffodils nodding in the breeze.” "i°n are a silent worker, Doctor Spring Sunshine,” laughed the Doorkeeper. “I might have known that you would help me out.” “My work has been rather hampered in the Outside World since my arrival,” observed that honoured guest, “but I have at least succeeded in bringing about one fair, golden day without even a hint of rain. It was last Tuesday. Several Sunbeams wrote and thanked me for it. But now that we have banished July from the calendar I can promise you some truly august weather.” “Oh,” chuckled the Little Thought, “you’ve made a clever remark. “There could be no more august person in Happy Town than yourself, Doctor Spring Sunshine.” “I should like to join hi this conversation,” remarked a faint voice, as the Woodpecker peeped out of his particular hollow, “but lam feeling rather confused this morning. I had set this week aside to spring-clean my secret chamber in the Hollow Tree, but the Dawn Lady has upset my plans with this puzzle competition. Anyone can see she has never lived in a hollow tree.” “Never mind,” said the Little Thought, kindly. “After the Printer Man has called I shall come and help you. I still have that tiny feather duster a Sunbeam sent me.” “What sort of feathers is it made of?” asked the Woodpecker, alert with interest. “They’re red and white and brown, and as soft as thistledown,” crooned the Little Thought. “Oh, dear me, I have composed a song again, and I promised the Dawn Lady I would not make any more rhymes for at least three weeks.”