school underground.

　　They do their lessons with doors shut，and if they want to come out to play before it is time，their master makes them stand in a corner.

　　When the rains come they have their holidays.

　　Branches clash together in the forest，and the leaves rustle in the wild wind，the thunder-clouds clap their giant hands and the flower children rush out in dresses of pink and yellow and white.

　　Do you know，mother，their home is in the sky，where the stars are.

　　Haven't you seen how eager they are to get there？ Don't you know why they are in such a hurry？

　　Of course，I can guess to whom they raise their arms: they have their mother as I have my own.