Excerpt from Soap-Bubble Stories: For Children

It was twilight, and the children, tired of playing, gathered round the fire.

Outside, the snow fell softly, softly, and the bare trees shook their branches in the keen air. The pleasant glow of the blazing logs lighted up the circle of happy faces, and peopled the distant comers with elfin shadows.

All the afternoon the children, pipe in hand, with soap suds before them, had been blowing airy bubbles that caught the gleams of a hundred flying rainbows - but now in the fading daylight, the pipes were put aside, and they threw themselves down on the fur rug, and looked with thoughtful eyes into the caverns of the fire.

"What can we do now?" they cried, "Won't you make us some bubbles?"

And someone sitting in the shadow, who had watched and admired their handiwork, whipped up some white froth in a fairy basin, and taking a pipe, she blew them some bubbles.

Not so beautiful as the children's own, with their pure reflections of the light and sunshine - but the best she could fashion with the materials she had at hand, for the only soap she could find was Imagination, and her pipe was a humble black pen.

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