J. G. Austin

Outpost J. G. Austin

The last day of October! said the Sun to himself, "the last day of my favorite month, and the birthday of my little namesake! See if I don't make the most of it!" So the Sun called to all the winds and all the breezes, who, poor things! had but just gone to bed after a terrible night's work, ordering them to get up directly, and sweep the sky as clear as a bell; and bid all the clouds, whether big white mountains, little pinky islands, sweeping mares'-tails, or freckled mackerel-back, to put themselves out of the way, and keep out of it until November; when, as the Sun remarked with a sigh, they would have it all their own way.