grew stiff and bent, and her limbs were 

 almost too feeble to carry her about. 

 She found it hard to stoop for the wood 

 for her fire, and her fingers almost re 

 fused to knit the stockings that brought 

 her food. Now at the foot of the hill ran 

 a path where the little children went back 

 and forth to school, and each cold morn 

 ing the children looked up at the cottage 

 and one would cry out, "I see the smoke 

 from granny's chimney!" And if the 

 old woman was at the door she would 

 stand looking after them with her hand 

 over her eyes, and, I suppose, fall to 

 wondering at the many years since she 

 ran as nimbly along the hills and along 

 the riverside. When the late winds of 

 March were blowing and the breath of 

 the woods was sweet like spring, then the 

 little old woman stood out in the sun 

 shine and was glad the hard winter was 

 over. Her store of sticks was gone, and 

 she must go deep into the wood to 

 gather bark to dye the wool she knit. 

 But one night while the little children 

 slept and the wind blew fiercely round 

 the little brown house, the storm elves 

 of the upper air met together and said 

 each to the other, "It is not yet time for 

 us to go ; let us whiten the earth again 

 and fill the sky with whirling flakes of 

 snow." And it grew cold, cold, and the 

 shoots came out no farther ; the snow 

 drifted in through the poor roof of the 

 cottage, and the fire went out and the 

 cold wind found the poor woman sick in 

 bed with no child to love her and no 



friend to comfort her. Only the Arbutus 

 with its trailing vines kept pushing about 

 under the snow. The sweet blossoms and 

 green leaves were getting ready for the 

 sunshine which would surely come again. 



After some days, when the children 

 once more sought out their path in the 

 snow, there was no blue smoke to greet 

 them, and at night none could be seen; 

 so they climbed the hill and found their 

 old friend sick and alone and without 

 food. 



The children's hearts were touched by 

 this sorrow, and their little feet clam 

 bered to the sheltering nooks and to the 

 sunniest spots where the snow had al 

 ready melted. Their quick young eyes 

 soon spied the waxy green leaves and 

 pink and white blossoms of the fragrant 

 Arbutus, the first flower of the year. 

 This their deft fingers tied in graceful 

 clusters, and that night their tale of sor 

 row was told in many homes and their 

 plan unfolded. 



So the next day a woman walked to 

 the town lying near and went from door 

 to door selling the flowers the children 

 had gathered, and her story found many 

 a response in kind hearts and she carried 

 back food and warmth for the poor 

 woman. 



The pink blossoms, too, brought their 

 message to those who never see Nature's 

 wildest, loveliest places, and made swee,t 

 appeal for the poor, and especially for 

 the little old woman all alone on the hill 

 side by the river. 



JULIA ROOT STEPHENSON. 



A SPRING MESSENGER 



When I awoke in early morn, 



I heard a robin sing, 

 And every note his sweet throat made, 



Said "Spring! Spring! Spring!" 



J. FRANK RICHMAN. 



121 



