grew stiff and bent, and her. limbs were friend to comfort her. Only the Arbutus 



almost too feeble to carry her about, with its trailing vines kept pushing about 



She found it hard to stoop for the wood under the snow. The sweet blossoms and 



for her fire, and her fingers almost re- green leaves were getting ready for the 



fused to knit the stockings that brought sunshine which would surely come again, 



her food. Now at the foot of the hill ran After some days, when the children 



a path where the little children went back once more sought out their path in the 



and forth to school, and each cold morn- snow, there was no blue smoke to greet 



ing the children looked up at the cottage them, and at night none could be seen ; 



and one would cry out, "I see the smoke so they climbed the hill and found their 



from granny's chimney !" And if the old friend sick and alone and without 



old woman was at the door she would food. 



stand looking after them with her hand The children's hearts were touched by 

 over her eyes, and, I suppose, fall to this sorrow, and their little feet clam- 

 wondering at the many years since she ^ered to the sheltering nooks and to the 

 ran as nimbly along the hills and along sunniest spots where the snow had al- 

 the riverside. When the late winds of ready melted. Their quick young eyes 

 March were blowing and the breath of soon spied the waxy green leaves and 

 the woods was sweet like spring, then the pink and white blossoms of the fragrant 

 little old woman stood out in the sun- Arbutus, the first flower of the year, 

 shine and was glad the hard winter was This their deft fingers tied in graceful 

 over. Her store of sticks was gone, and clusters, and that night their tale of sor- 

 she must go deep into the wood to row was told in many homes and their 

 gather, bark to dye the wool she knit, plan unfolded. 



But one night while the little children So the next day a woman walked to 



slept and the wind blew fiercely round the town lying near and went from door 



the little brown house, the storm elves to door selling the flowers the children 



of the upper air met together and said had gathered, and her story found many 



each to the other, "It is not yet time for a response in kind hearts and she carried 



us to go; let us whiten the earth again back food and warmth for the poor 



and fill the sky with whirling flakes of woman. 



snow." And it grew cold, cold, and the The pink blossoms, too, brought their 

 shoots came out no farther ; the snow message to those who never see Nature's 

 drifted in through the poor roof of the wildest, loveliest places, and made sweet 

 cottage, and the fire went out and the appeal for the poor, and especially for 

 cold wind found the poor woman sick in the little old woman all alone on the hill- 

 bed with no child to love her and no 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 



