the horses, cows and pigs, and all the 

 poultry, too. Probably that is the reason 

 that I have felt so lonely here. Where 

 did you come from ?" 



'^I," answered the mustard, ''grew over 

 in the wheat field. When the farmer 

 sowed his wheat he sowed m.e, too — but 

 he did not notice it. The ground was 

 rich and mellow. I had a fine place to 

 grow; but tliis is a good place, too."' 



"And I," said the cockle-bur, "grew 

 by the roadside. My brothers and I had 

 fine fun trying to steal rides. Perhaps 

 you may think that wrong, but that is our 

 nature. We are seldom satisfied to 

 remain in the sam^e vicinity. Some of the 

 boys caught in the passing horses' tails. 

 Some of them were carried off by the 

 men's pants and the women's dresses. 

 Several of them fastened themselves into 

 the wool of a drove of sheep. One of them 

 was glad to ride even on an old cow's 

 tail, but I never could get a good hold 

 of anything until Rover came along the 

 other day. He carried me around for 

 more than two days. It was fun to go 

 racing up the road and down tbe road, 

 through the house, over the fields, across 

 the meadows and through the orchard. 

 I tell you I have seen the world and its 

 ways. I have had a good chance to see 

 a dog wag his tail, but I cannot think 

 how he does it." 



The cockle-bur's new neighbors opened 

 their eyes in great surprise and exclaimed 

 in admiration, "Indeed !" 



Just then a couple of little seeds with 

 feathery wings came flying along. 



"Heigh-ho!" spoke the plantain as 

 they one after the other sank to the earth 

 not far awav. "W^here did you come 

 from?" 



"We grew over in the fence corner. 

 Our mother had so many of us, and it 

 ■was so crowded around there, that we 

 wanted to find a place where there is 

 more room. This seems to be a good 

 place," continued the spokesman. 



A little whiff of air lifted and whirled 

 him around and around, then let him 

 drop down beside a small clod. 



"I think that I will remain here," he 

 said as he settled himself contentedly. 



Here the wandering seeds stayed all 

 winter. They lay resting and dreaming 

 of the work that they would do upon 

 avv'akening in the spring. One day a 



covey of quails coming that way robbed 

 the plantain of some of his seeds. He 

 groaned and groaned. Still he com- 

 forted himself that he had dozens left and 

 that his own rootstalk was warm and 

 safe, ready to show itself in the early 

 spring. 



Finally spring came. The field was 

 properly plowed and prepared for a crop 

 of clover. 



It happened that the plantain was 

 plowed under so deep that he could not 

 get up to the air and light ; consequently 

 he smothered to death. The other new 

 friends were up in good season and 

 promised to make thrifty plants. 



One day the mustard spied a wild 

 morning-glory not far off. 



"Where did you come from? How 

 did you get here?" eagerly asked the 

 mustard. Without waiting for an answer 

 he rattled on: "I have not seen you 

 since I left the wheat field. It seems 

 pleasant to meet old friends occasionally." 



"You never met me before. I never 

 was in the wheat field," replied the 

 morning-glory with stiff dignity not often 

 displayed by her. 



"Didn't you come from along by the 

 hedge near where I was raised last 

 year?" 



"I did not," emphatically answered the 

 morning-glory. 



"Beg pardon," lifting his hat ; "then I 

 am mistaken." 



The mustard's politeness made the 

 morning-glory ashamed of herself. So 

 she explained in a milder tone, "That 

 mean old farmer turned me under sO' deep 

 that I did not see nor even feel much 

 influence of the sun for a whole year; 

 but this spring the plow brought me to 

 the surface again, and — here I am, not 

 far from where I was raised. In any 

 case, what a struggle some of us have 

 for our very lives !" 



The happy weeds worked their hardest 

 gathering all the sun rays possible, 

 drinking refreshing dews, and sucking 

 up what food they could collect from the 

 soil. However, there were so many 

 clovers, and they were such industrious 

 workers, that the weed-friends finally 

 saw that their chances were not favor- 

 able. At last it became i plainly evident 

 that they lacked their na^tural vigor. 

 Then, alas ! one fine summer day the 



