THE ANEMONES. 
Before the sun had climbed the wooded hill that 
bounded the valley, Mary was brushing the dew 
from the grass in the meadow. The wind had 
already waked some of the Anemones ; others still 
hung their beautiful heads, for fear the dew-drops 
should steal into their bosoms and chill the life that 
warmed them. Every leaf and blade of grass was 
weighed down by the beneficent moisture. These 
were grateful for the refreshment, and wondered 
how the flowers could turn away from it. 
Suddenly a flood of light poured over the valley ; 
