THE BOLD WEED
The weed smelled rank to heaven. But she looked out at everyone as bold as brass.
“Hold up your heads,” she cried to the violets. “Push yourselves forward where people may see you.”
But the violets held down their heads modestly.
Along came Lucy looking for some flowers. “Ugh! what a rank smell that weed has!” she cried. She plucked it up by the root and threw it on a heap of rubbish. But she gathered a great bunch of the dewy violets for her grandmother’s birthday.