Morning-glory
Once upon a time there was a very little Morning-glory that grew on the end of a high vine, and one day when the wind was blowing a brisk breeze passed by the little Morning-glory, making it wish it, too, could go along and see more of the world.
The big mother vine knew what was in the heart of her little Glory, so she whispered soft words of love to it and told the little flower that it must never follow the breeze, for he was a wanderer and might take it far from its home, where it would be very unhappy and perhaps die out in the cold world. But the silly little Morning-glory still wanted to leave the big vine, and the next time the breeze came along it pushed up its head and the breeze took it off the big vine and bore it along with it far, far away.
But by and by the wind grew tired of carrying the little Glory, so it dropped it, and when the Morning-glory looked around it found it was in the midst of big tall trees and rocks and briers.
Vainly it tried to crawl along to a tree where it could twine itself around and climb, but it was too small, and then the rain came and made it cold and wet, and even the fickle wind did not come to it again.
Then the cold days came and the poor little Glory grew faded and had to crawl under the dead leaves for protection.
When the summer came again up came the little Glory, but it was a sad little flower. Now it longed to climb, but it was too small to do anything but lie on the ground.
After a while it grew near to a bush and put its weak little vine around it, hoping to get off the ground.
"What do you mean by trying to cling to me?" said the bush. "I have all I can do to take care of myself."
So the poor little Morning-glory dropped back to the ground. By and by it grew long enough to reach a tree and slowly it climbed up the big trunk until it came to the branches.