“And I think,” said one, “that there’s a great deal of beauty in a tree without any leaves at all.”
“So do I,” said another. “Just look up through yonder elm! Its branches and boughs and twigs make a lovely picture against the sky.”
“When my uncle came home,” said a third, “he told us that some of the people in the torrid zone perfectly longed to see a forest without leaves.”
And, thus chattering, the lively school-girls passed on.
“Ah!” sighed the Maple-Tree, “this will at least be pleasant to dream about.”
For she already felt her winter’s nap coming on. If she could but have staid awake, and heard what her little leaves said to each other afterwards down there on the ground!
“Dear old tree! She has taken care of us all our lives, and fed us, and held us up to the sun, and been to us a kind mother; and now we will do something for her. We will get under ground, and turn ourselves into food to feed her with; for she’ll be sure to wake up hungry after her long nap.”
Good little things! The rains helped them, and the winds,—in this way: The rains beat them into the ground, and the winds blew sand over them; and there they turned themselves into something very nice for the old Maple-Tree,—something good to take.
THE WHISPERER.
