THE LITTLE ACORN
It was a little acorn that hung on the bough of a tree.
It had a tender green cup and a beautifully carved saucer to hold it. The mother oak fed it with sweet sap every day, the birds sang good-night songs above it, and the wind rocked it gently to and fro. The oak leaves made a soft green shade above it, so the sun might not shine too warmly on its green cover, and it was as happy as an acorn could be.
There were many other acorns on the tree, and the mother tree, through her wind voices, whispered loving words to all her babies.
The summer days were so bright and pleasant that the acorn never thought of anything but sunshine and an occasional shower to wash the dust off the leaves. But summer ends, and the autumn days came. The green cup of the acorn turned to a brown cup, and it was well that it grew stiffer and harder, for the cold winds began to blow.
The leaves turned from green to golden brown, and some of them were whisked away by the rough wind. The little acorn began to grow uneasy.
"Isn't it always summer?" it asked.
"Oh, no," whispered the mother oak, "the cold days come and the leaves must go and the acorns too. I must soon lose my babies."
"Oh, I could never leave this kind bough," said the frightened acorn. "I should be lost and forgotten if I were to fall."