It is very seldom in this world that the humble and shrinking find friends ready and willing to raise them from the ground; for there is such a rush and scramble to reach the temples of 'Fame' and of 'Mammon,' that each one elbows the other in the crowd. Some of the weaker ones get sadly pushed to the wall, others are trampled under foot, and it is only the very boldest and most daring of the throng who ever reach the desired goal.
But amongst the flowers it is not so; for how many of the weak ones cling for support to others, and, through their tender care, gain strength and beauty. And this was the case with the Honeysuckle; she felt so secure resting on that strong, protecting arm, that by degrees she began to gain courage, and to feel her own power. The Bramble, too, perceiving she was something more than a mere 'little green sprig of something,' kindly encouraged her to persevere in her upward course. So she clambered up higher and higher; the delicate green tendrils became firmer and stronger, and at length, after much painful toiling and many a disappointment, she reached the highest summit of her hopes—the top of a quickset hedge!
'Oh, how can I thank you all!' she joyfully cried, when from her lofty position she gazed around on beautiful scenes undreamt of ere this, and then looked back upon the toilsome path she had travelled, and beheld the many kind friends who had helped her on her way, each one of whom was now rejoicing in her success; 'and you, dear Bramble, my first generous guide'—
'We are all very pleased to see that at last you have succeeded in your efforts, my dear,' interrupted that sturdy friend; 'and, what is more, we do not fear you will prove ungrateful, you are sure to remember us.'
'Indeed, indeed I ever shall!' cried the happy little flower. 'Can I ever forget those who loved me when I was poor and lowly? that would be cruel and unkind.'
And so it proved; for, as the summer grew warmer, and her lovely blossoms opened to the bright sunshine, she in her gratitude showered them over those dear ones who had helped her in the days of her poverty; and the fragrant blossoms thus spread over the hedge and the bramble enhanced their beauty, and rendered them still more lovely in the eyes of the passers-by.
'Dear me!' exclaimed the Butterfly, as one very hot day he alighted to rest upon one of the Honeysuckle's leaves. 'Dear me!' he repeated, surveying her critically; 'why, really I did not know you again. How did you contrive to get so high up in the world?'
'Kind hearts, loving hands, helped me,' was the simple answer given.
'Oh, indeed!' he curtly said. 'Well, I owe gratitude to no one. I suppose you will not get any higher?' he questioned, after a pause.
'No,' she replied, with her usual humility; 'and even if I could, I would not wish it; for, living as I do amongst all who are dear to me, I have no higher ambition.'