There the trees stood through sun and rain, always ready to spread their leafy shade over every tired stranger who passed that way.
—FLORA J. COOKE.
[THE POPLAR TREE]
Long ago the poplar used to hold out its branches like other trees. It tried to see how far it could spread them.
Once at sunset an old man came through the forest where the poplar trees lived. The trees were going to sleep, and it was growing dark.
The man held something under his cloak. It was a pot of gold—the very pot of gold that lies at the foot of the rainbow. He had stolen it and was looking for some place to hide it. A poplar tree stood by the path.
"This is the very place to hide my treasure," the man said. "The branches spread out straight, and the leaves are large and thick. How lucky that the trees are all asleep!"
He placed the pot of gold in the thick branches, and then ran quickly away.
The gold belonged to Iris, the beautiful maiden who had a rainbow bridge to the earth. The next morning she missed her precious pot. It always lay at the foot of the rainbow, but it was not there now.