THE STORY OF A CANE.
Was it a shiny black cane with a gold head? No. I think you never saw a cane like this one. It was made out of a small balm-of-Gilead-tree. It belonged to John Reed. He taught school. He was eighteen years old.
When vacation came, John walked home. It was forty miles, and a pretty long walk. But there were no railroads in those days, and John did not like to ride in a stage-coach.
He thought he could walk more easily with a cane to help him. So he made this cane I am going to tell you about.
When he got home he stuck this cane into the ground in the lane, and then forgot all about it. But the cane was alive! When John stuck it into the ground it began to drink up the water from the soil.
Tiny green leaves sprouted out all over it. John saw it one day. How surprised he was! It grew all summer long. The next year the branches began to grow; and year by year it grew larger and larger till it was fifty years old.
Then John Reed was sixty-eight years old; the little children called him “Grandpa Reed.”
