“Now there was a time, once, when flowers and grasses grew there, and ferns fringed the edge of the brook, and it was beautiful, indeed. Every fall I shook armfuls of crimson and yellow leaves upon the bank, but that was long ago, before the great forest fire which robbed me of my limbs and leaves and left me old and worn.
“What a joy it would be to me if only I might have my branches decked in leaves one more time,—especially do I long for this in the glad springtime, when trees and flowers are robing themselves for the joyous Easter Day.
“Sad, indeed, it is to me, to know that I shall be clothed no more in a fresh dress of delicate green, like your own pretty leaves, dear Ivy.”
“But you shall,” said the ivy vine, clapping her hands; “you have helped me cross the ditch to-day, and I mean to give you an Easter dress. Watch me.”
Now vines had never climbed high before this. They had only run along the ground and down the hill, and over walls, but this little ivy vine wrapped her delicate arms around the rough bark of the old oak, and began to climb her first tree.
She pulled and stretched, and stretched and pulled, until little by little, up, up, higher and higher she went, leaving a trail of rich, green leaves behind her. It was a lovely sight.
“See!” she called to the old oak; “I am bringing you a most beautiful Easter dress,—how do you like it?”
“Beautiful, beautiful!” laughed the old oak. “You make me feel young again. But what will you do when you reach my branches?”
“Why, I shall keep on climbing,” replied the ivy vine. “When I give a dress at all, it must be a whole dress, don’t you know? I shall not stop until I have covered every branch, as I did the bare spots on the ditch.”
And so she did. Every day she climbed a little higher, until by and by every limb on the great, old oak was completely hidden by the beautiful leaves of the ivy. The old oak laughed in delight, as she looked on her beautiful Easter dress of fresh, rich green.