By and by there came down the road a most beautiful maiden.
When she saw the scarlet leaves she picked them and put them in her hair.
This made the little weed so happy that he died for pure joy.
The second little weed lived on, and turned slowly brown, like the bank.
“He was so foolish!” he said, speaking of the weed that turned scarlet. “He put all his strength into turning red, and so he died.”
“I was proud of him,” said the brown bank. “He did what he could, and people loved him.”
“Yes, but I am alive, and stay with you!” said the weed.
“Much I care!” said the bank.
—Laura E. Richards.