er is a very lonely time, Mrs. Maxwell, and I'm so sorry
for the trees. I was out this morning with Fritz, and I talked to them
and tried to cheer them up. And I think they feel they're nearly dead,
poor things! and they were shivering with cold this morning; they were,
really. I told them they would be happy when next summer comes, but they
sighed and shook their heads; it's such a long time to wait, and they
have nothing to do--they can only stand still. I was very sad this
morning. After I had talked to them, I went down to the plantation at
the bottom of the lawn, and on the way I came to a poor dead frog. Fritz
sniffed at him, but he didn't seem to be sorry. I don't know how he
died. I thought perhaps he had stayed out in the cold and got frozen, he
felt so very cold. I took him up and buried him, and I wondered if his
mother would miss him; and then I went on a little farther, and there
were some little bird's feathers all in a heap on the ground. I felt
sure a cruel cat had been eating it up, and I couldn't help crying, for
everything seemed to be dying. And when I got to the plantation I was a
little comforted, for the fir-trees looked so comfortable and warm--they
hadn't lost their leaves like the other trees--but do you know, in the
middle of them all was a tall, thin, bare tree--he looked so lonely and
unhappy, and he was the only one without any leaves."

"One of those birches, I expect. My man, he said the other day that the
fir plantation yonder wanted weeding out."

"Well, I couldn't bear to see him so sad, so I crept right in amongst
the firs until I got to him, and then I put my arms right round him and
cuddled him tight. I told him God would take care of him, and give him a
beautiful new green dress next summer; but he seemed to feel the cold,
and I expect the other trees aren't very kind to him. I always think the
firs are very stiff and proud. I--I kissed him before I came away. It
was a sad morning."

Milly's tone was truly pathetic, and Mrs. Maxwell, who loved to hear her
childish fancies and never laughed at them, now looked up from her
knitting sympathetically--

"You're sad yourself, dear. Is your uncle pretty well to-day?"

"I think he is getting better, but he mustn't talk, and nurse won't let
me see him. I think it's winter makes me sad, Mrs. Maxwell."

There was silence for a few moments. Milly stroked her cat thoughtfully,
then she said,--

"If Uncle Edward had died, what would have