r own importance, while the rest might be spared
without much loss to society. So thought the apple-branch, as he stood
before the open window, from which he could see out over gardens and
fields, where there were flowers and plants enough for him to think
and reflect upon; some rich and beautiful, some poor and humble
indeed.

"Poor, despised herbs," said the apple-branch; "there is really
a difference between them and such as I am. How unhappy they must
be, if they can feel as those in my position do! There is a difference
indeed, and so there ought to be, or we should all be equals."

And the apple-branch looked with a sort of pity upon them,
especially on a certain little flower that is found in fields and in
ditches. No one bound these flowers together in a nosegay; they were
too common; they were even known to grow between the paving-stones,
shooting up everywhere, like bad weeds; and they bore the very ugly
name of "dog-flowers" or "dandelions."

"Poor, despised plants," said the apple-bough, "it is not your
fault that you are so ugly, and that you have such an ugly name; but
it is with plants as with men,--there must be a difference."

"A difference!" cried the sunbeam, as he kissed the blooming
apple-branch, and then kissed the yellow dandelion out in the
fields. All were brothers, and the sunbeam kissed them--the poor
flowers as well as the rich.

The apple-bough had never thought of the boundless love of God,
which extends over all the works of creation, over everything which
lives, and moves, and has its being in Him; he had never thought of
the good and beautiful which are so often hidden, but can never remain
forgotten by Him,--not only among the lower creation, but also among
men. The sunbeam, the ray of light, knew better.

"You do not see very far, nor very clearly," he said to the
apple-branch. "Which is the despised plant you so specially pity?"

"The dandelion," he replied. "No one ever places it in a
nosegay; it is often trodden under foot, there are so many of them;
and when they run to seed, they have flowers like wool, which fly away
in little pieces over the roads, and cling to the dresses of the
people. They are only weeds; but of course there must be weeds. O, I
am really very thankful that I was not made like one of these
flowers."

There came presently across the fields a whole group of
children, the youngest of whom was so small that it had to be
carried by the others;