Oh, how conceited she is!" said the Rosebush in a whisper to the
Pansies. "Think of calling herself beautiful. For my part, I think
her white and purple quite plain-looking."

But in spite of the low voice of the Rose the little Windflower heard
her. "Oh, you are quite mistaken if you think I feel I am beautiful!"
she said. "It is of our family I speak; you should see some of my
sisters; they are wonderful, purple and so silky they are beautiful.

"And other sisters are a beautiful blue. Oh, I am by far the plainest
of our family. But the Wind has no favorites; he takes us all along
with him, though, of course, my sisters that grow in mountain pastures
go oftener with the Wind than others."

"Oh, here comes that horrid breeze!" said the Rosebush. "He always
spoils everything." And she gathered her petals closer to her and
leaned back among the leaves.

When she opened her petals to look around the garden again the little
Windflower was not there.

"Why, where has the Windflower gone?" she asked.

"Oh, you missed it!" said the Pansies, nodding very knowingly. "That
breeze came to tell the Windflower that the Wind would be along in a
minute. We heard him, so we watched, and in a little while the Wind
came and took the Windflower away with him. She went up high right
over Hollyhock's head."

Hollyhock, who had been gazing about, lowered his head. "She is out of
sight," he told the Rosebush and the Pansies. "The Wind came this
morning and whispered to her, but I could not hear what he said; but
she opened wide her blossom and nodded."

"Now, what do you suppose there is between the Windflower and the
Wind?" asked Rosebush.

"Just what she told us," said Hollyhock. "He is in love with the
Windflowers."

"I should prefer a more tender lover," said Rosebush. "I think him
quite rude at times. The way he blows through our garden is far from
gentle."

"Some like strong lovers that can master them," said Hollyhock, lifting
his head and standing very straight.

"I suppose so," sighed the Rosebush; "but it is just as I have always
said. You never can tell about the quiet, modest ones. Think of the
little Windflower having such a story and flying away with the Wind.
My, my! What a world!"

PUSSY WILLOW'S FURS

[Illustration: Pussy Willow's Furs]

Miss Pussy Willow put on her furs one day in March and stepped out into
the sunshine; but, while the sun was warm, March's breath was cold, so
s