rkling all over, and
seemed to be dressed out for some festival. Mary and her papa stopped
before a weeping birch-tree, with the green moss growing on its
silvery white stem. After admiring it for some time, they looked up at
its branches that hung drooping over their heads. "How light and
feathery they look," said Mary. "I think they are quite as pretty as
in summer."

"I think so too," said her papa. "I even think the birch more
beautiful in winter than in summer; and all the trees show us the
grandeur and beauty of their forms more when the leaves are gone.
Look at their great sweeping branches."

"Yes," said Mary, "and then all the little twigs look so pretty, and
like lace-work."

"And more than ever we must admire them," said her papa, "when we
think that in every little bud at their tips lie the young leaves
folded in, and safely shielded by this brown covering from the cold;
but all ready to burst forth when the soft spring air and sunshine
tell them it is time."

Mary was delighted at this thought, and they spent a little while
looking at the different buds, particularly those of the
chestnut-trees, with their shining brown coats. Mary took great care
not to break one off; she said, "It would be such a pity the little
leaves should not feel the spring air, and come out in the sunshine."

"But, O Chrissy, what a lovely bunch of jewelled leaves you have
collected!" cried she. "O, yes, that branch in the middle will look
pretty; it has managed to go on looking like coral, and to keep its
diamonds, because it was so shaded. Now you will put the brown oak
leaves, all shining. Here are some more; _do_ put these; and then the
pretty little brown beech leaves glittering all over. It looks
beautiful!"

"How pretty the form of the oak leaves is," said Chrissy.

"Now let us take it in to mamma," cried Mary.

"But, remember," said Chrissy, "if we take it in all its charm will
vanish. Here in the frosty air it looks as if it had been dressed up
by the fairies, but in the warm room we should soon have nothing but a
bare twig and a few withered leaves."

Mary looked rather sad.

"See," said Chrissy, "let us fasten it to the top of your mamma's
favorite seat under the beech-tree; it will make a pretty ornament
there."

Now the sliding began. Mary's papa took hold of her hand and ran with
her along the field, till they came to the edge of the pond; then away
they went, sliding side by side. He kept tight hold of