he rain and the
cold, and I am not sorry, but glad; for in my roots I feel warmth and
life, and I know that a store of greenness and beauty is shut up safe
in my small brown buds. Day and night go again and again; little by
little the snow melts all away; the ground grows soft; the sky is blue;
the little birds fly over crying, "It is spring! it is spring!" Ah!
then through all my twigs I feel the slow sap stirring.

"'Warmer grow the sunbeams, and softer the air. The small blades of
grass creep thick about my feet; the sweet rain helps swell my shining
buds. More and more I push forth my leaves, till out I burst in a gay
green dress, and nod in joy and pride. The little boy comes running to
look at me, and cries, "Oh, mamma! the little blackberry-bush is alive
and beautiful and green. Oh, come and see!" And I hear; and I bow my
head in the summer wind; and every day they watch me grow more
beautiful, till at last I shake out blossoms, fair and fragrant.

"'A few days more, and I drop the white petals down among the grass,
and, lo! the green tiny berries! Carefully I hold them up to the sun;
carefully I gather the dew in the summer nights; slowly they ripen;
they grow larger and redder and darker, and at last they are black,
shining, delicious. I hold them as high as I can for the little boy,
who comes dancing out. He shouts with joy, and gathers them in his
dear hand; and he runs to share them with his mother, saying, "Here is
what the patient blackberry-bush bore for us: see how nice, mamma!"

"'Ah! then indeed I am glad, and would say, if I could, "Yes, take
them, dear little boy; I kept them for you, held them long up to sun
and rain to make them sweet and ripe for you;" and I nod and nod in
full content, for my work is done. From the window he watches me and
thinks, "There is the little blackberry-bush that was so kind to me. I
see it and I love it. I know it is safe out there nodding all alone,
and next summer it will hold ripe berries up for me to gather again."'"

Then the wee boy smiled, and liked the little story. His mother took
him up in her arms, and they went out to supper and left the
blackberry-bush nodding up and down in the wind; and there it is
nodding yet.

THE FAIRIES[1]

[1] By William Allingham.

Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men.
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red