.

So Sleek the muskrat came and made a road for her from one tuft of grass
to another till she was safely on the land. Then she bade these ugly but
kind friends good-by, and gladly ran about the pleasant field where
autumn flowers were going to seed and dead leaves falling fast. She
feasted on wild grapes, dried berries, and apples fallen from the trees
since the harvest was carried in. Everything was getting ready for
winter, and Bud was glad to make herself a warm suit of mullein
clothes, with a little hood of thistle-down. She was fitting beechnut
shells on her tiny feet for shoes when a withered plant near by called
out to her,--

"Are you going far, that you put on new clothes and stout boots, little
stranger?"

"I must travel till I find my own country, no matter how far away it is.
Can I do any errand for you?" asked Bud, kindly.

"Yes; will you carry these seeds of mine to the great meadow over there?
All my friends are there, and I long to be at home again. Some one
picked me last spring and dropped me here. But I did not die; I took
root and bloomed here, and must always stay unless some one will take my
seeds back. Then I shall come up in my own place next spring and be a
happy flower again."

"I will do it," said Bud; "but I thought the wind took your seeds about
for you."

"Some are too heavy. Pine seeds, maple keys, thistle and dandelion down,
and many others blow about; but some of us grow from our roots, and
some, like me, come from seeds kept in little bags. I'm called
Shepherd's-purse, and I'm a humble weed; but I love my own people and
long to see them again."

"You shall!" cried Bud; and gathering the three-cornered bags she took
them carefully away to the meadow where other plants like this one were
glad to hear of their lost friend and to watch over the gift she sent
them.

Remembering how pleasant and comfortable it was to find various flowers
blooming along the roadside like hospitable inns for tiny travellers
like herself, good Bud spent several days in planting roots and seeds
beside the path that led through the meadow.

"Now children, birds, butterflies, and fairies will be glad to find
these pretty things blooming here, though they will never know who
planted them," she said, when the last task was done.

The frost had come, and nuts were rattling down, leaves turning brown,
and cold winds beginning to blow; so poor Bud looked about as she went
through a wood to find some safe