“My leaves, my glass leaves!” moaned the little tree; “they lie broken in the dust, while all the other trees are still dressed in their beautiful foliage. Oh! if I had another wish I would ask for green leaves.” Then the little tree slept again, and in the morning it was covered with fresh, green foliage. And it laughed merrily, and said: “Now, I need not be ashamed any more. I am like my comrades of the woods.” But along came a mother-goat, looking for grass and herbs for herself and her young ones. She saw the crisp, new leaves; and she nibbled, and nibbled, and nibbled them all away, and she ate up both stems and tender shoots, till the little tree stood bare. “Alas!” cried the little tree in anguish, “I want no more leaves, neither gold ones nor glass ones, nor green and red and yellow ones! If I could only have my needles once more, I would never complain again.” And sorrowfully the little tree fell asleep, but when it saw itself in the morning sunshine, it laughed and laughed and laughed. And all the other trees laughed, too, but the little tree did not care. Why did they laugh? Because in the night all its needles had come again! You may see this for yourself. Just go into the woods and look, but do not touch the little tree. Why not? BECAUSE IT PRICKS. WHY THE EVERGREEN TREES NEVER LOSE THEIR LEAVES BY FLORENCE HOLBROOK Winter was coming, and the birds had flown far to the south, where the air was warm and they could find berries to eat. One little bird had broken its wing and could not fly with the others. It was alone in the cold world of frost and snow. The forest looked warm, and it made its way to the trees as well as it could, to ask for help. First it came to a birch tree. “Beautiful birch tree,” it said, “my wing is broken, and my friends have flown away. May I live among your branches till they come back to me?” “No, indeed,” answered the birch tree, drawing her fair green leaves away. “We of the great forest have our own birds to help. I can do nothing for you.” “The birch is not very strong,” said the little bird to itself, “and it might be that she could not hold me easily. I will ask the oak.” So the bird said: “Great oak tree, you are so strong, will you not let me live on your boughs till my friends come back in the springtime?” “In the springtime!” cried the oak. “That is a long way off. How do I know what you might do in all that time? Birds are always looking for something to eat, and you might even eat up some of my acorns.” “It may be that the willow will be kind to me,” thought the bird, and it said: “Gentle willow, my wing is broken, and I could not fly to the south with the other birds. May I live on your branches till the springtime?” The willow did not look gentle then, for she drew herself up proudly and said: “Indeed, I do not know you, and we willows never talk to people whom we do not know. Very likely there are trees somewhere that will take in strange birds. Leave me at once.”