To the youth's astonishment, his majesty smiled graciously, and, in the presence of the High Chancellor and all the knights and ladies, the king embraced his son and said, "Banishment has made a man of you! And, furthermore, you have taught all of us the wonders of the woodland. Welcome back to my heart, O Prince!" And the High Chancellor, knights, and ladies of high degree all said, "Long live our plucky Prince." Adapted from a poem by May Bryon. THE OAK A song to the oak The brave old oak, Who hath ruled in the greenwood long: Here's health and renown To his broad green crown And his fifty arms so strong. There's fear in his frown When the sun goes down, And the fire in the west fades out; And he showeth his might On a wild midnight, When the storms through his branches shout. Then here's to the oak The brave old oak! Who stands in his pride alone; And still flourish he, A hale, green tree When a hundred years are gone. H. F. CHORLEY. SUMMER SNOW MRS. HUMPHREY WARD A king once lived in a very hot part of Spain, where they have little rain and where it hardly ever snows or freezes. This king had a very beautiful wife whom he loved very much. But the queen had one great fault. She was always wishing for the most impossible things. The king always tried to give her everything she wanted, but she was never satisfied. At last, one day in winter, a very strange thing happened. A shower of snow fell in the town where the king and queen lived. It made the hills white, so that they looked as if some one had been dusting white sugar over them. Now snow was hardly ever seen in the town, so the people talked about it, a great deal. After the queen had looked at it a little while, she began to cry bitterly. None of the ladies could comfort her, nor would she tell any one what was the matter. There she sat at her window weeping, till the king came to her. He could not imagine why she was crying, and begged her to tell him. "I am weeping," she said, sobbing all the time, "because the hills are not always covered with snow. See how pretty they look! And yet, I have never, till now, seen them look like that. If you really love me, you would find some way or other to make it snow once a year at any rate." "But how can I make it snow?" cried the king, in great trouble, because she would go on weeping and weeping, and spoiling her pretty eyes. "I am sure I don't know," said the queen crossly.