over with the shining drops.

The beeches beckoned her from the garden; she saw them do it. Their
long branches waved to her to come, like inviting arms; and still
weeping, she stole quietly away.

"Come," whispered the gnarled apple-trees down in the orchard; and she
threaded her way sadly among the trunks, while her tears fell splash,
splash, on her white pinafore.

"Here!" gasped the meadow-grass; and she followed on, sobbing softly to
herself, as she sat down where, days ago, the brook had merrily sung.

"Why do you grieve?" asked the pebbles; and she heard them and
answered,--

"Because I am so sad. Things are never as I want them, and so I cry.
I am made to obey, and then, when the stars come out and I wish to stay
up, I am sent to bed; and the next morning, when I am so sleepy I can
hardly open my eyes, I am made to get up. Oh, this is a very sad
world!" And she wept afresh.

Then the flowers and the grasses and the pebbles, seeing her tears, all
said at once: "Would you like to stay here with us? Then you could
stay awake all night and gaze at the stars, and in the morning you need
not get up. You may lie in the brook's empty bed, and you need never
obey your parents any more."

Marie was silent a moment, and then a hundred small voices said, "Do,
oh, do!" And her tears fell faster and more fast, and larger and