"The blackberry-bush, mamma; what does it say? It keeps nodding, nodding
to me behind the fence; what does it say, mamma?"

"It says," she answered, "'I see a happy little boy in the warm,
fire-lighted room. The wind blows cold, and here it is dark and lonely;
but that little boy is warm and happy and safe at his mother's knees. I
nod to him, and he looks at me. I wonder if he knows how happy he is!

"'See, all my leaves are dark crimson. Every day they dry and wither
more and more; by and by they will be so weak they can scarcely cling to
my branches, and the north wind will tear them all away, and nobody will
remember them any more. Then the snow will sink down and wrap me close.
Then the snow will melt again and icy rain will clothe me, and the
bitter wind will rattle my bare twigs up and down.

"'I nod my head to all who pass, and dreary nights and dreary days go
by; but in the happy house, so warm and bright, the little boy plays all
day with books and toys. His mother and his father cherish him; he
nestles on their knees in the red firelight at night, while they read to
him lovely stories, or sing sweet old songs to him,--the happy little
boy! And outside I peep over the snow and see a stream of ruddy light
from a crack in the window-shutter, and I nod out here alone in the
dark, thinking how beautiful it is.

"'And here I wait patiently. I take the snow and the 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