all my twigs I feel the slow sap stirring.

"'Warmer grow the sunbeams, and softer the air. The small blades of
grass creep thick about my feet; the sweet rain helps to swell my
shining buds. More and more I push forth my leaves, till out I burst in
a gay green dress, and nod in joy and pride. The little boy comes
running to look at me, and cries, "Oh, mamma! the little blackberry-bush
is alive and beautiful and green. Oh, come and see!" And I hear; and I
bow my head in the summer wind; and every day they watch me grow more
beautiful, till at last I shake out blossoms, fair and fragrant.

"'A few days more, and I drop the white petals down among the grass,
and, lo! there are the green tiny berries! Carefully I hold them up to
the sun; carefully I gather the dew in the summer nights; slowly they
ripen; they grow larger and redder and darker, and at last they are
black, shining, delicious. I hold them as high as I can for the little
boy, who comes dancing out. He shouts with joy, and gathers them in his
dear hand; and he runs to share them with his mother, saying, "Here is
what the patient blackberry-bush bore for us: see how nice, mamma!"

"'Ah! then indeed I am glad, and would say, if I could, "Yes, take them,
dear little boy; I kept them for you, held them long up to the sun and
rain to make them sweet and ripe for you"; and I nod and nod in full
content, for my work is done. From the window he watches me and thinks,
"There is the little blackberry-bush that was so kind to me. I see it
and I love it. I know it is safe out there nodding all alone, and next
summer it will hold ripe berries up for me to gather again."'"

* * * * *