wild-wood, and twittered gayly to the brooks, the ferns, and the lichens.

A violet grew among the mosses at the foot of the linden-tree where lived
the robin. She was so very tiny and so very modest that few knew there was
such a pretty little creature in the world. Withal she was so beautiful
and so gentle that those who knew the violet loved her very dearly.

The south wind came wooing the violet. He danced through the shrubbery and
ferns, and lingered on the velvet moss where the little flower grew. But
when he kissed her pretty face and whispered to her, she hung her head and
said, "No, no; it cannot be."

"Nay, little violet, do not be so cruel," pleaded the south wind; "let me
bear you as my bride away to my splendid home in the south, where all is
warmth and sunshine always."

But the violet kept repeating, "No, it cannot be; no, it cannot be," till
at last the south wind stole away with a very heavy heart.

And the rose exclaimed, in an outburst of disgustful indignation: "What a
foolish violet! How silly of her to refuse such a wooer as the south wind,
who has a beautiful home and a patrimony of eternal warmth and sunshine!"

But the violet, as soon as the south wind had gone, looked up at the robin
perched in the linden-tree and singing his clear song; and it seemed as if
she blushed and as if she were thrilled with a great emotion as she beheld
him. But the robin did not see the violet. His eyes were turned the other
way, and he sang to the clouds in the sky.

The brook o'erleaped its banks one day, and straying toward the