"Baucis," whispered the oak.

"Philemon," replied the linden.

There the trees stood through sun and rain, always ready to spread their
leafy shade over every tired stranger who passed that way.

--FLORA J. COOKE.




THE POPLAR TREE


Long ago the poplar used to hold out its branches like other trees. It
tried to see how far it could spread them.

Once at sunset an old man came through the forest where the poplar trees
lived. The trees were going to sleep, and it was growing dark.

The man held something under his cloak. It was a pot of gold--the very
pot of gold that lies at the foot of the rainbow. He had stolen it and
was looking for some place to hide it. A poplar tree stood by the path.

"This is the very place to hide my treasure," the man said. "The
branches spread out straight, and the leaves are large and thick. How
lucky that the trees are all asleep!"