[Illustration: Mercury among the trees]

Down fell the pot of gold. How surprised the poplar tree was! He dropped
his branches in shame. Then he held them high in the air.

"Forgive me," he said. "I do not know how it came to be there; but,
hereafter, I shall always hold my branches up. Then every one can see
that I have nothing hidden."

Since then the branches have always grown straight up; and every one
knows that the poplar is an honest and upright tree.

--FLORA J. COOKE.




WHO LOVES THE TREES BEST?


Who loves the trees best?
"I," said the Spring;
"Their leaves so beautiful
To them I bring."

Who loves the trees best?
"I," Summer said;
"I give them blossoms,
White, yellow, red."