carried some of the greenness as they went into the chambers of the old house, and at night the moon and stars winked and twinkled, and made a thousand pretty plays of light and shadow as they sent their rays dancing over, under, and through the elm-boughs to the little brown house.

It was somewhere about the first of March, I believe, when there was quite a stir in the ground-floor bedroom of this little brown house, because a very small young lady had just made her appearance in this world, who was the first daughter that had ever been given to John and Martha Primrose; and, of course, her coming was a great event. Four of the most respectable old matrons in the vicinity were solemnly taking tea and quince preserves in Martha's bedroom, in honor of the great event which had just transpired, while a little bundle of flannel was carefully trotted and tended in the lap of the oldest of them, who every now and then opened

the folds and peered in through her spectacles at a very red, sleepy little face that lay inside.

'Well,' said Dame Toothacre, the eldest, 'did I ever know such a spell of warm weather as we had the last fortnight?'

'Yes,' said Ma'am Trowbridge, 'it has fairly started the buds. Look, that pussy willow by the window is quite out.'

'My Mary says she has seen a liverwort blossom,' said Dame Toothacre; ' and I've heard bluebirds these two weeks,--it's a most uncommon season.'

'If the warm weather holds on, Martha will have a good getting-up,' said Dame Johnson. 'She's got as plump and likely a little girl as I should want to see.'

And so, after a time, night settled down in the bedroom, and one after another of the good. old gossips went home, and the little bundle of flannel was tucked warmly into bed, and Nurse Toothacre was snoring loudly on a cot

bed in the corner, and the moon streamed through the willow-bush by the window, and marked the shadow of all the little pussy buds on it clearly on the white, clean floor-when something happened that nobody must know of but you and me, dear little folks; and what it was I shall relate.

There came in on the moonbeams a stream of fairy folk and wood spirits, to see what they could do for the new baby. You must know that everything that grows has its spirit, and these spirits not only attend on their own plants, but now and then do a good turn for mortals,— as, when plants have good and healing properties, they come to us by the ministry of these plant spirits.

In the winter, when the plant seems dead, these spirits dwell dormant under ground; but the warm suns of spring thaw them, and renew their strength, and out they come happy and strong as ever. Now, it was so early in March,

that, if there had not been a most uncommonly warm season for a week or two past, there would not have been a plant spirit stirring, and the new baby would have had to go without the gifts and graces which they bring. As it was, there came slipping down on the moonbeam, first, old Mother Fern, all rolled up in a woollen shawl, with a woollen hood on her head, but with a face brimful of benevolence towards the new baby. Little Mistress Liverwort came trembling after her; for it was scarcely warm enough yet to justify her putting on her spring clothes, and she did it only at the urgent solicitations of Bluebird, who had been besieging her doors for a fortnight. And, finally, there was Pussy Willow, who prudently kept on her furs, and moved so velvet-footed that nobody would even suspect she was there; but they undrew the curtains to get a look at the new baby.

'Bless its heart!' said Mother Fern, peering down at it through her glasses. 'It's as downy as any of us.'

'I should think it might be a young bluebird,' said Liverwort, looking down out of her gray hood; it looks as much like one as anything. Come, what shall we give it? I'll give it blue eyes-real violet-blue-and if that isn't a good gift, I don't know what is.'

'And I'll give her some of my thrift and prudence,' said Mother Fern. 'We Ferns have no blossoms to speak of, but we are a well-to-do family, as everybody knows, and can get our living on any soil where it pleases Heaven to put us; and so thrift shall be my gift for this little lady. Thrift will surely lead to riches and honour.'

'I will give her a better thing than that,' said Pussy Willow. 'I grow under the windows here, and mean to adopt her. She shall be called little Pussy Willow, and I shall give her the gift of always seeing the bright side of everything. That gift will be more to her than beauty or riches or honours. It is not so much