Soon John did not like to be seen in the orchard. He did not like to meet his neighbors. They would laugh and say, "Well, John, how much money did you get from the holes?"

This made John angry. At last he said, "I will sell the place and move away."

"Oh, no," said the wife, "this has always been our home, and I cannot think of leaving it. Go and fill the holes; then the neighbors will stop laughing. Perhaps we shall have a little fruit this year, too. The heaps of earth have stood in wind and frost for months, and that will help the trees."

John did as his wife told him. He filled the holes with earth and smoothed it over as level as before. By and by everybody forgot "Jacobs'

folly."

Soon the spring came. April was warm, and the trees burst into bloom.

"Mary," said John one bright spring day, "don't you think the blossoms are finer than usual this year?"

"Yes, they look as they did when your father was alive," said his wife.

[Ill.u.s.tration: John's trees full of fruit]

By and by, the blooms fell, leaving a million little green apples and peaches. Summer pa.s.sed and autumn followed. The branches of the old trees could hardly hold up all the fine fruit on them.

Now the neighbors came, not to make fun, but to praise. "How did you do it?" they asked.

"The trees were old and needed attention," said John. "By turning the soil and letting in the air, I gave them strength to bear fruit. I have found the treasure after all, and I have learned a lesson. Tilling the soil well is the way to get treasure from it."

--GRIMM.

THE LITTLE BROWN BROTHER

Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother, Are you awake in the dark?

Here we lie cozily, close to each other; Hark to the song of the lark--

"Waken!" the lark says, "waken and dress you; Put on your green coats and gay, Blue sky will shine on you, sunshine caress you-- Waken! 'tis morning--'tis May!"

Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother, What kind of flower will you be?

I'll be a poppy--all white, like my mother; Do be a poppy like me.

What! you're a sunflower? How I shall miss you When you're grown golden and high!

But I shall send all the bees up to kiss you; Little brown brother, good-by!

--EMILY NESBIT.

HOW THE FLOWERS GROW

This is how the flowers grow; I have watched them and I know:

First, above the ground is seen A tiny blade of purest green, Reaching up and peeping forth East and west, and south and north.

Then the sunbeams find their way To the sleeping bud and say, "We are children of the sun Sent to wake thee, little one."

And the leaflet opening wide Shows the tiny bud inside, Peeping with half-opened eye On the bright and sunny sky.

Breezes from the west and south Lay their kisses on its mouth; Till the petals all are grown, And the bud's a flower blown.

--GABRIEL SETOUN.

WISE MEN OF GOTHAM

Once upon a time there were some wise men who lived in Gotham. Listen and you will hear how wise they were.

Twelve of these wise men went fishing one day. Some went into the stream and some stayed on dry ground. They caught many fish and had a good time.

As they came home, one of the men said, "We have risked much wading in that stream. I pray G.o.d no one of us is drowned."

"Why, one of us might be! Who knows?" cried another. "Let's see about it. Twelve of us went fishing this morning. We must count and see if twelve are returning."

So one man counted, "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven." And he did not count himself!

"Alas! One of us is drowned!" he cried.

"Woe be unto us! Let me count," said another. And he did not count himself.

"Alas! alas!" he wailed; "truly one of us is drowned!"

Then every man counted, and each one failed to count himself.

"Alas! alas!" they all cried; "one of us is drowned! Which one is it?"

They went back to the sh.o.r.e, and they looked up and down for him that was drowned. All the time they were lamenting loudly.

A courtier came riding by. "What are you seeking?" he asked, "and why are you so sorrowful?"

"Oh," said they, "this day we came to fish in the stream. There were twelve of us, but one is drowned."

"Why," said the courtier, "count yourselves and see how many there be."

Again they counted, and again each man failed to count himself.

"Well, this is sad," said the courtier, who saw how the mistake had been made. "What will you give me if I find the twelfth man?"