“When I shake my hoary tresses,” said the old man, darkly frowning, “all the ground is covered with snow.  All the leaves fade and wither.”

“When I shake my flowing ringlets,” said the maiden, “the warm rains fall over all the land.”

Then proudly the old man replied, “When I walk through the forest, everything flees before me.  The animals hide in their holes.  The birds rise from the lakes and the marshes, and fly to distant regions.”

Softly the maiden answered, “When I walk through the forest, all is bright and joyous.  The animals come from their holes.  The birds return to the lakes and marshes.  The leaves come back to the trees.  The plants lift up their heads to kiss the breezes.  And where-ever my footsteps wander, all the meadows wave their blossoms, all the woodlands ring with music.”

II

While they talked, the night departed.  From his shining lodge of silver came the sun.  The air was warm and pleasant; the streams began to murmur; the birds began to sing.  And a scent of growing grasses was wafted through the lodge.

The old man’s face dropped upon his breast, and he slept.  Then the maiden saw more clearly the icy face before her—­saw the icy face of winter.

Slowly she passed her hands above his head.  Streams of water ran from his eyes, and his body shrunk and dwindled till it faded into the air—­vanished into the earth—­and his clothing turned to green leaves.

The maiden took from her bosom the most precious flowers.  Kneeling upon the ground, she hid them all about among the leaves.

[Illustration:  The maiden hides the flowers among the leaves]

“I give you my most precious flowers and my sweetest breath,” she said, “but all who would pluck you must do so upon bended knee.”

Then the maiden moved away—­through the forest and over the waking fields; and wherever she stepped, and nowhere else in all the land, grows the trailing arbutus.

—­INDIAN LEGEND.

HIDDEN TREASURE

I

Once upon a time there was an old farmer named John Jacobs.  He had heard that treasures were found in odd places.  He thought and thought about such treasures until he could think of nothing else; and he spent all his time hunting for them.  How he wished he could find a pot of gold!

One morning he arose with a bright face and said to his wife, “At last, Mary, I’ve found the treasure.”

“No, I cannot believe it,” she said.

“Yes,” he answered; “at least it is as good as found.  I am only waiting until I have my breakfast.  Then I will go out and bring it in.”

“Oh, how did you find it?” asked the wife.

“I was told about it in a dream,” said he.

“Where is it?”

“Under a tree in our orchard,” said John.