leaf-brothers say to one another: "Here comes Baby." But she did not look out from her cloak, for she said to herself: "I must make my frock and grow bigger before I shall be ready to play with the sunbeams."

She worked away busily under her green cloak, and grew taller and taller every day. The little Earth-worm often came out to look at her, but all he could see was the green cloak. "Why don't you come out and see the world?" he would shout from his lowly place on the ground. She always answered: "Wait a little longer. I am making my frock."

At last, one beautiful spring morning, the frock was finished. "I am coming out now," cried the Daffodil Baby. The Earth-worm wriggled up to the top, and the sunbeams flew down to help. They tugged at the thick green cloak with their warm hands till it flew open. Out sprang the Daffodil Baby—a Daffodil Baby no longer, but grown into the loveliest little Daffodil Lady. Her frock was all yellow and frilled, and she wore the daintiest little green shoes. She was very beautiful. The Earth-worm heard everybody say that.

"What a glorious world!" cried the little yellow lady. "Now I am going to be very happy." And so she was. She played with the sunbeams, danced with the winds, and talked merrily to her green-leaf brothers. The bees and the moths came to see her every day; one warm day the first butterfly of the season came to visit her.

But with all her good times she did not grow proud. She was just as friendly with the Earth-worm, now when she stood so far above him, as she had been when under the ground. She often had long talks with him in the early mornings before the bees were awake. "Why don't you climb up here?" she asked him one day. "It is much nicer swaying in the wind, and I could talk to you so much more easily."

"I should grow giddy up there," answered the Earth-worm. "It is not the place for me at all. Besides, I shall be able to talk to you all through the long winter, when you are in your blankets again."

DAFFODILS

Oh the golden daffodils,
    That open in the spring,
When gorse blooms out on all the hills,
    And birds begin to sing!

They nod their heads, their yellow heads,
    All down the garden walk;
As if they wish to leave their beds,
    And run about, and talk.

Suppose they could! What jolly fun
    To see them run and play!
Like golden children from the sun,
    Come down to spend the day.

WILLY WALLFLOWER

The sun shone gaily, for it was the middle of summer. The flowers in the garden made love to the bees and tossed their pretty heads at one another. Only Willy Wallflower stood green and straight, for his flowers had not yet come.

"Wake up, Willy Wallflower!" called the Roses. "It is time you showed us your flowers."

"Not yet," said Willy Wallflower. "They are not ready."

"How slow you are!" cried the White Lily. "If you do not hurry, the summer will be over and the bees gone. Then what will be the use of your flowers?"

"I cannot help it," said Willy. "I was planted late, and am now busy making my wood. I will bloom when my time comes."

The summer passed and the autumn came, but still Willy Wallflower had no flowers, though he grew taller and stouter every day. Then the cold winter came. The flowers shivered themselves away to nothing, the bees took to staying in the hive all day.

The snow and ice passed, and the keen spring winds began to blow. Now Willy Wallflower was ready to make his flowers. He wrapped the little buds in their warm round tunics and set them in clusters amongst their sheltering leaves. "Grow high and open out," he said.

Slowly they grew high, and at last one mild day they pushed aside their tunics and opened out. They were very beautiful; four red velvety petals spread widely out on each side; in the middle there were six pale yellow stamens and a fluffy double pistil-head. Below the fluffy head was the long, slender seed-case, where the tiny baby seedlings waited for the pollen grains that were to make them grow.

"Where is our pollen?" the babies cried eagerly.

"Be patient," said Willy Wallflower. "Soon the bees will bring it."

But the bees were long in coming. Day after day Willy Wallflower and the babies waited, listening anxiously for the busy wings that did not come. The honey-cups were filled with sweetest honey, the petals poured out their delicious scent into the surrounding air, but no bees appeared.

"Wait a little longer," said Willy Wallflower. "They will surely come soon."

In the hive the bees hung in a mass on their comb to keep warm. In the centre was the Queen; round her clung her people, row after row, all quiet and orderly, and doing their best to help one another. As the outer ones grew cold they passed into the centre; at meal-times the inside ones passed out the honey to the others. From mouth to mouth it was passed till it reached the other row, everybody waiting his turn and showing no greediness. Every now and again they beat their wings to keep warm, but otherwise they were still, as they had been all the winter.

One day a warm breath of air floated in through the door. "That feels like spring!" cried the bees. "Perhaps the flowers are waking." Scouts were sent out to see.

Soon they came back. "The crocuses and primroses are opening," they reported, "and Willy Wallflower is all in bloom waiting for us."

"Then let us go!" said the bees. They flew straight out to Willy Wallflower.

"At last! at last!" cried the wee green babies joyfully. The bees dipped deep into the sweet honey-cups, carrying the pollen from the stamens of one flower to the fluffy pistil-heads of others. Then the pollen grains ran down into the seed-cases and helped the babies to grow into seeds.

SWEET VIOLET

A little girl brought a violet plant and a pansy plant to her teacher.

"See!" said she. "These were given to me. May I grow them in school?"

"Certainly," said the teacher. "Here are two little pots. We will plant them both, and set them on the broad window-sill. You can water them each day, and we shall see how well they will grow."

"This is dreadful," said the Pansy to the Violet, as they stood side by side on the window-sill. "How shall we bear the dust and heat of this room after the fresh sweet air of the garden? I am sure I shall die."

"Oh! it is not quite so bad as that," said the Violet. "It certainly is not so pleasant as the garden, but when the window is opened one feels better."

"My leaves are covered with dust already. How is one to breathe?" grumbled the Pansy.

"So are mine," said the Violet; "but never mind. Don't think about it. Let us turn our attention to making our flowers."

"You don't mean to say that you think of making a flower here!" cried the Pansy. "What would be the use? You would never be able to make good seed, for no bee or butterfly will ever find its way in amongst these close buildings."

"One never knows what may happen," said the Violet; "and it is better to be busy than to mope."

She set to work to make her flower, and took just as much care over it as if she had been out in the garden. She covered the slender stalk and pointed sepals with soft white fur, and filled her seed-box with tiny green balls. Then she drew honey guides down her blue silk petals, made her pollen, and filled her quaint honey-bag with honey, just as if she expected a bee or a butterfly at any moment.

"You are wasting your time," said the Pansy, who was doing nothing.

"I am busy, and that keeps me happy," said the Violet. She scented her petals and set their brushes on them.

"My violet has a flower on it!" cried the little girl. "Oh, how sweet it smells!" She watched the sun shining through the