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PARABLES FROM FLOWERS.

[Illustration: PARABLES FROM FLOWERS.

_Frontispiece._]




                PARABLES FROM FLOWERS.



                          BY
                  GERTRUDE P. DYER,
  AUTHOR OF 'LITTLE POLLIE,' 'ARMOUR-CLAD,' ETC. ETC.



  _Doth not thy heart throb with emotions of thankfulness to God for
  making the earth so fair, so redolent of beauty in its garniture of
  flowers, and for having scattered these silent teachers up and down the
  world?_



                     EDINBURGH:
           W. P. NIMMO, HAY, & MITCHELL.




                        TO
             MY DEAR LITTLE FRIENDS,
           MABEL, ELSIE, AND RUBY TARR.




CONTENTS.


                                                                PAGE

 I. THE FORGET-ME-NOT--FIDELITY                                    7

 II. THE SNOWDROP--FAITH                                          22

 III. THE FOXGLOVES' STRATAGEM--GRATITUDE                         30

 IV. THE LITTLE MINER AND HIS FLOWER--TRUST IN GOD                46

 V. THE LITTLE SEED--KINDNESS                                     68

 VI. THE CROWN IMPERIAL--HOPE                                     83

 VII. THE TWO LEAVES--DISCONTENT                                  89

 VIII. THE AMBITIOUS WILD-FLOWER--AMBITION                        99

 IX. THE HONEYSUCKLE AND THE BUTTERFLY--HUMILITY AND PRIDE       115




PARABLES FROM FLOWERS.




PARABLE FIRST.

THE FORGET-ME-NOT--FIDELITY.


In the days of the long-ago, my ancestors did not dwell as we do now--in
brooks or by the banks of shallow streams, but grew in wild luxuriance
beneath the shade of overhanging trees, and under the wayside hedgerows.

We were always a quiet, unassuming race, and, indeed, I am fain to
confess, were not held in more esteem by mortals than are our sweet
cousins whom children call 'Bird's-eyes.' But some one made known to the
world that pathetic 'Legend of the Rhine,' in which we are described,
then people began to perceive that we were pretty, lovely indeed,--and
to make a great fuss about us; but such is the way of the world!

Yet, though that legend is tenderly beautiful and thrilling, it is
almost too romantic to please the taste of simple flowers, therefore I
will tell you the true story how we acquired our name. That shall be my
parable--see what it will teach!

We grew there, unheeded and unsought, on soft mossy banks, not the less
lovely because unknown, and just above our dwelling-place a large oak
spread abroad its leafy branches. It was a favourite tree of the birds,
they felt so secure there, sheltered from prying eyes by its protecting
leaves; besides, its branches were so firm and strong, they resisted
bravely the fury of the storms that swept over them. What bird, then,
would fear to build its nest there? And often have we listened to their
sweet songs as they perched above us, and many times lifted our heads
and gazed upon the happy inmates of those simple homes.

But there was one family among them that interested us even more than
others, though all were dear to us. It was a pair of wrens who had by
some strange accident taken up their abode in our oak, instead of a
yew-tree as they generally do; and not only my family, but the whole
colony of birds, old inhabitants of the tree, many of them, felt great
interest in the new-comers, assisting them with advice, as they were but
young.

Then, when building time came, how kind they all were! indeed, though it
was a busy season with every bird, each anxious to finish its work, yet
I heard an old Rook one day ask little Jenny Wren 'if he should help
her,' as he met her trying to drag a large wisp of straw with all her
tiny strength.

'No, thank you,' she gently replied; 'I must try to do it. We must all
learn to bear our own burdens.'

But many times, however, I have seen the larger and stronger birds bring
materials for making the nest close to the spot they had chosen, to save
the little strangers weary journeys; and at last, after much patient
labour, the home was finished, to the intense delight of the two
builders, for