THE KIND OLD OAK
by Edith M. Thomas
It was almost time for winter to come. The little birds had all gone far away, for they were afraid of the cold. There was no green grass in the fields, and there were no pretty flowers in the gardens. Many of the trees had dropped all their leaves. Cold winter, with its snow and ice, was coming.
At the foot of an old oak tree, some sweet little violets were still in blossom. “Dear old oak,” said they, “winter is coming: we are afraid that we shall die of the cold.”
“Do not be afraid, little ones,” said the oak, “close your yellow eyes in sleep, and trust to me. You have made me glad many a time with your sweetness. Now I will take care that the winter shall do you no harm.”
So the violets closed their pretty eyes and went to sleep; they knew that they could trust the kind old oak. And the great tree softly dropped red leaf after red leaf upon them until they were all covered over.
The cold winter came, with its snow and ice, but it could not harm the little violets. Safe under the friendly leaves of the old oak they slept, and dreamed happy dreams until the warm rains of spring came and waked them again.
“No more the summer floweret charms,
The leaves will soon be sere,
And autumn folds his jeweled arms
Around the dying year.”
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