"Mary," said George, "next summer I will not have a garden. Our pretty
tree is dying, and I won't love another tree as long as I live. I will
have a bird next summer, and that will stay all winter."
George, don't you remember my beautiful canary bird? It died in the
middle of the summer, and we planted bright flowers in the ground
where we buried it. My bird did not live as long as the tree."
"Well, I don't see as we can love anything. Dear little brother died
before the bird, and I loved him better than any bird, or tree, or
flower. Oh! I wish we could have something to love that wouldn't die."
The day passed. During the school hours, George and Mary had almost
forgot that their tree was dying; but at evening, as they drew their
chairs to the table where their mother was sitting, and began to
arrange the seeds they had been gathering, the remembrance of the tree
came upon them.
"Mother," said Mary, "you may give these seeds to cousin John; I never
want another garden."
"Yes," added George, pushing the papers in which he had carefully
folded them towards his mother, "you may give them all away.
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