uch trouble."

"Don't fret about me," said the wasp; "I'm used to work." So she spread
out the ball, working with all her might, into a thin sheet of gray
paper; and when it was dry, she gave it to the rose elf.

"Thank you, good Mrs. Wasp," said the elf; and she flew away to invite
the lily elf and the poppy elf to help her with the letter, for she
wanted it to be as sweet as all the flowers of spring.

When it was finished they read it aloud.

"_Dear Polly:
I'm a little elf
I live within a flow'r;
I live to hear your happy song,
It cheers my ev'ry hour.
That I love you, I'd like to say
To you, before I close,
And please sing sweetly ev'ry day
To
Your friend within a Rose_."

The letter was sent by a bluebird; and the elf was sure that Polly
understood, for that very day she came and stood among the flowers to
sing the very sweetest song she knew.

PART III.

Out in Grandmother's garden, just as the sun was up, a very cunning
spinner spun a lovely wheel of fine beautiful threads; and when
Grandmother and Lindsay came out, they spied it fastened up in a rose
bush.

The small, cunning spinner was climbing a silken rope near by with her
eight nimble legs, and looking out at the world with her eight tiny
eyes, when Grandmother saw her and pointed her out to Lindsay; and
Lindsay said:--

"Oh, Mrs. Spider! come spin me some lace!" which made Grandmother think
of a little story which she had told Lindsay's papa and all of her
little children, when they were lads and lassies, and this garden of
hers had just begun to bloom.

She sat down on the steps and told it to Lindsay.

Once, long, long ago, when the silver moon was shining up in the sky,
and the small golden stars were twinkling, twinkling, a little fairy
with a bundle of dreams went hurrying home to fairyland.

She looked up at the stars and moon to see what time it was, for the
fairy queen had bidden her come back before the day dawned.

All out in the world it was sleepy time; and the night wind was singing
an old sweet lullaby, and the mocking bird was singing too, by himself,
in the wood.

"I shall not be late," said the fairy, as she flew like thistle-down
through the air or tripped over the heads of the flowers; but in her
haste she flew into a spider's web, which held her so fast that,
although she struggled again and again, she could not get free.

Her bundle of dreams fell out of her arms