een," said its companion. "You will not be so green
when you are older."

The proud grain, which must be called a blade now, had plenty of change
and company after this. It grew taller and taller every day, and made a
great many new acquaintances as the weather grew warmer. These were
little gold and green beetles living near it, who often passed it, and
now and then stopped to talk a little about their children and their
journeys under the soil. Birds dropped down from the sky sometimes to
gossip and twitter of the nests they were building in the apple-trees,
and the new songs they were learning to sing.

Once, on a very warm day, a great golden butterfly, floating by on his
large lovely wings, fluttered down softly and lit on the proud blade, who
felt so much prouder when he did it that she trembled for joy.

"He admires me more than all the rest in the field, you see," it said,
haughtily. "That is because I am so green."

"If I were you," said the learned blade, in its modest way, "I believe I
would not talk so much about being green. People will make such
ill-natured remarks when one speaks often of one's self."

"I am above such people," said the proud blade "I can find nothing more
interesting to talk of than myself."

As time went on, it was delighted to find that it grew taller than any
other blade in the field, and threw out other blades; and at last there
grew out at the top of its stalk ever so many plump, new little grains,
all fitting closely together, and wearing tight little green covers.

"Look at me!" it said then. "I am the queen of all the wheat. I
have a crown."

"No." said its learned companion. "You are now an ear of wheat."

And in a short time all the other stalks wore the same kind of crown, and
it found out that the learned blade was right, and that it was only an
ear, after all.

And now the weather had grown still warmer and the trees were covered
with leaves, and the birds sang and built their nests in them and laid
their little blue eggs, and in time, wonderful to relate, there came baby
birds, that were always opening their mouths for food, and crying "peep,
peep," to their fathers and mothers. There were more butterflies floating
about on their amber and purple wings, and the gold and green beetles
were so busy they had no time to talk.

"Well!" said the proud ear of wheat (you remember it was an ear by this
time) to its companion one day. "You see, you were right again. I am