spring by giving them the result of their years of toil.

On the morrow, the youth was sent back. A few years after, the aged
man saw him toiling up a steep hill, seeking to make a home of his own.
It was a beautiful eminence, and overlooked the fields and woods for
miles around.

"He will know the worth and comfort of it," said the old man to his
companion.

"Toil and sacrifice will make it a sweet spot," she answered; "and
after the morning of labor will come the evening of rest."

XIV.

THE VINES.

They grew side by side. The most casual observer would have said
that one was far more beautiful than the other. Its height was not
only greater, but its foliage was brighter.

"I should think," remarked the vine of superior external appearance to
the other, "that, for the gardener's sake, you would try and make a
better appearance. I heard him remark this morning that he almost
despaired of your ever bearing fruit, or looking even presentable. I am
sure we each have the same soil to draw our nourishment from, and one
hand to prune away our deformities."

"I think I can defend myself to the satisfaction of both yourself and
the gardener; and if you will listen to me this evening, as I cannot
spare any of the moments of the day, I will tell you what labor occupies
so much of my time."

"Both myself and the gardener would be delighted to have an explanation;
for it has been a wonder to us both what you can be doing. You
certainly have not attained any height, nor put forth foliage of any
account for the past year."

The full-leaved vine spent the day fluttering her leaves in the wind and
listening to the praise of passers-by.

"What a difference in these vines!" exclaimed two gentlemen as they
walked past the garden.

"Just what every one remarks," said the good-looking vine to herself;
and, raising her head very high in the air, she put forth another shoot.
Yet, with all her fullness of conceit and vainglory, she grew very
impatient for the hour to arrive when her sister would be at leisure
to talk with her.

At sunset, after the gardener had laid his tools away and closed the
garden gates for the evening, her sister announced to her that she was
ready to explain her strange life for the past year.

"If you can call anything 'life' which has no visible sign of growth or
motion," pertly remarked the gay vine.

Her sister took no notice of the remark, though it wounded her, and
some of her leaves