, little Half-Chick, when I was
in trouble you would not help me," and came higher than ever.

Now the Water grew warm, hot, hotter, frightfully hot; the little
Half-Chick cried out, "Do not burn so hot, Fire! You are burning me to
death! Stop!"

But the Fire said, "Little Half-Chick, little Half-Chick, when I was in
trouble you would not help me," and burned hotter than ever.

Just as the little Half-Chick thought he must suffocate, the Cook took
the cover off, to look at the dinner. "Dear me," she said, "this chicken
is no good; it is burned to a cinder." And she picked the little
Half-Chick up by one leg and threw him out of the window.

In the air he was caught by a breeze and taken up higher than the trees.
Round and round he was twirled till he was so dizzy he thought he must
perish. "Don't blow me so, Wind," he cried, "let me down!"

"Little Half-Chick, little Half-Chick," said the Wind, "when I was in
trouble you would not help me!" And the Wind blew him straight up to the
top of the church steeple, and stuck him there, fast!

There he stands to this day, with his one eye, his one wing, and his one
leg. He cannot hoppity-kick any more, but he turns slowly round when the
wind blows, and keeps his head toward it, to hear what it says.

THE BLACKBERRY-BUSH[16]

A little boy sat at his mother's knees, by the long western window,
looking out into the garden. It was autumn, and the wind was sad; and
the golden elm leaves lay scattered about among the grass, and on the
gravel path. The mother was knitting a little stocking; her fingers
moved the bright needles; but her eyes were fixed on the clear evening
sky.

As the darkness gathered, the wee boy laid his head on her lap and kept
so still that, at last, she leaned forward to look into his dear round
face. He was not asleep, but was watching very earnestly a
blackberry-bush, that waved its one tall, dark-red spray in the wind
outside the fence.

"What are you thinking about, my darling?" she said, smoothing his soft,
honey-coloured hair.

"The blackberry-bush, mamma; what does it say? It keeps nodding, nodding
to me behind the fence; what does it say, mamma?"

"It says," she answered, "'I see a happy little boy in the warm,
fire-lighted room. The wind blows cold, and here it is dark and lonely;
but that little boy is warm and happy and safe at his mother's knees. I
nod to him, and he looks at me. I wonder if he knows how happy he is!

"'See, al