el to kill them just for sport, as is often done,
and very foolish, as we have just seen, to destroy them for the sake of
the fruit, which the insects make way with in much greater quantities
than the birds do."

"Miss Harson," asked Clara, "do people cut down real cherry trees to
make the pretty red furniture like that in your room?"

"It is the wood of the wild cherry," replied her governess, "that is
used for this purpose. It is of a light-red or fresh mahogany color,
growing darker and richer with age. It is very close-grained, compact,
takes a good polish, and when perfectly seasoned is not liable to shrink
or warp. It is therefore particularly suitable, and much employed, for
tables, chests of drawers, and other cabinet-work, and when polished and
varnished is not less beautiful for such articles than are inferior
kinds of mahogany."

"'Cherry' sounds pretty to say," continued Clara. "I wonder how the tree
got that name?"

"That wonder is easily explained," said Miss Harson, "for I have been
reading about it, and I was just going to tell you. 'Cherry comes from
'Cerasus,' the name of a town on the Black Sea from whence the tree is
supposed to have been introduced into Italy, and it designates a genus
of about forty species, natives of all the temperate regions of the
northern hemisphere. They are trees or shrubs with smooth serrated
leaves, which are folded together when young, and white or reddish
flowers growing in bunches, like umbels, and preceding the leaves or in
terminal racemes accompanying or following the leaves. A few species,
with numerous varieties, produce valuable fruits; nearly all are
remarkable for the abundance of their early flowers, sometimes rendered
double by cultivation. And now," added the young lady, "we have arrived
at the story, which is translated from the German; and in Germany the
cherries are particularly fine. A plateful of this beautiful fruit was,
as you will see, the cause of some remarkable changes."

CHAPTER XI.

_THE CHERRY-STORY._

On the banks of the Rhine, in the pleasant little village of Rebenheim,
lived Ehrenberg, the village mayor. He was much respected for his
virtues, and his wife was greatly beloved for her charity to the poor.
They had an only daughter--the little Caroline--who gave early promise
of a superior mind and a benevolent heart. She was the idol of her
parents, who devoted their whole care to giving her a sound religious
education.

Not far