The Little Weed

"Y OU'RE nothing but a weed," said the children in the fall. The little weed hung its head in sorrow. No one seemed to think that a weed was of any use.

By and by the snow came and the cold winds blew. There were many hungry little birds hunting for food.

sang a merry little bird one cold morning.

"Here is a lovely weed full of nice brown seeds!" And he made a good meal from those seeds that morning. Then three other little birds came to share the feast.

The little weed was so happy that she held her head up straight and tall again.

"That is what I was meant for," she said.

"I am good for something. Four hungry little birds had as many seeds as they wished for their breakfast. Next year I'll grow as many seeds as I can to feed many more hungry little birds. Good-bye, little birds," she called out to the little feathery friends. "Come again next year. I'll have another dinner for you."

"Good-bye, little weed," sang the birds. "We have had a fine meal and we thank you very much. You'll see us again next year. It is so hard to get enough to eat during the cold weather, and we are grateful to you for holding your seeds for us."

"It's nice to find that one is of some use after all, isn't it?" called out the little weed to her neighbour in the next field.