HOW THE BLOSSOM WAS. PICKED.

“It would make a beautiful wreath for Cousin Joan's
birthday cake, and Mother said I might have three or four
pieces,” said small Marjorie, looking up at the pretty
blossom on the fruit tree, “only I can’t reach it, I wish
I had wings, so that I could fly up to it.” And Marjorie
sighed a very big sigh. She had made a little bunch of
all the blossoms the wind had scattered on the ground,
but there were not nearly enough for a wreath. “I wish
scme ody would come to help. me!” said Marjorie; - and
as sh said it she saw a white dress shining through the
trees, and heard someone calling, ‘“ Marjorie! Marjorie!”
It was Cousin Joan herself. “Now, what shall I do?”
said Marjorie. She stood still thinking for a moment,
then she smiled. ‘She can reach, and she will never
guess,” she said to herself. So when Cousin Joan stood
beneath the tree, Marjorie asked her to pick four pieces
of blossom. ‘“Isn’t it a pity to pick fruit blossom?”
asked Cousin Joan. “This is for something very im-
portant,” said Marjorie. And Cousin Joan never guessed

that the “something important” was her own birthday cake.