Article August 18, 1934 Issue

The Little Gray Twig that Flowered

[Written Especially for Children]

DORIS L. MILLS

Now this is the story of the little gray twig that lay at the foot of the forsythia bush on the cold gray earth. There was nothing beautiful about the little twig. It was short and gray, broken at one end and quite dead, as far as the eye could see. Therefore, when the children's mother picked it up to take it into the house, the children were surprised.

It was early spring. The snow still lay in places upon the ground. Not a snowdrop or a crocus had yet pushed up its nose through the earth. The little gray twig had lain there for days on the ground, so uninteresting—a little colorless stick!

When the children's mother saw the little gray twig she thought: It is lying at the foot of the forsythia bush. It must have been broken off the forsythia bush. It must be forsythia. Then she knew it had possibilities. She saw in her mind's eye, not a little gray dead twig, but bell-like flowers of grace and beauty. She knew what was in the little gray twig. She was not taken in by her eyes. She knew that since it was a forsythia twig it was of the nature of forsythias; and if given what it needed—water and light and warmth—it would bloom, would unfold in beauty. She knew that although it had broken away from the parent bush, its whole being was of the nature of its parent.

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