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28 Chit-Chat by Puck.
always fares with your fancy flowers brought up by
art.”
The butterfly from the wood could not answer a
word, but picked up one of the withered leaves and
flew with it home to the wood as fast as its wings
could bear it; and when it came home it sank to
the feet of the white strawberry flower dying, for
its heart was broken.
The night dew fell, and a sympathizing tear
glistened in the chalice of the white strawberry
flower when it grieved: “Oh, why did my chosen
bridegroom not listen to the warning whispers of
the birches: simple child of nature, beware of the
temptations of the world of fashion and display.”
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