very much out of the beaten track—in fact, only to be approached by an old road that had long fallen into disuse—stood a neglected cabin, a poor weather-beaten thing with sunken roof and decaying timbers.

its door-yard had already begun to grow the young pine trees which come up in great plumes of long, green needles; and the little garden plot, which used to boast its vegetables, had become a mass of brambles and nettles.

"how sad this all is," the poor little cabin used to sigh. "although i suppose it is better to be harboring rabbits and squirrels, and to have my beams plastered up with nests, than to have no living thing enjoy my shelter. still, i wish spring when it comes would bring people to unlock my door and children to fill these poor little rooms with their laughter."

for the cabin could remember many children that had lived there, and sometimes it seemed to him that he heard them again, playing in the nearby woods, or running and calling down the road.

sometimes he did hear such voices, for people often passed the cabin on the way to a distant plantation, and children were as likely to be among them as not.

but the squirrels and the rabbits had it pretty much their own way with the deserted cabin, running in and out beneath the underpinning; and the only noise around the place was that of mrs. yellowhammer when she came pounding at the roof for what the decayed old shingles might conceal.

"i declare, you poor old house!" the energetic bird would say. "it's terrible how the worms are eating at your timbers and shingles." whereat she would fall to and nearly pound the life out of the poor old cabin, in her determination to get all there was.

but mrs. yellowhammer and the rabbits that danced in the moonlight were not the only visitors, for often in the summer time came the humming-birds to visit the trumpet-vine which covered nearly all of one end of the structure.

"i am the saving grace, the chief beauty of this establishment," the lady trumpet would say. "and i know it."

"of course you are," mrs. yellowhammer would reply. "and it was a great mistake that you were ever planted here. a lady of your elegance, among such weeds and common things, and at the very edge of nowhere!"

"oh, i don't mind it much, although we have little company now. but who's this coming this very minute?"

sure enough, a man was passing. and he came through the old door-yard straight up to the cabin steps and stood there a minute, and then was gone. but not before he had thrown something over his shoulder which lighted with a dry rattle, like that of corn, in at the base of the old chimney.

"what a queer thing to do!" thought lady trumpet-vine, thereby speaking her own mind and that of the cabin as well.

"not at all," suddenly spoke up mr. rabbit. "that man is throwing seed over his left shoulder for his luck. i've seen it done before. and i'm glad he doesn't want my left hind foot, or whatever it is that such people like to carry in their pockets for good luck."

immediately mrs. yellowhammer, who had been screaming to her friend, red-necked woodpecker, to come and enjoy this mystery, flew down to inspect the seeds which lay on the soil at the foot of the chimney. and mr. rabbit scampered to get to the spot also.

they looked long and hard at the little brown things; then mr. rabbit tried biting one of them.

"ugh!" he exclaimed. "bitter as poison!"

"i never taste things i am in doubt about," mrs. yellowhammer declared; "but i'm not a seed-eater anyway. what does mr. bob-white think they are?"

for a dapper little partridge was on the scene now, turning his head this way and that as he squinted at the mysterious seeds.

"gourds!" he finally pronounced them. "gourd seed. no good for eating. even a sparrow wouldn't touch them."

then the birds flew off and mr. rabbit skipped rope with himself all around the yard, for he wanted to restore his spirits; this curious incident having for a second clouded his buoyant nature.

this happened in the very early spring, before even a leaf was showing on lady trumpet-vine, and before even a purple wood violet had shown herself in the borders of the deserted garden. rains came; long ones that drenched the earth and gullied the roads. the eaves of the cabin dripped and dripped night and day, and it was not long before great puddles lay by the sunken door-step, and were soaking down into the roots of everything.

"what a pity there's nothing but weeds and those low-down gourd seeds to be benefited by all this!" sighed the lady trumpet. "i shall probably flower generously this year. but what's the use?"

then she would grow very sad as the rain increased and out of the dark skies came the heavy south winds.

but when the sky cleared, the gourd seeds had sunk out of sight. that was good luck for them. deeper down they went and at last their first little roots were feeling the rich soil that no plant had enjoyed in many a year. then two bright green leaves, laden with halves of the old seed coverings, came up.

the glistening earth was trying to dry itself in the sunshine, and the jolly woodpecker was looking out of his window in the trunk of the old cherry-tree.

"well, i'm a crow!" he exclaimed, "or there are those gourd seeds up and out of bed so soon!"

he was so delighted with this that he told his wife; and soon all the other people around the poor neglected place were flying and running to take a look.

the little fellows, very sturdy and determined, were holding their leaves out exactly as if they were spreading their palms upward to catch the sunlight in their hands.

time went on and the seeds became vines. the old chimney, built of sticks and mud, and very unsightly, was revived to new feelings.

"not since my supper fires went out have i felt so much alive," it moaned as though it would like to be really pleased.

"if only i could smoke again, i should feel completely contented."

soon the chimney and the eaves were green with gourd vine. summer was underway, with its long hot mornings and its wonderful nights. lady trumpet-vine was covered with buds, and she was already telling of how she would be visited by all the most beautiful creatures in the world.

"but nobody'll visit your flowers," she said to the gourd vine. "nobody wants to. you're a bitter, ugly, common vine. that's what you are."

"i have some very respectable relatives, just the same," sang out sunny gourd, determined not to be utterly demeaned. "there's mr. watermelon and mr. cucumber. they are very well esteemed, you know. i think they are appreciated perhaps almost as much as you are."

"but not for their beauty, my dear," was the retort. "i am loved by all the world for my magnificence. birds and men know beauty when they see it. trust me in that."

then, almost in anger, such was her queenly pride, lady trumpet burst a few of her buds. the full open flowers were wonderful, and a perfume exhaled from them which made her neighbor dizzy.

"it's no use," sunny gourd sighed. "i can't do that. my flowers are merely little no-account white things. no perfume to speak of. but i don't care, i've reached the roof anyway, and i can look up at the sky and watch the birds in these trees, and have a good time to myself. and i can look at you, too, mrs. trumpet."

the stately vine waved her tendrils and fanned herself gently. she couldn't help seeing that this gourd person was at least polite.

but the hardest thing in the world to bear is the idea that you are of no use to anybody. and it was this which hurt the robust gourd vine. not a bird came for honey, and yet they hovered in ecstasy over lady trumpet. humming-birds, as brilliant as flashing gems, came whirring like rays from a diamond shot from the sky. they would plunge their long beaks deep into the flowers to get the nectar, and then dart away, only to return again for more. other beautiful creatures came to the deserted garden and sang madly with delight, simply trying to make their melody as intoxicating as lady trumpet's perfume.

but they studiously avoided sunny gourd. his leaves, big and green and very rough, and his sinewy stems, his modest flowers and the bitter juice of them, were odious to everybody. yet he was green as emerald, and he had made a picture of his end of the cabin.

"but the birds, how i love them!" he kept saying to himself. "and they will have none of me!"

at last, however, to his great consolation, there came a little green bee to visit him.

"well, well!" it buzzed. "here you are! just what i want!"

and the little visitor tried to hang in every flower. his visits lasted all day.

"yes, i'm only a low ground bee," he remarked, after sunny gourd had confided in him. "those aristocratic honey-bees don't recognize me at all. but i don't care. and you mustn't care. the birds will be mightily obliged to you yet."

and without a word more, he was off. nor would this handsome little fellow ever explain what he meant. he would only say: "you just wait!"

nor were there many weeks of waiting. for the autumn came, and the pinch of cold nights with it. things began to shrivel, but the wonderful fruit of the gourd vine turned from green to yellow; lovely as gold. sunny gourd had produced a hundred dippers: some with handles curled and long, some straight as rulers, and some that were short and thick. they hung in yellow companies from the eaves trough, or they clustered over the roof. the best of them grew against the chimney, and yet all were as gourds should be, stout of shell and beautifully rounded.

"very strange!" lady trumpet remarked. "almost impressive. but i'm glad i don't have to do it. my seed pods are elegance itself, and yet they do not obtrude themselves that way. i call it vulgar."

but others thought differently. people began to go that way just to see the house that was covered with gourds, and in the last days, as the sap was drying in the vines, sunny gourd found that he was attracting much attention.

yet he was not to guess just the thing that was to happen.

one day the man who had thrown the seeds for luck, returned. and he took but one delighted look.

soon there was much going on and the old cabin came back to life again. and, just as the chimney hoped, it was smoking once more. there were children running around the weedy garden, and voices and laughter brought back the happiness so long gone. the blue-jays and the yellowhammers greeted the newcomers with delight, and lady trumpet could only wish that they had seen her in her july glory. but to sunny gourd happened the best of it all; for the man cut many of the gourds into bird houses and hung them to a pole which he planted by the door.

then came the martins to build, losing no time at all. the beautiful yellow gourds hung high and happy, their hollow shells sheltering a dozen beautiful birds. and the best of the gourds, the one with the longest handle, which had swung clear of the door lintel all summer long, and had ripened to a magnificent color, was hung by the well. it made a dipper fit for a king; that is, if the king were a very good man.

sunny gourd knew no words for his happiness. and it was joy, not the cold of the winter nights, to which he at last succumbed.

"that's the way with this wonderful world," said mr. mocking-bird. "and i thought he was beautiful all along."

"and think what he did for me," the cabin kept saying.

so that even the proud lady trumpet knew her place at last, and she honestly hoped the dear sunny gourd would come back in the spring.