“I know where there are some,” said Malcolm:  “right in front of Mrs. Bush’s old house; and I think they’re miserable-looking trees.”

“When old and rusty, they are not in the least cheerful,” replied Miss Harson; “and it is so long since Lombardy poplars were admired that few are found except about old places.  The tree is shaped like a tall spire, and in hot, calm weather drops of clear water trickle from its leaves like a slight shower of rain.  It was once a favorite shade-tree, and a century ago great numbers of Lombardy poplars were planted by village waysides, in front of dwelling-houses, on the borders of public grounds, and particularly in avenues leading to houses that stand at some distance from the high-road.

[Illustration:  A GROUP OF POPLARS IN CASHMERE]

“The poplar is found in many lands.  The Lombardy poplar, as its name indicates, was brought from Italy, where it grows luxuriantly beside the orange and the myrtle; but after one of our cold winters many of its small branches will decay, and this gives it a forlorn appearance.  When fresh and green, the Lombardy poplar is quite handsome.  Some one wrote of it long ago:  ’There is no other tree that so pleasantly adorns the sides of narrow lanes and avenues, and so neatly accommodates itself to limited enclosures.  Its foliage is dense and of the liveliest verdure, making delicate music to the soft touch of every breeze.  Its terebinthine odors scent the vernal gales that enter our open windows with the morning sun.  Its branches, always turning upward and closely gathered together, afford a harbor to the singing-birds that make them a favorite resort, and its long, tapering spire that points to heaven gives an air of cheerfulness and religious tranquillity to village scenery.’”

“I wish we had some,” said Edith, “with singing-birds in ’em.”

“Why, my dear child,” replied her governess, “have we not the beautiful elms, in which the birds build their nests and where they fly in and out continually?  They are the very same birds that build in the Lombardy poplars.”

“I thought that singing-birds always lived in cages,” said the little queen in the easy-chair.

“And did you think they were hung all over the Lombardy poplars?” asked Malcolm, in a broad grin.

Edith laughed too, and Miss Harson said smilingly.

“I thought that the birds about Elmridge did a great deal of singing, and the blue-birds and robins kept it up all day.  But I should not like to see the old Lombardy poplars hung with gilded cages, and the birds which should happen to be prisoners in the cages would like it still less.”

“Well,” said Edith, contentedly, as she settled herself again to listen.