{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_53033/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_53033","id":"gutenberg_53033","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53033","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Nature/Gardening/Animals","Category: Short Stories","Nature -- Juvenile literature","Summer -- Juvenile literature"],"text":"------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                            The Jewel Series\n\n           THE DIAMOND STORY BOOK. Compiled\n               by PENRHYN W. COUSSENS. Illustrations\n               in color by Ethel Green.      _net_ $1.75\n\n           THE EMERALD STORY BOOK. _Stories\n               of Spring, Nature, and Easter,_ By ADA\n               and ELEANOR SKINNER. Frontispiece\n               in color by Maxfield Parrish.      _net_ $1.75\n\n           THE RUBY STORY BOOK. _Tales of\n               Courage and Heroism._ Retold by\n               PENRHYN W. COUSSENS. Frontispiece\n               in color by Maxfield Parrish.      _net_ $1.75\n\n           THE SAPPHIRE STORY BOOK. _Tales\n               of the Sea._ Collected and retold by\n               PENRHYN W. COUSSENS. Frontispiece\n               in color by Maxfield Parrish.      _net_ $1.75\n\n           THE TOPAZ STORY BOOK. _Stories and\n               Legends of Autumn, Hallowe'en, and\n               Thanksgiving._ Compiled by ADA M.\n               and ELEANOR L. SKINNER. Frontispiece\n               in color by Maxfield Parrish.      _net_ $1.75\n\n           THE TURQUOISE STORY BOOK.\n               _Stories and Legends of Summer and\n               Nature._ By ADA M. and ELEANOR L.\n               SKINNER. Frontispiece in color by\n               Maxfield Parrish.      _net_ $1.75\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  Drawn by Maxfield Parrish\n\n  SUMMER\n]\n\n\n\n\n                             THE TURQUOISE\n\n                               STORY BOOK\n\n                        _Stories and Legends of_\n                          _Summer and Nature_\n\n                              COMPILED BY\n\n                             ADA M. SKINNER\n\n                                  AND\n\n                           ELEANOR L. SKINNER\n\n     _Editors of \"The Emerald Story Book,\" \"Merry Tales,\" \"Nursery\n           Tales from Many Lands\" and \"The Topaz Story Book\"_\n\n                            FRONTISPIECE BY\n\n                            MAXFIELD PARRISH\n\n[Illustration]\n\n                                NEW YORK\n                           DUFFIELD & COMPANY\n                                  1918\n\n\n\n\n                          Copyright, 1918, by\n                           DUFFIELD & COMPANY\n\n\n\n\n                              INTRODUCTION\n\n\nThe beauty of the world gradually reveals itself to the child who forms\nthe habit of observation. Through companionship with Nature,\nsupplemented by the reading of books which foster an interest in the\never-varying charm of the seasons, the young reader enriches his\nexperience by learning to interpret \"the open pages of the world about\nhim.\"\n\nSome of the stories, legends, and poems in the present volume point out\nfacts in Nature; others stimulate interest because they appeal to the\nyoung reader's fancy, quicken his sense of humour, or attract his\nattention to some spiritual significance. Also, large use has been made\nof myths and wonder stories. They evolved in the childhood of the race\nwhen the mystery of the physical world made a deep and serious\nimpression upon primitive men. In terms of their own experiences, they\nexplained and symbolized the beauty, order, and power which they beheld.\n\n\"The Turquoise Story Book\" is the third volume in a series of nature\nbooks, each of which emphasizes the interest and beauty characteristic\nof a particular season. The central theme of this volume is the\nloveliness of summer and its manifold blessings.\n\n\n                            ACKNOWLEDGMENTS\n\nThe editors' thanks are due to the following authors and publishers who\nhave permitted the publication of their works in this volume\u2014to Mr.\nAlbert Bigelow Paine for permission to include \"How the Rose Became\nQueen,\" and \"A Legend of the Lily-of-the-Valley,\" from a \"Little Garden\nCalendar,\" published by the Henry Altemus Company; to Helen Gray Cone\nfor her two poems, \"An Evening Primrose\" and \"A Yellow Pansy\"; to\nFrances Gillespy Wickes for \"Mother Spider\"; to Edward Bliss Reed and\nthe Yale University Press for the poem \"Flowers,\" from \"Sea Moods\"; to\nFrank A. Waugh and the _Woman's Home Companion_ for \"The Friendly Summer\nTrees\"; to Miss M. L. Cook for her translation of \"Why the Lady-Bug Is\nCalled Beloved of God\"; to Lucille Corbett for \"The Story of the\nDewdrop\"; to George Allen and Unwin Ltd., for permission to retell \"The\nSun Princess\" and \"Princess Fire-fly\" from \"Old World Japan Legends\"; to\nthe Outlook Company for \"The Tale of Two Tails,\" and to Ernest Ingersoll\nand the Outlook Company for \"Birds' Nests\"; to George H. Doran Company\nfor \"The Dew Mother,\" by May Byron; to the Educational Company for \"The\nBoy Who Hated Trees\"; to _Town Topics_ for \"Hatto, the Hermit,\" by Selma\nLagerl\u00f6f; to Charles Scribner's Sons for the selections from Eugene\nField and Henry Van Dyke; to D. C. Heath and Company for \"Legend of\nTithonus\" from \"Favorite Greek Myths,\" by Lillian S. Hyde; to Frederick\nA. Stokes Company for a selection by Alfred Noyes; to E. P. Dutton and\nCompany for \"Robin Goodfellow,\" from \"English Fairy Tales,\" by Ernest\nRhys; to C. H. Barbeau for permission to retell \"Legend of the Sun and\nMoon,\" from \"Memoirs\"; to S. E. Cassino Company for \"The Grubbiest Grub\"\nfrom _Little Folks Magazine_; to J. B. Lippincott Company for permission\nto retell a legend from Skinner's \"Legends of Flowers, Fruits and\nTrees\"; to Small, Maynard and Company for three poems from \"Complete\nWorks of Madison Cawein\"; to Macmillan and Company Ltd., London, for a\npoem by Maud Keary; to John P. Morton and Company for \"Morning Glories\"\nfrom \"Poet and Nature,\" by Madison Cawein; to T. Fisher Unwin Ltd. for\n\"The Summer Princess\" from \"The Enchanted Garden,\" by Mrs. Molesworth;\nto the Macmillan Company for \"Nature,\" from \"Preludes,\" by Madison\nCawein, a selection from \"The Everlasting Mercy,\" by John Masefield, and\n\"In the Cool of the Evening,\" from \"Poems,\" by Alfred Noyes, and a\nselection from \"Gitanjali,\" by Rabindranath Tagore; to Edward Abbott\nParry for \"Undine\" from \"The First Book of Krab\"; and to Lyman Abbott\nfor \"The Flower's Thanks.\"\n\nThe selections from John Burroughs, Edith M. Thomas and John Townsend\nTrowbridge are used by permission of and by special arrangement with\nHoughton, Mifflin Company, the authorized publishers of their works.\n\n\n\n\n                                CONTENTS\n\n\n                              INTRODUCTION\n\n                       SUMMER STORIES AND LEGENDS\n\n                                                                   PAGE\n\n Summer (selection)                       _Madison Cawein_            2\n\n How Summer Conquered Winter (Iroquois\n Legend)                                  _Eleanor L. Skinner_        3\n\n A Legend of the Flowers (Australian)     _Katherine Langlot\n                                          Parker_                     8\n\n June (selection)                         _James Russell Lowell_     14\n\n The Sun-Goddess (Japanese Legend)        _Frank Rinder_             15\n\n The Summer Maker (Ojibway Legend) Retold\n from Schoolcraft                         _Eleanor L. Skinner_       20\n\n Summer (selection)                       _Edmund Spenser_           27\n\n In the Kitchen-Garden (abridged)         _Mrs. Alfred Gatty_        28\n\n Glad Day (poem)                          _W. Graham Robertson_      42\n\n The Summer Princess                      _Mrs. Molesworth_          44\n\n Midsummer (poem)                         _John Townsend\n                                          Trowbridge_                74\n\n\n                              SUMMER SKIES\n\n Selection                                _Rabindranath Tagore_      76\n\n Day (poem)                               _Robert Browning_          76\n\n How the Sun Was Caught and Freed (Indian\n Legend)                                  _Eleanor L. Skinner_       77\n\n A Day of Sunshine (poem)                 _Henry W. Longfellow_      83\n\n Phaeton's Drive in the Sun-Chariot       _Eleanor L. Skinner_       84\n\n Song                                     _William Shakespeare_      90\n\n Summer Sun (poem)                        _Robert Louis\n                                          Stevenson_                 91\n\n The Cloud (translated from the German by\n Eleanor L. Skinner)                      _Robert Reineck_           92\n\n Undine                                   _Edward Abbott Parry_      95\n\n Legend of the Sun, Moon and Stars\n (Retold)                                 _Ada M. Skinner_          116\n\n The Princess Moonbeam (Japanese Legend)  _Mary F. Nixon-Roulet_    120\n\n The Moon (selection)                     _Percy Bysshe Shelley_    124\n\n The Spacious Firmament on High (poem)    _Joseph Addison_          125\n\n\n                      GREEN FIELDS AND MEADOWS GAY\n\n Nature's Song (selection)                _Madison Cawein_          128\n\n The Gift of Flax (Norse Legend)          _Eleanor L. Skinner_      129\n\n The Story of the Dewdrop                 _Lucille Corbett_         136\n\n The Dew Mother (poem)                    _May Byron_               140\n\n Origin of the Dandelion (Indian Legend\n Retold)                                  _Eleanor L. Skinner_      141\n\n Prince Butterfly and Clover (Retold from\n the poem by Louisa M. Alcott)            _Ada M. Skinner_          146\n\n A Song of Clover                         _Saxe Holm_               152\n\n Tithonus: A Legend of the Grasshopper    _Lillian S. Hyde_         153\n\n The Grasshopper (poem)                   _Edith M. Thomas_         155\n\n The Golden Grasshopper                   _Charles Lamb_            156\n\n A Blade of Grass                         _John Ruskin_             159\n\n Selection                                _Charles Dalmon_          162\n\n Princess Fire-Fly (Japanese Legend,\n adapted)                                 _Frank Rinder_            163\n\n July (selection)                         _Susan Hartley Swett_     168\n\n Cuff and the Woodchuck                   _John Burroughs_          169\n\n Why the Lady-Bug Is Said to Be Beloved\n of God\u2014Translated from the French by     _M. L. Cook_              173\n\n\n                            SUMMER SPINNERS\n\n Selection                                _Madison Cawein_          182\n\n The Story of Arachne                     _Eleanor L. Skinner_      183\n\n How the Spider Makes Its Web             _C. William Beebe_        188\n\n The Fairy Spinner (Southern Tale Retold) _Ada M. Skinner_          192\n\n Mother Spider                            _Frances Gillespy\n                                          Wickes_                   195\n\n\n                          IN BROOKS AND PONDS\n\n The Brook                                _Alfred Tennyson_         200\n\n Legend of the Water-Lily                 _Eleanor L. Skinner_      201\n\n The Tale of Two Tails                    _Mary H. Wilson_          205\n\n Origin of Bullfrogs (Algonquin Legend)   _Eleanor L. Skinner_      212\n\n Woodland Waters (poem)                   _Madison Cawein_          221\n\n The Grubbiest Grub                       _J. Bevan_                222\n\n The Dragon-Fly (poem)                    _Alfred Tennyson_         231\n\n\n                              ON THE WING\n\n Selection                                _John Masefield_          234\n\n Selection                                _William Blake_           234\n\n How Woodpecker Changed His Colours\n (Micmac Legend)                          _Eleanor L. Skinner_      235\n\n A Retort from the Catbird (poem)         _Abbie Farwell Brown_     238\n\n Woodpecker Life                          _Margaret Coulson\n                                          Walker_                   239\n\n Kingfisher's Necklace and Ruffle         _Eleanor L. Skinner_      252\n\n Owl Wisdom                               _Frances Wright_          256\n\n Birds' Nests                             _Ernest Ingersoll_        261\n\n Hatto The Hermit: The Legend of a Bird's\n Nest                                     _Selma Lagerl\u00f6f_          267\n\n\n                         UNDER GREENWOOD TREES\n\n Song                                     _William Shakespeare_     282\n\n The Plucky Prince (Adapted from the poem\n by May Byron)                            _Eleanor L. Skinner_      283\n\n The Oak (poem)                           _H. F. Chorley_           289\n\n Summer Snow                              _Mrs. Humphrey Ward_      290\n\n The Boy Who Hated Trees                  _Alice L. Beckwith_       293\n\n The Friendly Summer Trees                _Frank A. Waugh_          301\n\n Forest Day                               _Selma Lagerl\u00f6f_          309\n\n Woodman, Spare That Tree (poem)          _George P. Morris_        314\n\n\n                       IN AN OLD-FASHIONED GARDEN\n\n Selection                                _William Brightly\n                                          Rands_                    320\n\n Selection                                _Eugene Field_            320\n\n How the Rose Became Queen                _Albert Bigelow Paine_    321\n\n Morning-Glories (poem)                   _Madison Cawein_          327\n\n Why Roses Have Thorns (Algonquin Legend\n Retold)                                  _Eleanor L. Skinner_      329\n\n Sweet Peas (poem)                        _John Keats_              334\n\n Legend of the Primrose                   _Ada M. Skinner_          335\n\n Evening Primroses (poem)                 _Helen Gray Cone_         340\n\n Legend of the Lily-of-the-Valley         _Albert Bigelow Paine_    341\n\n Katrina's Sun-Dial                       _Henry Van Dyke_          341\n\n The Three Little Butterflies (Translated\n from Curtmann)                           _Ada M. Skinner_          342\n\n The Pinks (poem)                         _Robert Bridges_          344\n\n The Flower's Thanks                      _Lyman Abbott_            345\n\n Pansies (poem)                           _James Whitcomb Riley_    347\n\n The Little Heartsease                                              348\n\n Legend of the Red Geranium (Mohammedan)  _Eleanor L. Skinner_      351\n\n Enchanted Tulips (poem)                  _Maud Keary_              352\n\n Iris                                     _Ada M. Skinner_          353\n\n The Yellow-Bird (poem)                   _James Whitcomb Riley_    355\n\n Origin of the Sunflower                  _Eleanor L. Skinner_      356\n\n The Bluebell (poem)                      _Anonymous_               359\n\n The Dew Mother's Gift to the Rose\n Eleanor                                  _L. Skinner_              360\n\n A Yellow Pansy (poem)                    _Helen Gray Cone_         362\n\n Mignonette                               _Ada M. Skinner_          363\n\n Flowers (selection)                      _Edward Bliss Reed_       369\n\n\n                           ON A MIDSUMMER DAY\n\n Selection                                _Alfred Noyes_            372\n\n The Friendly Cowslip Bells (English\n Legend)                                  _Eleanor L. Skinner_      373\n\n Fairy Dawn (selection)                   _Joseph Rodman Drake_     377\n\n Robin Goodfellow                         _Ernest Rhys_             378\n\n A Quarrel in Fairyland (Arranged from a\n Midsummer Night's Dream)                 _Eleanor L. Skinner_      388\n\n In the Cool of the Evening (poem)        _Alfred Noyes_            406\n\n\n\n\n                       SUMMER STORIES AND LEGENDS\n\n\n\n\n                                 SUMMER\n\n\n            Hang out your loveliest star, O Night! O Night!\n              Your richest rose, O Dawn!\n            To greet sweet Summer, her who clothed in Light\n              Leads Earth's best hours on.\n            Hark! how the wild birds of the woods\n              Throat it within the dewy solitudes;\n                The brook sings low and soft,\n                  The trees make song,\n            As from her heaven aloft\n            Comes blue-eyed Summer like a girl along.\n\n                                                         MADISON CAWEIN.\n\n\n\n\n                          HOW SUMMER CONQUERED\n                                 WINTER\n\n                           (IROQUOIS LEGEND)\n\n\nOnce upon a time the Great Chief, Glooscap, who brought many blessings\nto the Red Men, made a journey far into the Northland. For days he\ntraveled over frozen wastes of ice and snow, where the keen wind blew\nwithout ceasing.\n\nAt last he came to a lodge hollowed out of the icebergs, where Winter,\nthe Giant of the Northland, dwelt. Quietly, Glooscap stalked into the\nglittering lodge and sat down. There was silence for several moments,\nthen the Winter Manito laid aside his scepter of ice, filled a pipe,\nand, offering it to his guest, said, \"Thou art welcome. Tell me, why\ncomest thou to the Northland?\"\n\n\"To learn about the power of the Winter Giant,\" answered Glooscap.\n\n\"Who can measure the strength of the Winter King?\" said the giant,\nshaking his white locks, on which rested a crown of icicles.\n\nFor a long while the King and his guest sat smoking in silence. Then the\nWinter Giant began the story of his mighty deeds.\n\n\"I cover the Northland with ice, and pile up great snowdrifts which look\nlike mountains. I send forth the Storm Blast, which fills the air with\nsleet and snow, and makes the white bear creep into a cave for shelter.\nI build the glittering icebergs, out of which my chieftains make their\nlodges.\"\n\nThe enchantment of the frost was in Giant Winter's words, and his guest\nsat spellbound. After Glooscap had listened to many works of wonder, he\nnodded his head and fell into a deep sleep. Like an image of death he\nlay in Winter's lodge for six months.\n\nThen one morning the charm of the frost spirit was broken, and Glooscap,\nwho awoke with renewed vigor, left the Winter King's lodge and journeyed\ntoward the Southland. After a few days of travel he was beyond the reach\nof the Storm Blast. The air grew wondrously mild and warm; instead of\nfrozen wastes, he saw stretches of meadowlands and green forests, where\nthe birds were nesting. He walked deep into the woodland until he came\nto a dell, which was thick with flowers and bright butterflies. On soft\ngreen moss the Sun-Fays, led by the Fairy Queen of Summer, were dancing\ngaily. For a few moments Glooscap stood and marveled at the beauty of\nthe scene.\n\nSuddenly he sprang into the midst of the dancers, seized the Fairy Queen\nof Summer, and slipped her under his blanket. Then away he fled with\nher. As he ran, Glooscap, by magic power, dropped one end of a slender\ncord, made from a moose-hide, and let it trail behind him. When the\nSun-Fays saw what had happened, they uttered a great cry, and darted\nafter the intruder. They seized the end of the cord, and tugged at it\nwith all their fairy might, hoping to hold fast Glooscap and rescue\ntheir Fairy Queen. But the magic cord had no end, and the Sun-Fays were\nleft in the valley, while Glooscap fled through the forest and retraced\nhis steps to the frozen Northland.\n\nAgain he silently entered the giant's lodge hollowed out of the\nicebergs. The Winter Manito laid aside his ice scepter, filled a pipe,\nand offered it to his guest, saying, \"Thou art welcome. Hast thou\nreturned to the Northland to hear more about the strength of the Winter\nManito?\"\n\n\"The Frost King's might is great,\" said Glooscap, \"but I have seen a\npower which is greater than his!\"\n\nThe Winter Giant looked scornfully at his guest and said nothing.\n\n\"I have seen the wonder and beauty of the Summer Queen's land,\" said\nGlooscap. \"There the quickening dews and gentle showers soften the brown\nearth, and the grass leaps forth. Myriad sunbeams touch the flower buds,\nand unfold them into full blossoms. Birds build their nests and rear\ntheir young in the branches of the sheltering forests. Light and warmth\nabound, and the earth is filled with gladness.\"\n\nBy magic power Glooscap cast a spell over Giant Winter. He could neither\nspeak nor move. As the Great Chief talked, the iceberg lodge grew warm\nand big ice drops ran down the giant's cheeks. Gradually the air grew\nwarmer and warmer. Winter's icy figure and his wigwam melted and, in a\ngreat flood, flowed away to the sea.\n\nThen, from her hiding place under Glooscap's blanket, stepped forth the\nSummer Queen. At her command the Sun Fairies joined her, and together\nthey began the marvelous work of making the grasses grow and the flowers\nbloom. Brooks and rivers flowed through the green meadows. Birds\nhastened back from the Southland and built their nests in the forests.\nSoon the whole land was filled with the joys and blessings of summer.\n\n\n\n\n                        A LEGEND OF THE FLOWERS\n\n                              (AUSTRALIAN)\n\n\nLong, long ago the great Byamee left the earth and went to dwell in the\nfar-away land of rest, which was beyond the tops of the Oobi Oobi\nmountain. The earth became a dull and desolate place after he left it,\nfor all the flowers that brightened the plains and hillsides ceased to\nbloom.\n\nAnd since there were no blossoms the bees could no longer make honey for\nthe earth children. In all the land there were but three trees where the\nbees lived and worked; and no one ever touched these sacred trees,\nbecause they belonged to Byamee.\n\nThe children cried for honey, and the mothers took little bark baskets\ninto the woods to search for the sweet food. But they returned with\nempty baskets and said, \"There is no honey except on the sacred trees.\nWe will never touch Byamee's honey.\"\n\nThis obedience pleased the Great Spirit very much and he said, \"I'll\nsend the earth children a food as sweet as the honey for which they\nhunger. It shall flow from the Bilbil and Goolabah trees.\"\n\nSoon were seen white, sugary specks on the shining leaves of these\ntrees, and then came the clear manna, which ran along the branches and\ndown the trunks, and hardened into sugar. The children were delighted\nwith the sweet food, and all the people were thankful for Byamee's gift.\n\nBut they were not satisfied, for they still wished to see the plains and\nhillsides covered with blossoms. So deeply did they long for the\nbeautiful flowers, which had left the earth, that the wise men finally\nsaid, \"We will travel to the land of Byamee, and ask him to brighten the\nearth again with flowers.\"\n\nThey kept the plan and purpose of their journey a secret from the\ntribes, and sped away to the northeast. On and on they journeyed until\nthey came to the foot of the great Oobi Oobi mountain, whose summit was\nlost in the clouds of the sky. They walked along the base of its rocky\nsides, wondering how they could scale the steep ascent when suddenly\nthey spied a foothold cut in a rock, and then they noticed another step\nand still another. Looking carefully upward, they saw a pathway of steps\ncut as far as they could see up the mountain side. Up this ladder of\nstone they determined to climb. On and on they went, and when the first\nday's ascent was ended the top of the mountain still seemed high above\nthem. They noticed, too, that they were climbing a spiral path, which\nwound round and round the mountain. Not until the end of the fourth\nday's climb did they reach the summit of this mighty mountain.\n\nAnd from a basin in the marble there bubbled forth a spring of clear,\nsweet water, which the wise men drank eagerly. Their hard journey had\nalmost exhausted them, but the cooling draught filled them again with\nnew life. At a little distance from the spring they saw a circle of\npiled-up stones. They walked to the center of it, and a voice spoke to\nthem. It came from a fairy messenger of the Great Spirit.\n\n\"Why have the wise men of the earth ventured so near to the dwelling of\nByamee?\" asked the spirit voice.\n\nAnd the men answered, \"Since the great Byamee left the earth no flowers\nhave bloomed there. We have come to ask for the gift of flowers, because\nthe earth is very dreary without their gay colors.\"\n\nThen the fairy messenger's voice said, \"Attendant spirits of the\nmountain, lift the wise men into the abode of Byamee, where fadeless\nflowers never cease to bloom. Of these blossoms, wise men, you may\ngather as many as you can hold in your hands. After you have gathered\nthe flowers the attendant spirits will lift you back into the magic\ncircle on the summit of Oobi Oobi. From this place you must return as\nquickly as possible to your tribes.\"\n\nAs the voice stopped speaking, the men were lifted up through an opening\nin the sky and set down in a land of wondrous beauty. Everywhere\nbrilliant flowers were blooming, and they were massed together in lines\nof exquisite colors, which looked like hundreds of rainbows lying on the\ngrass. The wise men were overcome by the marvelous sight, and they wept\ntears of joy.\n\nRemembering what they had come for, they stooped down and gathered\nquickly as many blossoms as they could hold. The spirits then lifted\nthem down again into the magic circle on the top of Oobi Oobi.\n\nThere they heard again the voice of the fairy messenger who said, \"Tell\nyour people when you take them these flowers that never again shall the\nearth be bare and dreary. All through the seasons certain blossoms shall\nbe brought by the different winds, but the east wind shall bring them in\nabundance to the trees and shrubs. Among the grasses, on plains and\nhillsides, flowers shall bloom as thick as hairs on an opossom's skin.\nWhen the sweet-breathed wind does not blow,\u2014first to bring the showers\nand then the flowers,\u2014the bees can make only enough honey for\nthemselves. During this time manna shall again drop from the trees, and\nit shall take the place of honey until the east wind once more blows the\nrain down the mountains and opens the blossoms for the bees. Then there\nwill be honey enough for all. Now make haste and take this promise and\nthe fadeless flowers, which are a sign of it to your people.\"\n\nThe voice ceased and the wise men, carrying the fadeless blossoms, began\nthe journey back to their people. Down the stone ladder, cut by the\nspirits of the mountain, they went,\u2014across the plains, over the\nmoors,\u2014back to the camp of the tribes. Their people flocked around them,\ngazing with wide-eyed wonder at the blossoms. The air was filled with a\ndelicious fragrance, and the flowers were as fresh as when they were\nplucked in the land of Byamee.\n\nWhen the people had gazed for some time at the beautiful flowers and had\nheard the promise sent to them by Byamee, the wise men scattered their\nprecious gift far and wide. Some of the lovely blossoms fell on the\ntreetops, some on the plains and hillsides, and ever since that far-off\nday the earth has been blessed with the gift of flowers. (Adapted.)\n\n\n\n\n                                  JUNE\n\n\n            And what is so rare as a day in June?\n              Then, if ever, come perfect days;\n            Then heaven tries earth if it be in tune,\n              And over it softly her warm ear lays;\n            Whether we look or whether we listen,\n            We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;\n            Every clod feels a stir of might,\n              An instinct within it that reaches and towers,\n            And, groping blindly above it for light,\n              Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers.\n\n                                                   JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.\n\n\n\n\n                            THE SUN-GODDESS\n\n                              FRANK RINDER\n\n\nAma-Terasu, the sun-goddess, was seated in the Blue Plain of Heaven. Her\nlight came as a message of joy to the celestial deities. The orchid and\nthe iris, the cherry and the plum blossom, the rice and the hemp fields\nanswered to her smile. The Inland Sea was veiled in soft, rich colors.\n\nSusa-no-o, the brother of Ama-Terasu, who had resigned his ocean\nscepter, and now reigned as the moon-god, was jealous of his sister's\nglory and world-wide sway. The Heaven Illuminating Spirit had but to\nwhisper and she was heard throughout her kingdom, even in the depths of\nthe clear pool in the heart of the crystal. Her rice-fields, whether\nsituated on hillside, in sheltered valley or by running stream, yielded\nabundant harvests, and her groves were laden with fruit. But the voice\nof Susa-no-o was not so clear, his smile was not so radiant. The\nundulating fields which lay around his palace were now flooded, now\nparched, and his rice crops were often destroyed. The wrath and jealousy\nof the moon-god knew no bounds, yet Ama-Terasu was infinitely patient\nand forgave him all things.\n\nOnce, as was her wont, the sun-goddess sat in the central court of her\nflower home. She plied the shuttle. Celestial weaving maidens surrounded\na fountain whose waters were fragrant with the heavenly lotus-bloom;\nthey sang softly of the clouds and the wind, and the light of the sky.\nSuddenly, the body of a piebald horse fell through the vast dome at\ntheir feet; the \"Beloved of the gods\" had been flayed with a backward\nflaying by the envious Susa-no-o. Ama-Terasu, trembling at the sight,\npricked her finger with the weaving shuttle and, profoundly indignant at\nthe cruelty of her brother, withdrew into a cave, and closed behind her\nthe door of the Heavenly Rich Dwelling.\n\nThe universe was plunged in darkness. Joy and goodwill, serenity and\npeace, hope and love waned with the waning light. Evil Spirits who\nheretofore had crouched in dim corners came forth and roamed abroad.\nThen grim laughter and discordant tones struck terror into all hearts.\n\nThen it was that the gods, fearful for their safety and for the life of\nevery beautiful thing, assembled on the bed of the tranquil River of\nHeaven whose waters had been dried up. One and all knew that Ama-Terasu\nalone could help them. But how allure the Heaven-Illuminating Spirit to\nset foot in this world of darkness and strife. Each god was eager to aid\nand a plan was finally devised to entice her from her hiding place.\n\nAme-no-ko uprooted the holy sakaki trees which grew on the mountain of\nHeaven, and planted them around the entrance of the cave. High on the\nupper branches were hung the precious string of curved jewels which\nIzanagi had bestowed upon the sun-goddess. From the middle branches\ndrooped a mirror wrought of the rare metals of the celestial mine. Its\npolished surface was as the dazzling brilliancy of the sun. Other gods\nwove fine threads of hemp and paper mulberry on an imperial robe of\nwhite and blue which was placed as an offering to the goddess, on the\nlower branches of the Sakaki.\n\nA palace was also built surrounded by a garden in which the blossom-god\ncalled forth many delicate plants and flowers.\n\nNow all was ready. Ame-no-ko stepped forward and in a loud voice\nentreated Ama-Terasu to show herself. His appeal was in vain. The great\nfestival began. Uzume, the goddess of mirth, led the dance and song.\nLeaves of the spindle tree crowned her head; club moss from the heavenly\nmount of Kagu formed her sash; her flowing sleeves were bound with the\ncreeper-vine; and in her hand she carried leaves of the wild bamboo and\nwaved a wand of sun-grass hung with tiny melodious bells. Uzume blew on\na bamboo flute while eight hundred myriad deities, accompanied her on\nwooden clappers and instruments formed of bow-strings across which were\nrapidly drawn stalks of reed and grass. Great fires were lighted around\nthe cave and as these were reflected in the face of the mirror the long\nsinging birds of eternal night began to crow as if day had dawned. The\nmerriment increased. The dance grew wilder and wilder and the gods\nlaughed until the heavens shook as if with thunder.\n\nAma-Terasu in her quiet retreat heard unmoved the crowing of cocks and\nthe sounds of music and dancing; but when the heavens shook with the\nlaughter of the gods she peeped from her cave and said, \"What means\nthis? I thought heaven and earth were dark but now there is light. Uzume\ndances and all the gods laugh.\" Uzume answered, \"It is true that I dance\nand that the gods laugh because in our midst is a goddess whose\nsplendour equals your own!\" Ama-Terasu gazed into the mirror and\nwondered greatly when she saw therein a goddess of exceeding beauty\u2014her\nown lovely image. She stepped from her cave and forthwith a cord of\nrice-straw was drawn across the entrance. Darkness fled from the land\nand there was light. Then the eight hundred myriad deities cried, \"O,\nmay the sun-goddess never leave us again.\" (Adapted slightly.)\n\n\n\n\n                            THE SUMMER MAKER\n\n                            (OJIBWAY LEGEND)\n\n\nOnce upon a time the winter season lasted for so many many months that\nthe people began to wonder if the frozen rivers and deep snows would\never melt. \"Will the keen north wind never leave us?\" they asked each\nother anxiously. \"What has become of the beautiful warm summer?\"\n\nThe only person who seemed happy during this long, cold season was\nOjeeb, a mighty hunter. He enjoyed the adventure of searching for the\nbig winter game and his eye was so keen and his hand so steady that he\nnever failed to bring abundance of food to his wigwam.\n\nOjeeb's little son liked to hunt with his father but the lad suffered\nmuch from the bitter cold. Often his fingers became so numb that he\ncould not speed his small arrow skilfully and he would fail in his aim.\nThis always vexed him very much and he would wish for the summer days to\ncome.\n\nOne day, when Ojeeb and his son were hunting, the lad became so cold\nthat he was obliged to leave his father and return to the wigwam. When\nhe was hurrying through the woods he heard a squirrel chattering very\nloud on a pine tree. He stopped for a moment and the squirrel said,\n\"Don't shoot me. I'm going to tell you a secret. I've often heard you\nwish for summer. The mighty hunter, who is your father, knows how to\nbring summer back to the earth. When he comes home beg him to send away\nthis bitter cold weather and bring us the warm sunny days.\" Off\nscampered the chattering squirrel, and the lad ran on to his wigwam.\n\nIn the evening Ojeeb came home with some excellent game which he showed\nwith pride, but his son took little interest in it. He began to talk\nabout the cruel cold weather. Finally he said, \"Father, drive away the\nkeen winds, the frost, and the snow, and bring summer back to the earth.\nFor many months the Red Men have borne the trials of winter. It is hard\nfor some of them to get enough food, for few are as skilful with the bow\nand arrow as Ojeeb. Send away the cold days and bring us the bright,\nwarm summer again.\"\n\n\"You are asking me to perform a mighty task,\" said Ojeeb, \"but I'll do\nmy best to grant your request. It is true that I know the secret of\nbringing summer back to the earth.\"\n\nThe next morning Ojeeb prepared a feast, and invited a number of his\nanimal friends to dine with him. At the appointed time, Otter, Beaver,\nLynx, Badger, and Wolverine all came to Ojeeb's lodge. There they\nfeasted and listened with interest to the mighty hunter's plan to bring\nsummer back to the earth.\n\n\"We shall have to take a long and dangerous journey and perhaps we shall\nnever return to our homes,\" he said. \"Are you brave enough to help me in\nthis mighty task?\"\n\nThe animals all said they were willing to follow and help Ojeeb, and\nbegged him to tell them his plan. To their astonishment the hunter said\nthe only way to bring back the summer was to break through the great\ndome of Sky-Land, and free the summer birds which were imprisoned there.\n\n\"But how shall we reach Sky-Land?\" asked the animals in one voice.\n\n\"I'll lead the way,\" said the hunter.\n\nThe next day they started on the journey to Sky-Land. Ojeeb led the way\nup a steep, smooth mountain-side. For twenty days they traveled and\nfinally they came to a curious lodge in a hollow. The Mountain Manito\nlived there. He gave Ojeeb and his animal friends food, and sheltered\nthem until they were refreshed. The hunter told him the object of their\ncoming and the Manito pointed out to them a certain pathway which led to\nthe summit of the mountain. For twenty days more they traveled. They\nwere now high up above the clouds. The blue dome of the sky seemed but a\nshort distance above their heads. They rested for awhile and gazed in\nsilent wonder at the beautiful canopy which separated them from\nSky-Land.\n\nFinally Ojeeb said, \"Our difficult task is only half done. We must leap\nup and break through the dome of the Sky and set free the summer birds.\nThis is a mighty task I assure you. The Mountain Manito directed me to\nsay that you, Otter, are to make the first trial.\"\n\nOtter was delighted to be chosen first. Without taking due consideration\nof the great height, he immediately made a bound upward. But, alas! He\nfell headlong through the air to the mountain-side and rolled down, down\nto the plain below. The Beaver made the next effort, but he too missed\nthe sky dome and fell with a thud to the earth. Lynx made a great leap\nand so did Badger but each failed to touch the great dome of the sky.\n\nOjeeb was growing very anxious, indeed. \"Wolverine,\" he said, \"measure\nthe height carefully. You have great skill in leaping. Do not fail me.\"\n\nWolverine made a wonderful leap. His ears grazed the dome. Again he\nsprang upward with a mighty bound and lo! he made a dent in the sky. A\nthird time he tried and such a prodigious leap he made that a great rent\nwas torn in the blue dome. And Wolverine passed through into Sky-Land.\nOjeeb immediately sprang after him.\n\nThey found themselves in a land of wondrous beauty. The air was soft and\nwarm and a delicious fragrance rose from rich, green meadows thick with\nbrilliant flowers. Ojeeb and Wolverine walked toward a group of tepees\nwhich stood near a lake of crystal-clear water bordered by cool\nstretches of woodland. Evidently the people were away on a hunting\nadventure for the tepees were vacant. Presently Ojeeb saw a great cage\nmade from the finest of willow withes and enclosed therein were the\nbeautiful summer birds. Robins, orioles, bluebirds, thrushes, jays,\nswallows, woodpeckers, veeries, and redbirds, all were flitting silently\nabout in their prison.\n\n\"Let us free the summer birds quickly,\" whispered the hunter.\n\nWith Wolverine's help the cage was broken in a very short time. Out flew\nthe bright-feathered prisoners. As soon as they were free they began to\nsing rapturous songs of happiness. Away they darted toward the opening\nin the sky-dome and many of them passed through, carrying with them the\nwarm, summer air.\n\nBut alas! the sweet singing reached the ears of the Sky-People who were\nin the neighbouring forests. They hurried toward their tepees to see\nwhat had happened. They soon discovered that the summer birds had been\nfreed and were flying toward the earth through a great rent in the\nsky-dome. Many of the Sky-People, shouting at the top of their voices,\nrushed to the opening and prevented some of the birds from escaping.\nOthers searched for the intruders who had caused the confusion.\n\nWolverine's quick ears heard the Sky-People running from the forest and\nwith great leaps he reached the hole in the sky-dome and plunged\nthrough. Ojeeb followed as quickly as he could but before he reached the\nopening it was surrounded by some of the Sky-People. He turned and fled\nin another direction, but there was no other way of escaping to the\nearth. On and on he ran until finally he came to the land of the stars\nand he has dwelt there ever since.\n\nAmong the Earth-People there was great rejoicing. The warm air from\nSky-Land melted the frost and snow which had covered the land for many,\nmany months. In the brown meadows the grass sprang forth and flowers\nbloomed. The summer birds built their nests in the leafy branches of the\nforest and cheered the Earth-People with happy songs.\n\nThe mighty hunter is not forgotten. Often the Indians point to Sky-Land\nand say:\n\n\"It was brave Ojeeb who journeyed to Sky-Land and freed the summer\nbirds. He gave us the precious gift of summer and that is why we call\nhim 'The Summer Maker.'\"\n\n\n\n\n                                 SUMMER\n\n               Then came the jolly Summer, being dight\n               In a thin, silken cassock, colour'd green,\n               That was unlin\u00e8d all, to be more light;\n               And on his head a garland well beseen\n               He wore.\n\n                                                         EDMUND SPENSER.\n\n\n\n\n                         IN THE KITCHEN-GARDEN\n\n                           MRS. ALFRED GATTY\n\n\nOne\u2014two\u2014three\u2014four\u2014five; five neatly-raked kitchen-garden beds, four of\nthem side by side, with a pathway between; the fifth a narrow slip,\nheading the others, and close to the gravel walk, as it was for\nsuccession-crops of mustard and cress, which are often wanted in a hurry\nfor breakfast or tea.\n\nMost people have stood by such beds in their own kitchen-garden on soft\nspring mornings and evenings, and looked for the coming up of the seed\nwhich either they or the gardener had sown.\n\nRadishes in one, for instance, and of all three sorts\u2014white-turnip,\nred-turnip, and long-tailed. Carrots in another; and this bed had been\ndug very deep indeed that the roots might strike freely down. Onions in\nanother. Beets in the fourth, both the golden and red varieties, while\nthe narrow slip was half mustard and half cress.\n\nSuch was the plan here, at least, and here, for a time, all the seeds\nlay sleeping, as it seemed. For, as the long smooth-raked beds stretched\nout dark and bare under the stars, they betrayed no symptoms of anything\ngoing on within.\n\nNevertheless, there was no sleeping in the case. The little seed-grains\nwere fulfilling the law of their being, each after its kind; the grains,\nall but their inner germs, decaying; the germs swelling and growing,\ntill they rose out of their cradles, and made their way, through their\nearthen coverlid, to the light of day.\n\nThey did not all come up quite together, of course, nor all quite alike.\nBut as to the time, the gardener had made his arrangements so cleverly,\nthat none was very far behind his neighbour. And as to the difference of\nshape in the first young leaves, what could it signify? It is true the\nyoung Mustards were round and thick; the Cresses oval and pointed; the\nCarrots mere green threads; the Onions sharp little blades, while the\nBeets had an odd, stainy look. But they all woke up to the same life and\nenjoyment, and were all greeted with friendly welcome as they appeared,\nby the dew and light, and sunshine, and breezes.\n\n\"I find I get deeper and deeper into the soil every day,\" remarked the\nCarrot. \"I shall be I don't know how long, at last. I have been going\ndown regularly, quite straight, for weeks. Then I am tapering off to a\nlong point at the end, in the most beautiful proportions possible. A\ntraveller told me, the other day, this was perfection, and I believe he\nwas right.\"\n\n\"I knew what it was to live near the surface in my young days,\" the\nCarrot went on; \"but never felt solid enjoyment till I struck deeply\ndown, where all is so rich and warm. Pray tell me, neighbours,\" added\nhe, good-naturedly enough, \"I should like to know that your roots are as\nlong, and slim, and orange-coloured as mine; doing as well, in fact, and\nsinking as far down. I wish us to be all perfect alike. Perfection is\nthe great thing to try for.\"\n\n\"When you are sure you are trying in the right way,\" sneered a voice\nfrom the neighbouring radish bed. \"But if the long, slim, orange-roots\nstriking deep into the earth are your idea of perfection, I advise you\nto begin life over again. Dear me! I wish you had consulted us before.\nWhy, we stopped going down long ago, and have been spreading out\nsideways and all ways, into stout, round solid balls ever since, close\nwhite flesh throughout, inside; and not orange but red, without.\"\n\n\"White, he means,\" shouted another.\n\n\"Red, I call it,\" repeated the first.\n\n\"But no matter; certainly not orange!\"\n\nAnd \"certainly not orange!\" cried they all.\n\n\"So,\" continued the Radish, \"we are quite concerned to hear you ramble\non about growing longer and longer, and strongly advise you to keep your\nown counsel, and not mention it to any one else. We are friendly, you\nknow, and can be trusted; but you really must leave off wasting your\npowers and energy in the dark inside of the ground, out of everybody's\nsight and knowledge. Come to the surface, and make the most of it, as we\ndo, and then you'll be a credit to your friends. Never mind what\ntravellers say. They've nothing else to do but to walk about and talk,\nand they tell us we are perfection, too. Don't trust to them, but to\nwhat we tell you now, and alter your course at once. Roll yourself up\ninto a firm round ball as fast as you can. You won't find it hard if you\nonce begin. You have only to\u2014\u2014\"\n\n\"Let me put in a word first,\" interrupted one of the long-tailed\nRadishes in the same bed; \"for it is of no use to go out of one extreme\ninto another, which you are on the high road to do if you are disposed\nto take Mr. Roundhead's advice; who, by the way, ought to be ashamed of\nforcing his very peculiar views upon his neighbours. Just look at us. We\nalways strike moderately down, so we know it's the right thing to do.\nSolid round balls are the most unnatural and useless things in the\nworld. But, on the other hand, my dear friend, we have learnt where to\nstop, and a great secret it is, but one I fear you know nothing about at\npresent; and as to the soil's being better so very far down, nobody can\nbelieve it, for why should it be? The great art is to make the most of\nwhat is at hand, as we do. Time enough to go into the depths when you\nhave used up what is so much easier got at. The man who gathered some of\nus yesterday, called out, 'These are just right.' So I leave you to\njudge whether some other people we know of must not be wrong.\"\n\n\"You rather overwhelm me,\" mused the Carrot, \"though it's remarkable you\ncounsellors should not agree among yourselves. Is it possible, however,\nthat I have been making a great mistake all my life? What lost time to\nlook back upon! Yet a ball;\u2014no, no, not a ball! I don't think I could\ngrow into a solid round ball were I to try forever!\"\n\n\"Not having tried, how can you tell?\" whispered the Turnip-Radish\npersuasively.\n\n\"But you never will, if you listen to our old-fashioned friend next\ndoor, who has been halting between two opinions all his life;\u2014will\nneither make an honest fat lump of it, as I do, nor plunge down and\ntaper with you. But nothing can be done without an effort.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" murmured the Carrot, rather sadly; \"but I am too old for\nfurther efforts myself. Mistake or no mistake, my fate is fixed. I am\ntoo far down to get up again, that's certain; but some of the young ones\nmay try. Do you hear, dears? Some of you stop short, if you can, and\ngrow out sideways and all ways, into stout, round, solid balls.\"\n\n\"Oh, nonsense about round balls!\" cried the long-tailed Radish in\ndisgust; \"what will the world come to, if this folly goes on! Listen to\nme, youngsters, I beg. Go to a moderate depth, and be content; and if\nyou want something to do, throw out a few fibres for amusement. You're\nfirm enough without them, I know, but the employment will pass away\ntime.\"\n\n\"There are strange delusions abroad just now,\" remarked the Onions to\neach other; \"do you hear all this talk about shape and way of growth?\nand everybody in the dark on the subject, though they seem to be quite\nunconscious of the fact themselves. That fellow chattered about solid\nballs, as if there was no such thing as bulbs, growing layer upon layer,\nand coat over coat. Of course the very long orange gentleman, with his\ntapering root, is the most wrong of the whole party; but I doubt if Mr.\nRoundhead is much wiser when he speaks of close, white flesh inside, and\nred (of all ridiculous nonsense!) without. Where are their flaky skins,\nI should like to know? Who is ever to peel them, I wonder? Poor things!\nI can't think how they got into such ways. How tough and obstinate they\nmust be! I wish we lived nearer. We would teach them a little better\nthan that, and show them what to do.\"\n\n\"I have lived near you long enough,\" grumbled a deep-red Beet in the\nnext bed; \"and you have never taught me; neither shall you, if I can\nhelp it. A pretty instructor you would be, who think it ridiculous to be\nred! I suppose you can't grow red yourself, and so abuse the colour out\nof spite. Now I flatter myself I am red inside as well as out, so I\nsuppose I am more ridiculous than your friend who contrives to keep\nhimself white within, according to his own account; but I doubt the\nfact. There, there! it is a folly to be angry, so I say no more, except\nthis! get red as fast as you can. You live in the same soil as I do, and\nought to be able to do so.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't call it red!\" exclaimed a golden Beet, who was of a gentle\nturn of mind; \"it is but a pale tint after all, and surely rather amber\nthan red; and perhaps that was what the long-tailed orange gentleman\nmeant.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it was; for perhaps he calls red orange, as you call it amber,\"\nanswered the redder Beet; \"anyhow he has rather more sense than our\nneighbor here, with his layer upon layer, and coat over coat, and flaky\nskin over all. Think of wasting time in such fiddle-faddle proceedings!\nGrow a good honest fleshy substance, and have done with it, and let\npeople see you know what life is capable of. I always look at results.\nIt is something to get such a body as I do out of the surrounding soil.\nThat is living to some purpose, I consider. Nobody makes more of\nopportunities than I do.\"\n\n\"Do you hear them? oh! do you hear them?\" whispered the Cress to her\nneighbour the Mustard. \"Do you hear how they all talk together of their\ngrowth, and their roots, and their bulbs, and size, and colour, and\nshape? It makes me quite unhappy, for I am doing nothing like that\nmyself\u2014nothing, nothing, though I live in the same soil! What is to be\ndone? What do you do? Do you grow great white solid balls, or long\norange tapering roots, or thick red flesh, or bulbs with layer upon\nlayer, and coat over coat? Some of them talked of just throwing out a\nfew fibres as a mere amusement to pass away time; and this is all I ever\ndo for business. Do speak to me, but whisper what you say, for I shame\nto be heard or thought of.\"\n\n\"I grow only fibres too,\" groaned the Mustard in reply; \"but I would\nspread every way and all ways if I could\u2014downwards and upwards, and\nsideways and all ways, like the rest. I wish I had never been sown.\nBetter never be sown and grown, than sown and grown to such trifling\npurpose! The soil must give them what it refuses to us.\"\n\n\"Or we are weak and helpless, and cannot take in what it offers,\"\nsuggested the Cress. \"Alas! that we should have been sown only to be\nuseless and unhappy!\"\n\nAnd they wept the evening through. But they alone were not unhappy. The\nCarrot had become uneasy, and could follow his natural tastes no longer\nin comfort, for thinking that he ought to be a solid round ball, white\ninside, and red without. The Onion had sore misgivings that the Beet\nmight be right after all, and a good honest mass of red flesh be more\nworth labouring for, than the pale coat-within-coat growth in which he\nhad indulged. It did seem a waste of trouble, a fiddle-faddle plan of\nlife, he feared. Perhaps he had not gone down far enough in soil. Some\none talked of growing fibres for amusement\u2014he had certainly not come to\nthat; they were necessary to his support; he couldn't hold fast without\nthem. Other people were more independent than he was, then; perhaps\nwiser,\u2014alas!\n\nAnd yet the Beet himself was not quite easy; for talk as he would, what\nhe had called fiddle-faddle seemed ingenious when he thought it over,\nand he would like to have persuaded himself that he grew layer upon\nlayer, too. But it wouldn't do.\n\nPerhaps, in fact, the bold little Turnip-Radishes alone, were the only\nones free from misgivings, and believed that everybody ought to do as\nthey did themselves.\n\nWhat a disturbance there was, to be sure! And it got worse and worse,\nand they called on the winds and fleeting clouds, the sun, and moon, and\nstars above their heads, to stay their course awhile, and declare who\nwas right and who was wrong.\n\nBut they called and asked in vain; till one evening, the clouds which\nhad been gathering over the garden for days began to come down in rain,\nand sank swiftly into the ground, where it had been needed for long.\nWhereupon there was a general cry, \"Here comes a messenger; now we shall\nhear!\"\n\nSo out came the old inquiries again:\u2014who was right\u2014who was wrong\u2014who had\ngot hold of the true secret? But the Cress made no inquiry at all, only\nshook with fright under the rain; \"for,\" thought she, \"the hour of my\nshame and degradation is come: poor useless creature that I am, I shall\nnever more hold up my head.\"\n\nAs to the Carrot, into whose well-dug bed the rain found easiest\nentrance, and sank deepest, he held forth in most eloquent style upon\nthe whole affair; how it was started, and what he had said; how much he\nhad once hoped; how much he now feared.\n\nNow, the Rain-drops did not care to answer in a hurry; but as they came\ndropping down, they murmured, \"Peace, peace, peace!\" all over the beds.\nAnd truly they seemed to bring peace with them as they fell, so that a\ncalm sank all around, and then the murmur proceeded:\u2014\"Poor little atoms\nin a boundless kingdom,\u2014each one of you good after its kind\u2014how came\nthese cruel misgivings and heart-burnings among you? Are the tops of the\nmountains wrong because they cannot grow corn like the valleys? Are the\nvalleys wrong because they cannot soar into the sky? Does the brook flow\nin vain because it cannot spread out like the sea? Each is good after\nits kind. Peace, peace, peace. Upon one, then, upon all\u2014each wanted,\neach useful, each good after its kind\u2014peace, peace, peace, peace,\npeace!\"\n\nThe murmur subsided to a whisper, the whisper into silence; and by the\ntime the moon-shadows lay upon the garden there was peace everywhere.\n\nNor was it broken again; for henceforth even the Cress held up her\nhead\u2014she, also, was good after her kind.\n\nOnly once or twice, that year, when the Carrots were gathered, there\ncame up the strangest growths\u2014thick, distorted lumps, that had never\nstruck properly down.\n\nThe gardener wondered, and was vexed, for he prided himself on the\ndigging of the carrot-bed. \"Anything that had had any sense might have\ngone down into it, I am sure,\" he said. And he was not far wrong; but\nyou see the Carrot had had no sense when he began to speculate, and\ntried to be something he was not intended to be.\n\nYet the poor clumsy thing was not quite useless after all. For, just as\nthe gardener was about to fling it angrily away, he recollected that the\ncook might use it for soup, though it could not be served up at\ntable\u2014such a shape as it was!\n\nAnd this was exactly what she did. (Abridged.)\n\n\n\n\n                                GLAD DAY\n\n\n                      Here's another day, dear,\n                      Here's the sun again\n                    Peeping in his pleasant way\n                    Through the window pane.\n                      Rise and let him in, dear,\n                      Hail him, \"Hip hurray!\"\n                    Now the fun will all begin,\n                      Here's another day!\n\n                      Down the coppice path, dear,\n                      Through the dewy glade,\n                    (When the Morning took her bath\n                      What a splash she made!)\n                      Up the wet wood-way, dear,\n                      Under dripping green,\n                    Run and meet another day\n                      Brightest ever seen.\n\n                      Mushrooms in the field, dear,\n                      Show their silver gleam,\n                    What a dainty crop they yield\n                      Firm as clouted cream,\n                      Cool as balls of snow, dear,\n                      Sweet and fresh and round!\n                    Ere the early dews can go\n                      We must clear the ground.\n\n                      Such a lot to do, dear,\n                      Such a lot to see!\n                    How we ever can get through\n                      Fairly puzzles me.\n                      Hurry up and out, dear,\n                    Then\u2014away! away!\n                    In and out and round about,\n                      Here's another day!\n\n                                                    W. GRAHAM ROBERTSON.\n\nUsed by permission of John Lane Company.\n\n\n\n\n                          THE SUMMER PRINCESS\n\n                            MRS. MOLESWORTH\n\n\nOnce upon a time, in a country far to the north of the world, lived a\nKing and a Queen who had everything they could wish for except an heir\nto their throne. That does not mean that they had no troubles at all.\nThe Queen thought she had a good many and the King had one which was\nmore real than any of her fancied ones. His Queen was a terrible\ngrumbler. She was a grumbler by nature, and besides this she had been a\nspoiled child.\n\nAs she was very beautiful and could be very sweet and charming when in a\ncontented mood, the King had fallen deeply in love with her when he was\non his travels round the world, and had persuaded her to leave her own\nhome in the sunny South to accompany him to his northern kingdom.\n\nThere she had much to make her happy. While the first summer lasted she\nalmost forgot to grumble, but when the winter came fierce and boisterous\nas it always is in those lands, she grew very miserable. She shivered\nwith cold and, instead of bracing herself to bear it, she wrapped\nherself in her furs and sat from morning till night cowering over a huge\nfire. Although she brightened up as each summer came around, with the\nreturn of each winter it was again the same sad story.\n\nHowever, one day late in the autumn she actually forgot her terror of\nthe cold so far as to remain out walking in the grounds of the palace,\nthough the snow clouds were gathering thick and heavy overhead.\n\nShe was alone. For sometimes in her saddest moods she could bear no one,\nnot even the most faithful of her ladies, near her.\n\n\"If only I had a child of my own I would never complain of anything\nagain.\"\n\nAs the Queen uttered her wish, she raised her eyes upwards and was\nstartled to see some snowflakes already falling; she turned to hasten\nindoors, exclaiming as she went, \"To think that winter is upon us\nalready; I shall no longer have even the small pleasure of a stroll in\nthe garden. But if I had a child to play with and care for, even the\ndreary winter would not seem so long. Everything would be bright and\nsunshiny to me.\"\n\n\"Are you sure of that?\" said a voice beside her, and, glancing up, the\nQueen saw a lovely figure. It was that of a beautiful woman with golden\nhair wreathed with flowers. But her face was somewhat pale and she drew\nround her a mantle of russet brown as if to protect her from the cold.\n\n\"I am the Spirit of the Summer,\" she said. \"I knew you well in your\nchildhood in the South and here, too, I have watched you, though you did\nnot know it. Your wish shall be fulfilled. I will bring you the child\nyou are longing for. But remember, the gift will lead to no lasting\nhappiness unless you overcome your heart of discontent. For I can do\nonly my part. My brother, the powerful Spirit of Winter is stern and\nsevere. He has heard your murmurings already, and if, when your wish is\ngranted you still continue them, I tremble for the fate of your child.\"\n\n\"Thank you, oh, thank you, sweet Spirit,\" said the Queen. \"I will indeed\ntake heed for the future and never murmur again.\"\n\n\"I trust so,\" said the fairy, \"for listen what will happen if you forget\nyour resolution. The slightest touch of snow would, in that case, put\nthe child into my stern brother's power and you would find yourself\nterribly punished. Beware, therefore. I must hasten away.\"\n\nAs she said this the gracious figure seemed to disappear in a rosy haze\nand almost at the same moment a cold blast driving the snowflakes before\nit, came with a rush from behind where the young Queen stood, almost\nlifting her from her feet.\n\n\"That must surely be the Spirit of the Winter himself,\" she thought as\nshe hurried indoors.\n\nThe Summer Spirit was true to her promise. On the loveliest morning of\nall that year was born a baby Princess, the prettiest baby that ever was\nseen.\n\n\"A true child of the summer,\" said the happy Queen.\n\n\"And strong to brave and enjoy the winter, too, I trust,\" added the\nKing. \"She must be a true Princess of the North, as her mother is fast\nbecoming, I hope,\" he went on with a smile.\n\nBut his words did not please the Queen, though they were so kindly\nmeant.\n\nWith the possession of the child, though she was so overjoyed to have\nher, the young Queen's wayward and dissatisfied spirit began to return.\nShe seemed to think the Princess was to be only hers, that the nation\nand even the King, must give way, in everything that concerned the\nchild, to its mother's will. She was even displeased one day when she\noverheard some of her ladies admiring the beautiful color of the child's\nhair and saying that it showed her a true daughter of the North.\n\n\"No such thing,\" said the Queen. \"It shows her a child of the sunshine\nand the summer. My sweet Rose!\" for so, to please the Queen, the baby\nhad been named.\n\nOn the whole, however, while the summer lasted, the Queen was too happy\nwith the child to give way to any real murmurings and once or twice,\nwhen she might perhaps have done so, there was wafted to her by the\nbreeze the sound of a gentle, \"Beware!\" and she knew the Summer Fairy\nwas near.\n\nSo for the first winter of the child's life the Queen was on her guard\nand nothing went wrong, except now and then when the King reproached his\nwife with overcare of the child when the weather was at all severe.\n\n\"I wish to make her brave and hardy,\" said the King.\n\nIn some strange way, however, the princess, child though she was, seemed\nto understand what her father felt about her. It was noticed that before\nshe could speak at all, she would dance in her nurse's arms and stretch\nout her little hands with glee at the sight of the snowflakes falling\nsteadily. And once or twice when a draught of frosty air blew upon her\nshe laughed with delight instead of shrinking or shivering.\n\nBut so well were the Queen's feelings understood that no one ventured to\ntell her of these clear signs that Rose felt herself at home in the land\nof snow.\n\nThe winter passed and the summer came again\u2014the second summer of the\nchild's life.\n\nShe had grown like the flowers and was as happy as the butterflies.\nNever was a sweeter or merrier child. The Queen idolized her and the\nKing loved her quite as dearly, though in a wiser way. And that summer\npassed very happily.\n\nUnfortunately, however, the warm fine days came to an end unusually\nearly that year. Many of the birds took flight for the South sooner than\nwas their wont, and the flowers drooped and withered as if afraid of\nwhat was coming.\n\nThe Queen noticed these signs with a sinking heart. Standing one chilly\nmorning at the palace windows she watched the gray autumn sky and sighed\ndeeply.\n\n\"Alas, alas!\" she said. \"All the beauty and brightness are going again.\"\n\nShe did not know that the King had entered the room and was standing\nbehind her.\n\n\"Nay,\" he said cheerfully. \"You have no reason to feel so sad. If you\nhave no other flower you have our Rose, blooming as brightly in the\nwinter as in the warmth.\"\n\nHe meant it well, but it would have been wiser if he had said nothing.\nThe Queen turned toward him impatiently.\n\n\"It is so,\" she said angrily. \"Rose is like me. She loves the summer and\nthe sunshine. I do not believe she would live through your wretched\nnorthern winters but for my care. And the anxiety is too much for me.\nThe life in this country is but half a life. Would that I had known it\nbefore I ever came hither.\"\n\nThe King was deeply hurt and disappointed and he left the room without\nspeaking. He was generally so kind and patient that this startled her,\nand brought her to her senses.\n\n\"How wrong of me to grieve him so by my wild words,\" she thought\npenitently. \"And\u2014\u2014\" A sudden horror came over her.\n\nThe Princess's nurse picked up some fir cones and gave them to the\nlittle girl, who threw them about with glee and called out for more.\nThey were all so busy playing with her that they did not notice how,\nabove the heads of the tall fir-trees, the sky was growing dark and\novercast, till suddenly a strange chill blast made the Queen gather her\nmantle round her and gaze up in alarm.\n\n\"We must hasten home,\" she said: \"it is growing cold.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" said one of the ladies; \"it almost looks like\u2014\u2014\" But the\nQueen interrupted her. She could not bear even the mention of the fatal\nword.\n\n\"Wrap up the Princess!\" she exclaimed. \"Cover her over, face and all!\nNever mind if she cries! My darling, we shall be home directly. The cold\nwind would hurt you,\" she added.\n\nThen they hurried back to the palace as quickly as the goats could be\npersuaded to go, even the Queen herself running fast to keep up with the\nlittle carriage.\n\nThey were within a short distance of the palace before any snow fell,\nthough it was clear to be seen that it was not far off; and the Queen\nwas beginning to breathe again more freely when suddenly Princess Rose,\nwith a cry of baby mischief, pushed away the shawl that was over her\nface, shouting with glee. At that moment the first fluttering snowflakes\nbegan to fall. The little Princess opened wide her eyes as she caught\nsight of them, and smiled as if in greeting; and alas! before the\nterrified Queen had time to replace the covering the child had thrown\noff, one solitary flake alighted on her cheek, melting there into a tiny\ndrop which looked like a tear, though still the little Princess smiled.\n\nThe Queen seized the child in her arms, rushed up the long flight of\nsteps, all through the great halls and corridors like a mad creature,\nnor stopped even to draw breath till she had reached the Princess's\napartments, and had her safe in the rooms specially prepared for her\nduring the winter.\n\nBut was she safe? Was it not already too late? With trembling dread the\nQueen drew away the furs and shawls wrapped round the baby, almost\nexpecting to find her changed in some strange way; and it was with\nthankfulness she saw that little Rose was still herself\u2014sweet and\nsmiling in her sleep. For she was fast asleep.\n\n\"The darling, the precious angel,\" thought the poor mother as she laid\nher in her little cot just as the ladies and nurses and attendants came\ntrooping into the room.\n\n\"She is only asleep,\" said the Queen in a whisper. \"Nothing has happened\nto her. She is sleeping sweetly.\"\n\nThe ladies stared. The Queen's behavior had been so strange that they\ncould not understand her.\n\n\"It is a pity to be so anxious about the child,\" they said to one\nanother. \"It will bring no blessing,\" for they thought it all came from\nthe Queen's foolish terror lest the little Princess should catch cold,\nand they shook their heads.\n\nBut the Queen seemed full of thankfulness. She was very gentle and\nsubdued. Many times that afternoon she came back to see if little Rose\nwas well, but she was still sleeping.\n\n\"The fresh keen air has made her drowsy, I suppose,\" said the head\nnurse, late in the evening when the Queen returned again.\n\n\"And she has had nothing to eat since the middle of the day,\" said the\nmother anxiously. \"I almost think if she does not wake herself in an\nhour or so you will have to rouse her.\"\n\nTo this the nurse agreed. But two hours later in the Queen's next visit\nto the nursery, there was a strange report to give her. The nurse had\ntried to wake the baby, but it was all in vain. Little Rose just smiled\nsweetly and rolled over on her other side, without attempting in the\nleast to open her eyes. It seemed cruel to disturb her. She seemed so\nvery sleepy.\n\n\"I think we must let the Princess have her sleep out\u2014children are like\nthat sometimes,\" said the nurse.\n\nAnd the Queen was forced to agree to it, though she had a strange\nsinking at the heart, and even the King when he came to look at his\nlittle daughter felt uneasy, though he tried to speak cheerfully.\n\n\"No doubt she will wake in the morning quite bright and merry,\" he said,\n\"all the brighter and merrier for sleeping a good round and a half of\nthe clock.\"\n\nThe morning dawned\u2014the slow coming winter daylight of the North found\nits way into the Princess's nursery\u2014a tiny gleam of ruddy sunshine even\nmanaged to creep in to kiss her dimpled cheek, but still the baby slept\nas soundly as if the night was only beginning. And matters grew serious.\n\nIt was no use trying to wake her. They all did their best\u2014King, Queen,\nladies, nurses; and after them the great court physicians and learned\nmen of every kind. All were summoned and all consulted and, as the days\nwent on, a hundred different things were tried\u2014but all to no purpose.\n\"She is bewitched,\" said the cleverest of all the doctors, and as time\nwent on, everybody began to agree with him. Even the King himself was\nobliged to think something of the kind was at the bottom of it, and at\nlast one day the Queen, unable to endure her remorse any longer, told\nhim the whole story, entreating him to forgive her for having by her\ndiscontent and murmuring brought upon him so great a sorrow.\n\nThe King was very kind but very grave.\n\n\"I understand it now,\" he said. \"The Summer Fairy told you true. Our\nnorthern Winter Spirit is indeed stern; we must submit. If we are\npatient and resigned it is possible that in the future even his cold\nheart may be melted by the sight of our suffering.\"\n\n\"It is only I who deserve it,\" wept the poor Queen. \"The worst part of\nit all is to know that I have brought this sorrow upon you, my dear\nhusband.\"\n\nAnd so repentant she was that she almost forgot to think of herself.\nNever had she been so sweet and loving a wife. She did everything she\npossibly could to please and cheer the King, concealing from him the\nmany bitter tears she shed as she sat for hours together beside the\nsleeping child.\n\nThe winter was terribly severe\u2014never had the snow lain so thickly, never\nhad the wind-blasts raged and howled more furiously. Often did the Queen\nthink to herself that the spirit must be infuriated at her very\npresence, in his special domain.\n\n\"They might pity me now\u2014now that I am so punished.\" She bore all the\nwinter cold and terrors uncomplainingly, nay, even cheerfully, nerving\nherself to go out alone in the bitterest weather with a sort of hope of\npleasing the Winter Fairy; possibly, if she could but see him, of making\nan appeal to him. But for many months he held his icy sway. Often indeed\nit seemed as if gentler times were never to return.\n\nThen suddenly one night the frost went; a mild, soft breeze replaced the\nfierce blast; spring had come. And wonderful to relate, the very next\nmorning the Queen was roused by loud knocking and voices at her door;\ntrembling, she knew not why, she opened it, and the head nurse fell at\nher feet laughing and crying at once. The Princess had awakened.\n\nYes; there she was, chattering in her baby way, smiling and rosy as if\nnothing had been the matter. Oh, the joy of her parents and the\njubilation all through the palace!\n\nAnd all through the summer little Rose was wide awake in the daytime\njust like other children. She was as well and strong and happy as a baby\ncould be. But\u2014the summer will not last for ever; again returned the\nautumn, bringing with it the signs of the approaching winter and one\nmorning when her nurse went to awaken the Princess, she found it was no\nuse\u2014Rose was sleeping again, with a smile on her face, calm and content,\nbut alas! not to be awakened! And then it was remembered that the first\nsnow had fallen in the night.\n\nGradually the child's distressed parents resigned themselves to the sad\ntruth: their daughter was to be theirs only for half her life; for full\nsix months out of every twelve, she was to be in a sense as far away\nfrom them as if the Winter Monarch had carried her off to his palace of\nice altogether.\n\nBut no; it was not quite so bad as that would have been. And the Queen,\nwho was fast learning to count her blessings instead of her troubles,\nsmiled through her tears as she said to the King, what a mercy it was\nthat they were still able to watch beside their precious child\u2014to kiss\nher soft warm cheek every night.\n\nAnd so it went on. In the spring the Princess woke up again, bright and\nwell and lively, and in every way six months older than when she had\nfallen asleep; so that, to see her in the summer time no one could have\nguessed the strange spell that was over her. She became the sweetest and\nmost charming girl in the world; only one thing ever saddened her, and\nthat was any mention of winter, especially snow.\n\n\"What does it mean?\" she would ask sometimes. \"What are they talking of?\nShow me this wonderful thing! Where does it grow? I want to see it.\"\n\nBut no one could make her understand; and at these times a very strange\nlook would come into her blue eyes.\n\n\"I must see it,\" she said. \"Some day I shall go away and travel far,\nfar, till I find it.\"\n\nThese words used to distress her mother more than she could say; and she\nwould shower presents on her daughter, of flowers, and singing birds\u2014all\nto make her think of the sunshine and the summer. And for a time they\nwould please the girl, till again she shook her head and murmured, \"I\nwant the snow.\"\n\nSo the years followed each other till the Princess was sixteen. Every\nwinter the Queen had a faint hope, which, however, grew even fainter and\nfainter, that the spell was perhaps to be broken. But it was not so. And\nstrange stories got about concerning the Princess\u2014some saying she was a\nwitch in disguise; others, that she had no heart or understanding;\nothers, that she turned into a bird or some animal during half her\nlife\u2014so that the neighboring Princes, in spite of her beauty and\nsweetness, were afraid to ask her in marriage, and this brought new\nsorrow to her parents. \"What will become of her after we are dead and\ngone?\" they said. \"Who will care for and protect our darling? Who will\nhelp her to rule over our nation? No people will remain faithful to a\nsovereign who is only awake half of the year. There will be revolts and\nrebellion, and our angel Princess may perhaps be put to death, or driven\naway.\"\n\nAnd they fretted so over this that the hair of both the King and Queen\ngrew white long before its time. But Rose only loved them the more on\nthis account for she had heard some one say that white hair was like\nsnow; though she kept the fancy to herself, for she knew it troubled the\nQueen if ever she mentioned the strange, mysterious word.\n\nShe was so lovely that painters came from many countries just to see her\nface, and, if possible, be allowed to make a picture of her. And one of\nthese portraits made its way to the court of a King who was a distant\ncousin of her father, and who had heard the strange things said of the\nPrincess. He was very angry about it for he had two sons, and he was\nafraid of their falling in love with the beautiful face. So he ordered\nthe picture to be destroyed before the elder Prince, who was away on a\nvisit, came home.\n\nBut the servant who was to burn the picture thought it such a pity to do\nso, that he only hid it away in a lumber-room; and thither, as fate\nwould have it, came the younger Prince one day in search of a pet kitten\nbelonging to his sister, which had strayed away; for he was a Prince of\na most kind and amiable nature.\n\nThe moment he saw the picture he fell in love with it. He made inquiry,\nand heard all there was to tell, then he arranged himself for a journey\nand came to bid his father farewell.\n\n\"I go,\" he said, \"to woo the Princess Rose for my bride.\" And in spite\nof all the King could say he kept firm.\n\n\"If she is a witch,\" he said, \"I would rather perish by her hands than\nlive with any other.\"\n\nAnd amidst tears and lamentations he set out.\n\nHe was received with great delight at the court of Princess Rose's\nparents\u2014though he came without any pomp or display; for he lost no time\nin telling the King and Queen the reason of his visit. Knowing him to be\na Prince of most estimable character they were overjoyed to hear of his\nresolve.\n\n\"I only trust,\" said the Queen, \"that all may be well. But, as you have\ndoubtless heard, our darling child, despite her beauty and goodness, is\nunder a spell.\"\n\nShe then proceeded to tell him the whole matter of which he had already\nheard garbled accounts.\n\nHe was relieved to find that the enchantment was of no worse a nature,\nand declared that it made no difference in his intentions, but rather\nincreased his love for the Princess.\n\nAnd when he first set eyes on her (more beautiful by far than even the\nbeautiful portrait) he felt that his whole life would not be too much to\ndevote to her even considering her strange affliction.\n\n\"And who knows,\" he said to himself, \"but that such love as mine may\nfind out a way to release her from the spell?\"\n\nThe Princess quickly learned to like him. She had never before had a\ncompanion so near her own age and the last days of the summer passed\nmost happily till the time came when the Prince thought he might venture\nto ask her to be his wife.\n\nThey were walking in the terrace in front of the castle when he did so.\nIt had been a lovely day, but the afternoon had grown chilly, and as the\nPrincess listened to his words a cold breath of wind passed near them.\n\nThe Princess started; and, aware of the Queen's anxiety about her, the\nPrince hastily proposed that they should return to the house; but Rose\nlooked at him with a light in her eyes which he had never before seen\nand a strange smile broke over her face.\n\n\"It is a new life to me,\" she said. \"Can you not understand, you who are\nyourself a child of the North? Yes, Prince, I will marry you on one\ncondition, that you will show me the snow\u2014but on no other.\"\n\nThen she turned and without another word walked slowly back to the\npalace.\n\nPrince Orso, for so he was called, felt terribly distressed.\n\n\"The spell is upon her,\" he thought to himself. \"She asks me to do what\nwould probably kill her or separate her forever from all who love her.\"\n\nAnd the King and Queen when they heard this story were nearly as\ndisappointed as he.\n\nBut that very night the Prince had a strange dream. He thought he was\nwalking in the wood near the castle, when again a chill blast but still\nmore icy swept past him, and he heard a voice speaking to him. It\nsounded hoarse and stern.\n\n\"Orso,\" it said, \"you're as foolish as the rest. Have you no trust? See\nwhat came of rebellion against me, who, after all, love my children as\ndoes my sister of the summer. Leave the Princess to the leadings of her\nown heart.\"\n\nThen with a crash of thunder the spirit went on its way. And the Prince\nawoke to find that the window of his room had been dashed in by the\nforce of a sudden gale which had arisen.\n\nBut the next morning all was again calm. It almost seemed as if milder\nweather was returning again; and the Queen looked brighter; but it was\nnot so with the Princess, who was silent and almost sad. And so things\ncontinued for some days.\n\nAt last the Prince could bear it no longer. One afternoon when he found\nhimself alone with the Princess, he turned to her suddenly.\n\n\"Princess,\" he said, \"can you not give me another answer? You must know\nthat I would fain promise anything you wish; but I dare not bind myself\nto what might perhaps do you some injury.\"\n\nRose turned toward him impatiently.\n\n\"That is just it,\" she said. \"I am always met by excuses when I ask for\nthe one thing I really desire. What is there about me really different\nfrom others? Why should I so often hear of what others seem to\nunderstand, and not have it explained to me? I am no longer a child; in\nmy dreams I see things I cannot put in words; and beautiful as the world\nis I feel that I only half know it. I long for what they call the\nwinter, and what they call the snow and they never come. Only the cold\nwind, which I have felt once or twice, brings new life to me, and fills\nme with strange joy.\"\n\nThe Prince hesitated. He understood her perfectly for he was of the same\nbrave and hardy race. Yet the Queen's forebodings made him tremble. The\nPrincess's words reminded him of his own dream; and again he felt as if\nhe heard the voice of the stern Winter Spirit. And as if in answer to\nhis uncertainty, at that moment the howl of the cold blast sounded near\nthem among the trees and lurid clouds began to gather overhead.\n\nThe Princess's face lighted up.\n\n\"Oh,\" she exclaimed, \"it is coming again!\"\n\n\"I fear so, indeed,\" said Orso; and in his terror for her he caught her\nhand and would have hurried her back to the palace.\n\nBut at that moment a shrill little cry was heard overhead not far from\nwhere they stood, and, glancing up, they saw a bird of prey clutching a\nsmaller one in his claws. With a terrible effort the captive managed to\nfree himself, but he was sadly wounded; and as Rose gazed upwards in\ngreat concern she saw him fall fluttering feebly to the ground. All else\nwas forgotten in the sight.\n\n\"Poor bird!\" she cried. \"Let me go, Prince. I must find him where he has\nfallen, or a cruel death of slow suffering will be his.\"\n\nThe Prince let her go; he dared not hold her back, though he could have\ndone so.\n\n\"Leave her to the guidings of her own heart,\" resounded in his ears.\n\nAlmost at once she was lost to his sight among the trees which grew very\nclosely; almost at the same moment, to his horror, something cold and\nsoft touched his face, and snowflakes were falling thickly. If harm was\nto betide, it was too late to save her; but he pressed forward in\nunspeakable anxiety.\n\nIt was some little time before he found her; and no reply came to his\ncalls; but at last he caught sight of something blue on the ground. It\nwas the Princess's robe; and there, indeed, she lay, motionless, her\neyes closed, a sweet smile on her face, the little wounded bird tenderly\nclasped in her hands.\n\nOrso threw himself on the ground beside the Princess.\n\n\"Oh!\" he exclaimed, \"My carelessness has killed her. How can I ever dare\nto face the King and Queen? Oh, Winter Spirit! you have indeed deceived\nme.\"\n\nBut as he said the words the Princess opened her eyes.\n\n\"No, Prince,\" she said, \"I am not dead; I am not even asleep. It was the\nstrange gladness that seemed to take away my breath for a moment, and I\nmust have sunk down without knowing. But now I feel stronger and happier\nthan ever in my life before, now that I have seen and felt the beautiful\nsnow of my own country; now that I have breathed the winter air I have\nbeen longing for always.\" And she sprang to her feet, her blue eyes\nsparkling with delight, looking lovelier than he had ever seen her.\n\n\"Orso,\" she went on half shyly, \"you have done what I asked you; through\nyou I have seen the snow,\" and she held out her hand, which, white\nthough it was, looked pink in comparison with the little flakes which\nwere fluttering down on it.\n\nThe Prince was overjoyed but he hesitated.\n\n\"I fear,\" he said, \"that in reality you should rather thank the poor\nlittle bird, or most of all your own kind heart.\"\n\n\"Poor little bird,\" she replied, looking at it as it lay in her other\nhand.\n\n\"It is not dead. I will do all I can for it. Let us hasten home, Prince,\nso that I may bind up its poor wing. My father and mother will be too\nanxious about me.\"\n\nAnd together they returned to the palace. One glance at the Princess as\nshe came in sprinkled over with snow showed the Queen that the spell was\nat last broken and her joy was past all words.\n\nThe little bird spent all the winter in the palace, tenderly cared for\nby the Princess Rose, only flying away when the warm sunny days\nreturned. He pays them a visit still every summer to show his gratitude,\nand in all his travels he seldom sees a happier family than his friends\nin the old palace away up in the far, far, northern land.\n\n\n\n\n                               MIDSUMMER\n\n\n                Around this lovely valley rise\n                The purple hills of Paradise.\n\n                Oh, softly on yon banks of haze,\n                Her rosy face the Summer lays!\n\n                Becalmed along the azure sky\n                The argosies of cloudland lie,\n                Whose shores, with many a shining rift,\n                Far off their pearl-white peaks uplift.\n                Through all the long midsummer day\n                The meadow-sides are sweet with hay.\n\n                                               JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE.\n\n\n\n\n                              SUMMER SKIES\n\n    There comes the morning with the golden basket in her right hand\n    Bearing the wreath of beauty silently to crown the earth.\n    And there comes the evening over the lonely meadows\n    Deserted by herds, through trackless paths\n    Carrying cool draughts of peace in her golden pitcher\n    From the Western ocean of rest.\n\n                                                    RABINDRANATH TAGORE.\n\n             Day!\n             Faster and more fast,\n             O'er night's brim day boils at last;\n             Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim\n             Where spurting and suppressed it lay;\n             For not a froth-flake touched the rim\n             Of yonder gap in the solid gray\n             Of the eastern cloud, an hour away;\n             But forth one wavelet, then another, curled,\n             Till the whole sunrise, not to be suppressed,\n             Rose, reddened, and its seething breast\n             Flickered in bounds, grew gold, then\n             Overflowed the world.\n\n                                                        ROBERT BROWNING.\n\n\n\n\n                       HOW THE SUN WAS CAUGHT AND\n                                 FREED\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived a little Indian boy who was very proud of\nhis beautiful coat. His sister had made it for him out of the skins of\nten snow-birds. Carefully she had dried these skins, stretched them, and\npieced them into a soft, warm garment. The lad was so fond of his coat\nthat he wore it whenever he left the wigwam, no matter how warm the sun\nshone.\n\nOne morning the Indian lad took a long walk and becoming very tired he\nthrew himself down on a grassy hillside to rest, and fell sound asleep.\n\n\"Ha! ha! ha!\" laughed the Sun when he saw the boy wrapped in a bird-skin\ncoat in summer time. \"I must give this lad a hint that the snow and ice\nare gone and it is time to lay aside winter coverings.\"\n\nWith all his warm might the Sun shone on the sleeping lad. Gradually the\nfeathers of his coat curled up and became singed and brown, and the\ngarment shrank to a very small size.\n\n\"Ha! ha! ha!\" laughed the Sun.\n\nWhen the Indian lad awoke he wondered what had happened to him for he\nfelt as if he were caught in a trap. He sprang to his feet and\ndiscovered that his beautiful coat had shrunk until it was entirely too\nsmall for him.\n\n\"It is ruined,\" he cried aloud. \"Ruined by that monster Sun. He shall\nnot play such tricks on me and escape without punishment.\" Then, shaking\nhis fist in the Sun's face, he shouted, \"I'll make you pay for ruining\nmy beautiful bird-skin coat.\"\n\n\"Ha! ha! ha!\" laughed the Sun.\n\nThe Indian lad ran back to the wigwam as fast as he could, carrying the\ngarment in his hands.\n\n\"See what has happened!\" he cried to his sister. \"That vicious Sun\nshrank my beautiful coat while I was asleep on the hillside. I can never\nwear it again.\"\n\n\"Perhaps I can stretch it for you,\" said his sister.\n\n\"No, no! See, the feathers are singed and brown. It is ruined!\"\n\nHe was so sorely vexed that he could neither eat nor sleep. For twenty\ndays he fasted in the wigwam and wondered how he could call the\nmischievous Sun to account for spoiling the bird-skin coat.\n\nOne morning he sprang up and said to his sister, \"I have thought out a\nway to punish the Sun. In his high path across the sky he thinks he is\nsafe from a little lad like me, but I'll show him what I can do if you\nwill help me.\"\n\n\"Tell me your plan,\" said the sister, wondering how any mortal could\npunish the mighty Sun.\n\n\"I'll set a snare for him and catch him!\" cried her brother excitedly.\n\"I want the strongest cord you can find.\"\n\n\"I've plenty of dried moose-hide; will that be strong enough?\" she\nasked.\n\n\"No, no! That would never hold the Sun,\" said the boy.\n\nHis sister thought a while and then said, \"I have dried sinew of deer.\"\n\nBut still her brother shook his head. \"The Sun is a mighty quarry. I\nmust have something stronger than the sinew of the deer.\"\n\n\"Then I must search in the deep woods,\" said his sister.\n\nShe left the wigwam and for nine days she searched through the forest.\nAt last she returned with a twisted cord which she had made from the\nstrongest wood fiber. As soon as her brother saw it he knew what to do.\nHe drew the twisted fiber through his lips and immediately it became so\nfine and strong that he believed nothing could break it. Round and round\nhis body the lad wound this cord; at one end of it he fashioned a noose.\n\nConfident that he was now prepared to snare the Sun, the lad left the\nwigwam long before daybreak. He walked to the spot where the Sun first\npeeps over the rim of the earth, and there he securely fixed the noose.\nThen as he walked back to the lodge he unwound from his body the cord,\nand held fast to the end of it.\n\nThe Sun was caught in this snare! His shining head was held tight in the\nnoose and he could not travel across his Sky-Path. A strange dull light\nfilled the air.\n\nIn his wigwam the Indian lad was delighted. He danced about joyously and\nsaid, \"The mighty Sun will learn that he cannot play a trick on me and\nescape without punishment.\"\n\nBut while the Indian lad laughed and sang because he had caught the Sun\nin his noose the Animals were in deep trouble for there was no daylight\nin the world. They walked cautiously about, filled with fear and wonder.\n\n\"What has happened to the Sun? Has he strayed from his Sky-Path?\" they\nwhispered to each other.\n\nAfter a while they discovered that the Sun was caught in a great noose\nand they called a Council in order to decide what to do.\n\n\"Of course we must free the Sun,\" said all the Animals, but when one of\nthem asked how this could be done there was silence in the Council for a\nlong time, because all the Animals knew about the Sun's great heat and\nfeared to go near enough to break the cord.\n\nAt last the mole said, \"I'll free the Sun. I'm not afraid. My teeth are\nvery sharp and I'm sure they can gnaw through the cord of the noose.\"\n\nAccordingly she crept near to the edge of the earth where the Sun was\nheld fast. The heat was intense but the mole was determined not to give\nup her undertaking. She gnawed and gnawed, until the cord was cut in\ntwo. Then up into the sky sprang the Sun with a mighty bound. Before the\nMole could run away, however, the Sun's white light shone full in her\neyes, and from that day she has not been able to see very well. Her eyes\nare extremely small and are almost hidden by fur. That is why she lives\nin dark places and seldom comes out into the sunlight. But the Animals\nare all grateful to her and they often say, \"It was the brave Mole who\ncut the Indian boy's noose which held the Sun.\"\n\n\n\n\n                           A DAY OF SUNSHINE\n\n\n                  O gift of God! O perfect day!\n                  Whereon shall no man work, but play;\n                  Whereon it is enough for me,\n                  Not to be doing, but to be.\n\n                  I hear the wind among the trees\n                  Playing celestial symphonies;\n                  I see the branches downward bent,\n                  Like keys of some great instrument.\n\n                  And over me unrolls on high\n                  The splendid scenery of the sky,\n                  Where through a sapphire sea the sun\n                  Sails like a golden galleon.\n\n                                             HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.\n\n\n\n\n                   PHAETON'S DRIVE IN THE SUN-CHARIOT\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived in sunny Greece a lad named Phaeton. He was\na son of Clymene, an ocean nymph, and Apollo, the god of the sun.\n\nOne morning when the lad was playing with some of his companions he\nsaid, \"It is my father who drives the glorious sun-car across the sky,\nand brings daylight into the world. I am the son of bright Apollo.\"\n\nNow this was by no means the first time that Phaeton had boasted about\nhis high lineage, for he was indeed very proud of his father. He was\nmuch surprised, however, to hear his playmates laugh. One of them looked\nscornfully at him and said, \"You are telling us an idle tale. We do not\nbelieve that you are a child of the mighty Sun.\"\n\nAnother added quickly, \"Why don't you prove your boast? If you are the\nson of Apollo give some sign of your heavenly birth.\"\n\nIndignant at these taunts Phaeton sought his mother and told her about\nthe jeering insults he had been obliged to bear.\n\n\"They refuse to believe what I say until I offer proof,\" he cried. \"Let\nme go to the palace of the sun and speak to my father. He will advise me\nhow to prove my claim.\"\n\nClymene hesitated to grant this request because she knew the proposed\njourney was attended by many dangers; but finally she gave consent and\ncarefully directed Phaeton to the abode of Apollo.\n\nIn the far east stood the shining sun palace wrought from burnished\ngold, bright silver, and polished ivory. The walls, marvellously\ndesigned, were thickly set in emeralds, rubies, sapphires and diamonds;\nthe slender jewelled pinnacles shone with dazzling light.\n\nPhaeton was awed by the splendour which he saw but he entered the palace\nand approached the sun god who sat on a glittering throne. Immediately\nApollo greeted his son and asked what favour he sought. Encouraged by\nthe question Phaeton lost all trace of fear and said, \"O, Light of the\nWorld, the children of men declare that I am not the son of Apollo. They\nsneer at me and say that my claim is nothing but an idle boast. Grant me\nsome means of proving to them that I am indeed a child of the mighty\nSun.\"\n\nApollo laid aside the beams that shone on his brow, bade Phaeton come\nnearer to him, and said, \"Thou art indeed my son. By the mighty river\nStyx I promise to grant thee any boon thou shalt ask.\"\n\nEagerly Phaeton replied, \"For one day let me drive the sun-chariot\nacross the sky. No one will ever again deny my high lineage if Apollo\ngrant me this boon.\"\n\nThe sun-god immediately saw what a rash promise he had made. Three times\nhe shook his bright head and then replied, \"I beg thee, Phaeton, choose\nanother boon for none but Phoebus Apollo can drive the horses of the\nsun-chariot. The path through high heaven is beset with dangers. First\nthe steeds must climb the steep ascent of the eastern sky; then they\nmust be guided through the middle way which is a dizzy height above\nearth and sea; and last of all, their path lies down the dangerous slope\nof the west. Also frightful monsters must be passed on the road through\nthe sky. I beg thee choose another boon. This one may bring thee\npunishment instead of glory.\"\n\nBut Phaeton was not dissuaded, and finally Apollo led the headstrong\nyouth to the place where the fire-breathing horses and brilliant chariot\nstood. The axle-tree, poles, and wheel-rims were gold; the spokes,\nsilver. The body of the car was thickly set with chrysolites and\ndiamonds which reflected the sun's brilliance. While Phaeton gazed\nadmiringly at all this beauty, Aurora the goddess of the Dawn threw open\nthe purple doors of the East and pointed to the pathway strewn with\nroses. The Stars quickly withdrew and when the sun god saw the Moon make\nready to depart he swiftly ordered the Hours to harness up the horses.\nThen Apollo quickly bound the Sun's rays on the impatient lad's brow and\nanointed his face with a cooling essence to protect his skin from the\nburning flames.\n\nPhaeton leaped into the car, seized the reins, stood erect, and thanked\nApollo for the great privilege of driving the chariot. In his eager\nhaste to start the youth failed to note his father's words of warning.\n\"Hold the reins firmly and be sparing of the whip. The steeds need no\nurging; the labour is to hold them in check. Do not drive too high for\nfear of burning the heavens; nor too low, or the earth will be set on\nfire. Keep in the well-worn ruts of the middle path. The time to start\nhas come, for Night is passing out of the Western gates. Heed carefully\nmy words in this hazardous journey.\"\n\nWith an impatient bound the fire-breathing steeds sprang forth. They\ndashed lightly over the clouds and outran the morning breezes in their\neagerness to mount the eastern slope of the sky. In a little while they\ndiscovered that the car was lighter than usual, and that the sun-god was\nnot holding the reins. Then they plunged madly forward and turned aside\nfrom the middle track. This headlong speed of the horses filled\nPhaeton's heart with terror, especially when he realized he had no power\nto guide them. He forgot the names of the horses; in despair he was\nobliged to let them take their own course. Nearer and nearer to the\nearth's broad plains dashed the chariot of the sun. The fountains and\nrivers were dried up by the scorching heat; the forest trees became\nwithered and burned; the grassy hillsides, parched and brown; the\nharvest fields were set on fire, even the people of the land over which\nthe sun chariot passed were blackened by the extreme heat, and to this\nday their descendants have dark skins.\n\nIn a loud cry of agony the people called on Jupiter, king of the gods,\nto save them from destruction. The all-powerful one aroused himself from\na deep sleep and saw, at a glance, the cause of this terrible suffering.\nAngered at the thought that a youth should dare drive the horses of the\nsun, Jupiter hurled one of his deadliest thunderbolts at the unfortunate\nPhaeton, who fell from the chariot like a shooting star and sank into\nthe depths of the river Eradinus.\n\nClymene deeply mourned her son's death, and Phaeton's three sisters\nbewailed his loss for many days. Finally the gods, in pity, changed them\ninto poplar trees, in order that they might always be near the river\ninto which Phaeton fell.\n\n\n\n\n                                  SONG\n\n\n              Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,\n                And Phoebus 'gins arise,\n              His steeds to water at those springs\n                On chaliced flowers that lies;\n              And winking Mary-buds begin\n                To ope their golden eyes:\n              With everything that pretty is,\n                My lady sweet, arise.\n\n                                                    WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.\n\n\n\n\n                               SUMMER SUN\n\n\n               Great is the sun, and wide he goes\n               Through empty heaven without repose,\n               And in the blue and glowing days\n               More thick than rain he showers his rays.\n\n               Though closer still the blinds we pull\n               To keep the shady parlour cool,\n               Yet he will find a chink or two\n               To slip his golden fingers through.\n\n               The dusty attic, spider-clad,\n               He, through the keyhole maketh glad;\n               And through the broken edge of tiles,\n               Into the laddered hayloft smiles.\n\n               Meantime his golden face around\n               He bares to all the garden ground,\n               And sheds a warm and glittering look\n               Among the ivy's inmost nook.\n\n               Above the hills, along the blue,\n               Round the bright air with footing true,\n               To please the child, to paint the rose,\n               The gardener of the World, he goes.\n\n                                                 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.\n\n\n\n\n                               THE CLOUD\n\n                             ROBERT REINECK\n\n\nOne hot summer morning a little cloud rose out of the sea, and floated\nplayfully across the blue sky. The dreary brown earth, parched with a\nlong drouth, lay far below. The little cloud looked down and saw the\npoor people toiling away with heavy hearts, while she, carefree and\nhappy, floated along on the fresh morning breeze.\n\nShe said to herself, \"Oh, how much I wish I could help the poor people\ndown there. If I could but lighten their work, or refresh them with food\nand drink!\"\n\nAs the day passed and the cloud grew larger, the wish to help the\nsuffering people filled her heart.\n\nOn earth it grew hotter and hotter, and the people were fainting with\nheat, but they could not stop their work, for they were very poor.\nSometimes they looked pleadingly up into the sky. It seemed as if they\nwere saying to the cloud: \"Oh, if you could but help us!\"\n\n\"I will help you! I will, indeed!\" said the cloud, and she began\nimmediately to sink softly toward the earth.\n\nAs she floated down she suddenly remembered something which she had\nheard when she was a tiny child, rocked in the lap of Mother Ocean.\nSomeone had told her that clouds die if they float too near the earth.\n\nFor a moment she wavered in her thought and drifted to and fro. But at\nlast she stood still and spoke bravely and cheerfully, \"Men of the\nearth, I will help you, come what may.\"\n\nSuddenly she grew large, and strong and powerful. Never before had she\ndreamed herself capable of such strength. Like an angel of blessing she\nstood above the earth, lifted her head, and spread her wings far over\nthe broad fields.\n\nSo great and mighty she appeared that men and beasts marvelled at the\nsight; the trees, grass, and flowers bowed their heads before her, but\nin their hearts they knew she would help them.\n\n\"Yes, I will help you,\" cried the cloud once more. \"Take me to\nyourselves! I die for you!\"\n\nA mighty purpose filled the cloud's heart, and a holy light shone from\nher face. She sank nearer to the earth. The next moment a blessed shower\nof rain refreshed the hills and valleys.\n\nThe rain was the cloud's deed; the rain was the cloud's death; but\nthrough her death she was glorified.\n\nAfter the shower was over, a lovely rainbow, made of the purest rays of\nheavenly light, arched across the sky. It was the last greeting of a\nlove so great that it could serve.\n\nSoon the rainbow, too, disappeared, but the memory of the blessing which\nthe shower had brought to the earth was kept in the hearts of men for\nmany years to come.\n\n\n\n\n                                 UNDINE\n\n                          EDWARD ABBOTT PARRY\n\n\nOnce upon a time there was a child wave named Undine. \"Undine the\nBeautiful,\" they called her, because, when she was quite a little\nripple, she sparkled more brilliantly than any of her thousand brothers\nand sisters, and not one of them was so crystal clear or dressed in such\nwonderful shades of sapphire blue and emerald green. She was born at the\nmouth of a white limestone rock cave on the coast of Devonshire. The\nfourteenth of August was her birthday. Never had there been such a\nlovely little ripple as Undine. The old Tide let her run up and down on\nhis back when he came into the bay where she lived. She kept close by\nthe cave for a time, and grew big and strong, and became first a billow\nand then a wavelet; but when a month had passed she was a full-grown\nwave\u2014only a small one, of course, but still a wave.\n\nHer father was a well known Devonshire coast wave, a jolly compact old\nsea salt roller, with a great thatch of creamy foam on his head. He ran\nup and down the coast and out to sea in a lazy, aimless kind of way,\nplaying with the fishing smacks and rolling over the porpoises.\n\nHe had a kindly look and was a friendly fellow as a rule, but could be\nas cruel and fierce as the worst of them, when he was roused. Old\nLobster-Pot they called him, because he loved, when he could, to dive\ndown and wash the lobsters out of their baskets, and then come and dance\nround the fishermen's boats in the morning when they pulled them up, and\nlaugh at them when they found all their hard work had been for nothing.\n\nUndine's mother was a tall, graceful wave with a beautiful green breast,\non which she rested her white surge head proudly like a royal swan. Her\nname was Mora. She thought it vulgar to play with the lobster-pots, and\nwhen her children were old enough she took them across the sea to stay\nat the French seaside towns for the bathing season. She liked to hear\nthe people on the pier cry out, \"Oh! look at that lovely wave!\" as she\nheld back her glorious head and rushed through the girders of the pier,\nsplashing and sparkling in the sun, and followed by her merry family\ntumbling headlong after her.\n\nLittle Undine saw nothing of her mother and father during the first\nmonths of her life. She never went outside the bay, but rippled up and\ndown in front of a large cave, diving under the ruddy golden seaweed to\nlook at the quiet sea anemones. They were wonderful fellows, she\nthought. Even the youngest of them could sit still for hours. You never\nsaw sea anemones fidgeting about, and as for turning head over heels,\nthey do not even think of it. But Undine was a restless young thing,\nfull of life and spirits, never still for a moment; and the sea anemones\nloved her, for she was always gentle and kind to them. Ah! those were\nhappy times!\n\nThe old waves like to go voyaging about and to see something of the wide\nworld, so they are sensible enough to pack their children off to school\nas soon as they are born. The ripples have a class to themselves. They\nare taught to walk in rows, and each one learns to keep his place. You\ncannot teach a ripple much more than that, but that is something. There\nwas a wave school in the bay in which Undine lived. The Zephyr taught\nthe ripple class. They went every morning at sunrise, and had drill in a\npool behind the rocks. It was a pretty sight. The sea anemones, red and\nwhite, opened out on the rocks to look on, lazy star-fishes stretched\nthemselves upon the sands and laughed when the little ripples tried to\nmove them higher up the beach, even those snarly little periwinkles\npeeped out of their black shells to see what was going on, and the old\nhermit crab, grumbling all the while at being roused up so early, sat at\nthe door of his shell, and beat time to the marching with one of his\nclaws.\n\n\"One, two, three, four,\" said the gentle Zephyr. \"Heads up! Keep your\nplace! Let the little ripples have plenty of room. Now, Undine, dear,\nthrow your shadow well forward.\"\n\nWhen the morning drill was done, the Zephyr used to say to the ripples,\n\"Now you shall have a holiday; go and play together. Love one another.\nBe as good as you can. Be kind to all the world, and you will be happy.\"\nThen she kissed them all lightly, and flew away across the yellow sand\nand the heather-covered rocks, and they saw her no more until next\nmorning. But they could hear her singing on the cliff one of those songs\nabout the waves she loved so well, and when the chorus came they would\njoin in, for she had taught it to them in the class, and it went this\nway:\n\n                    Oh, children may be naughty\n                    And monkeys may be bad,\n                    Young fishes, too, will often do\n                    What makes their teacher sad.\n                    Did we expect them to behave,\n                    We should expect too much,\n                    But a ripple is a little wave\n                    And should behave as such,\n                        Yes, must behave as such.\n\nAh! the Zephyr was a kind teacher, and took such pains with the little\nripples in her class, that in a week they were ready to go into the\nUpper School.\n\nThey had good playtimes, too. The old Tide let them play sea-horses on\nhis back. Then there was \"Hide and Seek\" round the rocks, \"Hunt the\nCockle,\" and \"Ripple-Chivy.\" It is no use telling you how to play those\ngames, for children cannot play them.\n\nOne of their favourite sports was to race up the sand and see who could\nget farthest; Undine was very clever at that game. One day when they\nwere doing this, a little boy and his elder sister were paddling in the\nwater, sailing a boat. He was a bonny, little fellow, about four years\nold, and when Undine came running up the sand, rocking his toy boat and\nsplashing the sails, he clapped his hands and cried out, \"Look at that\ngreat, big, lovely wave!\"\n\nUndine could not help laughing at the little fellow's glee, but she\nliked to be called a big wave.\n\nAt that moment a nasty, rough ripple who was quite big enough for the\nbillow class\u2014came rushing along, and the little boy got in his way and\nspoiled his run up the sand.\n\n\"Knock him over!\" shouted a lot of the bigger ripples. \"He is spoiling\nthe game!\"\n\n\"Leave him alone,\" cried Undine, as she floated gracefully back again.\n\nBut several of the bigger ripples rushed up at the same time, and,\nknocking over the little fellow, rolled him in the wet.\n\n\"Undine! Undine!\" he called out in his terror, as they tumbled over him.\n\nUndine rushed back to help him, but she was not strong enough. He knew\nnothing of Undine, the ripple. It was his sister, who was also named\nUndine, for whom he was calling; and she had run into the water at his\nfirst cry, and, picking him up in her arms, had carried him out onto the\ndry sand. But the nasty, little ripples had now caught hold of his boat,\nand were pushing it out to sea.\n\n\"Undine, Undine,\" sobbed the little chap; \"I want my boat, I want my\nboat!\"\n\nHis sister could not reach it, and the two stood, hand-in-hand, helpless\non the beach, while the little boat drifted away. Bravely did our\nUndine, when she heard the call, dash forward to do battle with the\nnaughty little ripples, who called out angrily, \"Shut up! Wash it out to\nsea! Swamp it! He was spoiling our game.\"\n\nThey were too strong for poor Undine, and would have destroyed the\nlittle boat, or washed it away, had not the kind Zephyr, hearing all the\nnoise, swept down from the cliffs, filled the sails of the toy boat and\nwafted it to shore. After this she blew the naughty little ripples away,\nand they went into rock pools and sulked by themselves.\n\nWhen the Zephyr had returned to the cliffs the big, rough ripple who had\nknocked over the little boy cried out fiercely: \"When I am a wave I\nshall kill all the boys I can and swamp their boats. That is what my big\nbrother is taught to do, and he is a wave and goes out to sea.\"\n\nThe Zephyr often heard this sort of talk among the ripples, and when\nUndine asked her why they said these things, she kissed her gently and\ntold her not to be angry even with the ripples, who did not know what\nthey were saying, and begged her when she grew up to be kind and good to\neveryone, for then she would be happy.\n\nHowever, she was not altogether happy just at first, for the other\nripples were not at all pleased with her, and would not speak to her.\nThe little boy was carried off the beach by his sister, so Undine was\nleft all alone, and hid herself under some dark brown seaweed in the\ncleft of a rock and cried herself to sleep, when she dreamed that the\npretty little boy was a beautiful wave, and was dancing with her,\nhand-in-hand, over the wide ocean.\n\nThe next day she was moved into the billow class. The Master was the\nSouth Wind. He had just come home from college. He taught them cresting\nand breaking on rocks. He was a bright, clever fellow, but he told them\nnothing about being good and kind as the Zephyr had done. After a week\nin the billow class, Undine and several of her young friends were moved\nup into the wavelet class. This was taught by a young wave, and here\nthey learned rushing, leaping, rolling, and marching in open order. The\nyoung wave told them exciting stories of wrecks and drowning men, and\nrepeated to them all that nonsense about Britannia wanting to rule the\nwaves, and insisted on the duty of all good waves to go about fighting\nmen, and killing as many as possible. This he called \"Patriotism,\" and\nUndine listened to his eloquent stories until she had nearly forgotten\nall that the kind Zephyr had tried to teach her. But the fierce young\nwave could not change Undine's real nature, and she remained, at heart,\na kind and gentle wave. Outwardly she grew tall and strong, and her\nmother and father and all her brothers and sisters still called her\n\"Undine The Beautiful.\"\n\nAt the end of a month she passed all her examinations, and was a\nfirst-class wave ready to go to sea. That was a great day when they all\nleft school. Old Lobster Pot and his good wife Mora came to fetch them\naway. The South Wind made an oration in Latin about the duty of waves to\nfight for their country.\n\nIt began, _Anna virumque cano_, and old Lobster Pot said it was very\noriginal and clever. The Zephyr sighed to see all these young waves,\nfull of bright hope and eager fancies, passing out of the quiet bay into\nthe open Channel and the wide world.\n\nThey sailed along in open order among the fishing boats, and yachts, and\nsteamers. The nasty, rough ripple that had knocked down the little boy,\nand tried to steal his boat, had grown into a handsome big wave. Surger,\nthey called him, because of his handsome head and fine flowing surge\nwhen he broke over the sand banks. He was very fond of Undine now, and\nkept close to her, as they sailed up the channel. It was a glorious day.\nThe sun shone brightly, the gulls swooped down and floated for a few\nmoments on Undine's shoulders, and then soared away down the breeze. The\nboats leaped merrily in front of them.\n\n\"Shall we see any wrecks to-day?\" asked Undine.\n\n\"I hope so,\" shouted Surger; and he shook his curly white head, and shot\nin front of Undine, who could not help admiring his handsome presence.\n\n\"Wrecks! Nonsense!\" growled out old Lobster Pot from behind. \"These are\nthe holidays, and we are going to picnic up the river.\"\n\nThen they turned aside from the channel and went past a castle on a high\nrock, underneath steep cliffs, across wide mudbanks, lifting up the\nboats which were lying asleep among the damp seaweed. Some of the\nwaves\u2014lazy old fellows these\u2014went off into the harbour for a quiet\nsnooze, others ran up the river into long creeks, forcing their way\nroughly among the quiet country streams. Old Lobster Pot and his wife\nwent straight along the big river. There Undine saw many strange sights.\nTrees and flowers, horses and carts, men, women, and children; but not\none among them so beautiful, to her thinking, as the little blue-eyed\nboy she had tried to rescue from the naughty ripples. There, too, along\nthe banks of the river, she saw wide, waving fields of green turning to\ngold, which rustled in the breeze, and she shouted to them to join her;\nfor she felt so happy herself she wanted everyone else to be happy, too.\nBut they did not understand her language, so they made no answer; for\nthey were only wheatfields.\n\nAt last they came to a big city, and ran between high walls of white\nstone, and saw tall buildings and the big towers of the cathedral, and\nhere and there were crowds of people. \"Oh! oh!\" cried Undine and Surger\ntogether, \"this is beautiful.\" The cathedral clock chimed four. Old\nLobster Pot shook his head and called out the order for return.\n\n\"Time is up,\" he said; \"we must be moving down again now, or the river\nwill be on to us.\"\n\nSurger laughed and cried out, \"I will run another mile before I return,\nanyhow;\" and he rushed up through the city with new force.\n\nUndine followed him, but now she felt a faint, weary feeling coming over\nher. Her beauty was going, and her lovely colours changing to a gray,\ninky hue. The river was forcing its way down against them, and she and\nSurger were soon glad to follow old Lobster Pot down the river again.\nBack they went, past the fields, and soon they felt the pure sea breeze,\nand lent a hand to swing the huge ships round at their moorings under\nthe cliffs. They were glad enough to escape from the dull, cold river\nthat was rushing after them, and sweep round the headland into the good\nsalt sea, where they could feel alive again, free and joyous, and afraid\nof no one in their own country.\n\nMany a time did they run up rivers like that, and Undine looked out for\nthe little blue-eyed boy; but she never saw him. Sometimes they went out\nto the wide ocean, or visited the coast towns with Mora, and splashed\nthe ladies bathing, and made them scream and laugh. Always Undine was\nlooking for her little friend, but she never saw him. Many were the\njourneys she made, and wonderful were the sights she saw; indeed, one\ncould fill a book with all that Undine did and saw when she grew up and\nbecame a wave.\n\nIt was now October, and had been wonderfully warm, close weather for the\ntime of the year. The waves were rolling lazily about out at sea some\nthree miles from the land. They arched their huge backs and pressed\nsilently after each other, doing \"Serpent drill,\" as they called it, and\nweary work it was. The little waves were slapping at each other angrily,\nfor no better reason than that they had been told not to, but had\nnothing else to do. They all seemed uneasy and troubled, yet Undine\ncould not have told you why she felt in such a strange condition of\npent-up excitement. A rumour ran round that there was to be a Storm War\nthat evening, and almost before they had begun to discuss whether this\nwas likely to be true, the clouds lowered, the sky grew black and\ndismal, the wind trumpeted out shouts of battle, huge waves bigger than\nold Lobster Pot rushed up the channel in answer to the summons, and the\nwhole sea was one seething angry mass of cruel waves bent on\ndestruction.\n\nNow the great battalions of the Sea Wolves, as they call their fiercest\nfighting waves, came thundering up from the Atlantic, breaking all\nbefore them. Undine had never seen such wild, handsome fellows before.\nEveryone joined them, and soon the sea was nothing but a reckless mob of\nmadly enraged waves, moaning and wailing horribly in a frenzy of rage.\nDown came the sleet and hail in sharp volleys, as though from a battery\nof artillery, which had taken up its position behind the thick clouds. A\nsolitary storm bird was driven before the wet rushing wind, with stiff\nwings and bent claws, squealing miserably, as though to warn the vessels\nof their doom.\n\nIf you have not been a wave, you cannot understand the wild feeling that\nseizes you when the Storm War begins. Even gentle Undine quivered with\nrage, and sought about for something to destroy. As for Surger, he was\nleaping about and yelling like a mad thing.\n\nThe fishing smacks had hauled up their nets, or cut them adrift, and\nwere speeding for the shore. Some few smaller boats had made for the\nbeach earlier, suspecting danger. Old Lobster Pot hurried round among\nhis family, giving orders in loud tones of command.\n\n\"There's for you,\" he shouted to Undine and Surger, as a small open boat\nwith a single lug sail rushed through the surf. \"He will be making for\nthe little bay by the cave. Away with you! Drive him on to the rocks!\"\n\nA solitary man half-sat and half-stood in the stern of the boat, his\nback to the tiller, the end of the sheet in his hand. It was passed\nsecurely round a pin near to him. He stooped down to cover up with a\nspare sail two little children, girl and boy, who were lying frightened\nat the bottom of the boat. Then he set his teeth, and stared through the\nblinding hail into the gathering darkness, to find the opening into the\nlittle bay.\n\nUndine and Surger rushed on to the slender little vessel with all their\nforce. The man skilfully made way for them, and they passed under the\nkeel of the boat, doing no harm. The wind howled and shrieked at them\nfor their failure, and caught the boat with all its might, driving it\npast the two waves and nearer to the rocks. Then Undine and Surger raced\non alongside the little boat until it neared the opening to the bay, and\nas the man tried to turn her into the safe harbour, the wind made a\nterrible effort, and the two waves, leaping together at the side of the\nboat, crashed her into the rocks.\n\nIn a moment the man had thrown back the sail and seized, from the bottom\nof the boat, the two children, who were lying hidden under the sail.\nThey were the little blue-eyed boy and his sister, Undine. Bravely he\nstruggled with them across the rocks and through the surf to gain the\nbeach. Surger and Undine were after him, for in her rage and fury she\nhad not seen that it was the little blue-eyed boy. Mora and Old Lobster\nPot, with many other big waves, seeing what had happened, were rushing\nacross the sea towards the bay, for fear Surger and Undine should not be\nstrong enough to drown the man and his children. Happily they were too\nlate; for before they arrived, the man had gained the shore and pulled\nhimself up the slope of the beach, saving the girl in his arms, but\nSurger managed to knock the little boy out of his grasp, and was rolling\nhim down again into the sea to drown him. The man and the girl were too\nstunned and bruised to know whether they were saved or drowned. A\ncoastguard was running down the cliff, but he would have been too late\nto save the little boy, had not Undine heard him calling out in despair,\nas Surger dragged him underneath the waves, \"Undine! Undine! Save me!\nSave me!\"\n\nThe waters were falling on him, doing their best to choke him, when\nUndine heard the call, and for the first time since she had been a\nlittle ripple, remembered what the Zephyr had taught her of love and\npity. In a moment she had forgotten her anger, and the fierce commands\nof Old Lobster Pot, and the battle shouts of the Storm War; she thought\nonly of the beautiful little blue-eyed boy, who was being dragged under\nthe water and drowned. She rushed past Surger, who tried his best to\nstop her, and, heedless of the shouts of Old Lobster Pot and Mora, who\nyelled out, \"Kill him! Drown him!\" and caring nothing for all the rage\nand raving of the mad waves that pressed round her, she caught up the\nlittle boy on her breast, and with all her might threw him on to the\nsoft sand, just as the coastguard reached the edge of the sea, and was\nthere to pull him out.\n\nThen, half ashamed and half overjoyed at what she had done, she turned\nback and fled away out to sea. And there arose such a yell and a shout\nfrom the assembled waves, mingled with the groaning and howling of angry\nwind, that she sped on in the wildest terror like a hunted hare. And all\nthe waves of the sea, full of rage that one of their number should turn\ntraitor and coward and save a mortal man in a time of Storm War\u2014gathered\ntogether and chased after her.\n\nAway she went down the Channel, across the Bay of Biscay, round Cape\nFinisterre, and through the gates of Gibraltar into the warm\nMediterranean; and after her in hot pursuit raced a surging crowd of\nfierce and angry waves. But they were not to punish her for her brave\ndeed, for there, near the warm shores of Sicily, they say she met the\ngood Zephyr, who saved her from her pursuers, taking her into her arms\nand changing her into a beautiful cloud.\n\nAnd the glorious Sun heard the story of Undine, and was so pleased with\nwhat she had done that he made her one of his special evening attendants\nand gave her a splendid robe of amber and gold. And if you look in the\nsky when the sun is setting in the sea, you may see Undine even to this\nday, a beautiful golden cloud gazing lovingly down at the world she used\nto live in.\n\n\n\n\n                      LEGEND OF THE SUN, MOON, AND\n                                 STARS\n\n                              (WYANDOTTE)\n\n\nThere was a time when the Indians called the Little Turtle, the Keeper\nof the Heavens. That was when the Indians thought the earth was a Great\nIsland, which rested upon the Big Turtle's back. It came about in this\nway. When the Great Island was first made there were no Sun and no Moon\nand no Stars. In order to know what to do the old Turtle called a\nmeeting of all the animals. When they had all gathered together the old\nTurtle told them that there was no light. After a long discussion as to\nwhat could be done to mend matters the animals grew weary and were about\nto go home and let the Great Island continue in darkness, when the\nLittle Turtle spoke up and said: \"If I were able to climb into the sky I\ncould gather some of the lightning and make light.\"\n\n\"Go,\" said Big Turtle. \"It will do no harm to try.\"\n\nNow the Little Turtle had very great powers for, as soon as he had made\nup his mind to go, a vast cloud full of thunder and lightning slowly\nrolled down toward the animals, and came so near that Little Turtle\nclimbed into it and was soon carried into the Sky.\n\nAs soon as Little Turtle arrived there he went around and gathered as\nmuch as he could of the lightning and kindled a great round flame, which\nstood still in the Sky. But it did not light all of the Great Island.\nThe Sun, as Little Turtle had made it, was not satisfactory, so another\nmeeting of all the animals was called. To this Council Little Turtle\ncame in the cloud.\n\nIt was decided to give the Sun life and spirit, so that he could run\nabout the Sky by day. Some animals were told to bore a hole through the\nearth so that the Sun could go through it and be back in the East by\nnight.\n\nThis the animals did. But the Sun sometimes loitered in this earth\npassage and too often the world was left in total darkness. Again the\nanimals were dissatisfied, and a third meeting was called to decide the\nbest plan and to scold the Sun for his neglect.\n\nTo this third meeting the Sun and the Little Turtle and all the other\nanimals came. They decided then and there that the Little Turtle should\nmake the Sun a wife, and that she should shine while he was going back\nto the East through the earth passage.\n\nThen the Little Turtle made the Moon, and gave her as a wife to the Sun.\nShe was smaller and not so powerful as he. You can see her in the Sky.\nThe Stars that run about the Sky are their many children.\n\nOne day the Moon ran into the earth passage earlier than she should have\ndone, and before the Sun himself had passed through. So offended was he\nthat he robbed her of all her heat and much of her light, and she was\nnever able to keep pace with him in the Sky.\n\nNot knowing why her light had grown dim, or what had become of her, the\nLittle Turtle went out to see what was the matter. He found the Moon\nlingering along the underground trail. There was just a little light and\nheat left to her, and barely a strip of her once glorious body\u2014just as\nmuch as one sees of the new Moon nowadays.\n\nLittle Turtle brought her out and tried to mend her. But it was of no\nuse. She would become better for a time and then relapse. Soon she would\nimprove again until she was almost as strong as ever she had been; then\nagain she would begin to fade away until at last only a tiny strip was\nleft of her, and she had almost no heat. And this trick of changing has\nbeen repeated many, many times. Indeed, to this day the Moon continually\nchanges her shape.\n\n\n\n\n                        THE PRINCESS MOONBEAM[1]\n\n                          MARY F. NIXON-ROULET\n\n\nA woodman once dwelt with his wife at the edge of the forest, under the\nshadow of the Honorable Mountain. The two were industrious and good, but\nthough they loved each other they were not happy. No children had come\nto bless them and this the wife mourned deeply. The husband pitied her\nand treated her very kindly, yet still she was sad. As she gazed upon\nthe snows of Fujiyama her heart swelled within her and she prostrated\nherself and said, \"Fuji no Yama, Honorable Mountain, my heart is heavy\nbecause no childish arms encircle my neck, no little head nestles in my\nbosom. From thy eternal purity send some little white soul to comfort\nme!\"\n\nFootnote 1:\n\n  From Nixon-Roulet's \"Japanese Folk Stories and Fairy Tales.\"\n  Copyright, 1908, by American Book Company, Publishers.\n\nThe Honorable Mountain spoke not; yet as she prayed, lo, from its\nheights there sparkled and glowed a tiny light. Fitful and gleaming it\nseemed, yet it had a silver radiance as of the moon.\n\nThe woodman's wife beheld it, and she called to her husband eagerly,\n\"Come hither, I pray you. See the strange light which comes from Fuji\nSan. I seem to see a face smiling at me. It is the face of a little\nchild.\"\n\nThen her husband smiled at her fancy, but, because he loved her so, he\nsaid, indulgently, \"I will go and see what it is.\"\n\n\"I thank you, my lord; go quickly!\" she replied.\n\nSo, quickly he went to the forest, and as he neared a mountain stream,\nwith Fuji gleaming cold and white in the moonlight, he saw the strange\nlight, which seemed to hover and rest upon the branches of a tall\nbamboo. Hastening thither he found there a moon child, a tiny, fragile,\nfairy thing, more beautiful than any child he had ever seen.\n\n\"Little creature,\" he said, \"who are you?\"\n\n\"My name is Princess Moonbeam,\" she answered sweetly. \"My mother is the\nMoon Lady, and she has sent me to Earth because every Moon Child must do\nsome good thing, else will its silvery light become pale and wan and be\nof no avail.\"\n\n\"Little Princess,\" he said eagerly, \"the best of good deeds is to\ncomfort a sad heart. Come home with me and be a child to my wife, who\nweeps for children. Thus will your beams grow bright.\"\n\n\"I will go with you,\" said the little Moonbeam, and, rejoicing greatly,\nhe bore her tenderly to his wife.\n\n\"I bring you a treasure,\" he said. \"The Moon Lady sends you this beam of\nlight to lighten your sad heart.\"\n\nThen was his wife much overjoyed and she took the little creature to her\nbosom and cared for her.\n\nLovelier grew the Moon Child every year and much she rejoiced the hearts\nof her foster parents. Her hair was like a golden aureole about her\nface. Her eyes were deep and tender, her cheeks were pale and delicate,\nand about her there was a subtle and unearthly charm. Every one loved\nher, even the emperor's son, who, hunting in the forest, saw her\nlighting up the humble cottage with her heavenly light. He loved her\ndearly and she loved him, but alas! she could not marry him, because her\nlife upon the earth could be but twenty years. Then she must return to\nher home in the moon, for so willed her mother the Moon Lady.\n\nAt last the day came when she must go. Her parents wept, and could not\nbe consoled; and her lover, who was now the emperor, could not keep her,\nalthough he besought High Heaven to spare her.\n\nHer mother caught her up in a silver moonbeam; and all the way to the\nmoon the little Princess wept silvery tears. As the tears fell from her\neyes, lo! they took wings and floated away looking for the form of the\nemperor who might see her no more.\n\nBut the silver-bright tears are seen to this day floating hither and yon\nabout the vales and marshes of fair Nippon. The children chase them with\nhappy cries, and say, \"See the fireflies! How fair they are! Whence came\nthey?\"\n\nThen their mothers relate to them the legend and say, \"These are the\ntears of the little Princess, flitting to seek her beloved\"; and over\nall, calm and eternal, smiles the Honorable Mountain.\n\n\n\n\n                                THE MOON\n\n\n           That orb\u00e8d maiden, with white fire laden,\n             Whom mortals call the moon,\n           Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,\n             By the midnight breezes strewn;\n           And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,\n             Which only the angels hear,\n           May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,\n             The stars peep behind her and peer;\n           And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,\n             Like a swarm of golden bees,\n           When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,\n             Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,\n           Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,\n             Are each paved with the moon and these.\n\n                                                   PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.\n\n\n\n\n                       THE SPACIOUS FIRMAMENT ON\n                                  HIGH\n\n\n               The spacious firmament on high,\n                 With all the blue ethereal sky,\n               And spangled heaven, a shining frame,\n                 Their great Original proclaim;\n               Th' unwearied sun, from day to day,\n                 Does his Creator's power display,\n               And publishes to every land\n                 The work of an Almighty hand.\n\n               Soon as the evening shades prevail,\n                 The moon takes up the wondrous tale,\n               And nightly to the listening earth\n                 Repeats the story of her birth;\n               While all the stars that round her burn,\n                 And all the planets in their turn,\n               Confirm the tidings as they roll,\n                 And spread the truth from pole to pole.\n\n               What though, in solemn silence, all\n                 Move round the dark terrestrial ball?\n               What though no _real_ voice or sound\n                 Amid their radiant orbs be found?\n               In _Reason's_ ear they all rejoice,\n                 And utter forth a glorious voice,\n               Forever singing, as they shine,\n                 \"_The Hand that made us is divine!_\"\n\n                                                         JOSEPH ADDISON.\n\n\n\n\n                        GREEN FIELDS AND MEADOWS\n                                  GAY\n\n\n\n\n                             NATURE'S SONG\n\n\n             There is no rhyme that is half so sweet\n             As the song of the wind in the rippling wheat;\n             There is no meter that is half so fine\n             As the lilt of the brook under rock and vine;\n             And the loveliest lyric I ever heard\n             Was the wildwood strain of a forest bird.\n\n                                                         MADISON CAWEIN.\n\n\n\n\n                            THE GIFT OF FLAX\n\n                             (NORSE LEGEND)\n\n\nIn a beautiful valley surrounded by mountains there once lived a\nshepherd with his wife and children. They were very poor, indeed, and\nwere obliged to work hard in order to earn the scantiest living.\n\nThe good wife was most helpful to her husband. She kept the cottage\nspotlessly clean, and mended the children's clothes with patient skill.\nEvery day the shepherd took his small flock of sheep to pasture on the\nside of a mountain, whose tall, white summit was hidden in the clouds.\nHe often carried a crossbow, and sometimes he brought home some mountain\ngame, which provided a fine meal for his family.\n\nOne day, while he was watching his sheep, he saw, a short distance above\nhim, a fine reindeer drinking from a pool in the basin of a rock. The\nshepherd seized his crossbow and took aim to shoot the quarry, but\nbefore he could speed an arrow, the deer scented danger and leaped away\nup the steep slope of the mountain-side. The shepherd pursued his game\nwith eager haste, climbing up the dangerous paths with a sureness of\nfoot which comes only to those whose lives are spent among the mountain\nfastnesses.\n\nIt grew bitterly cold as the shepherd pressed on and on, and he saw the\nglittering ice-fields near the mountain top.\n\n\"'Tis the most fleet-footed quarry I ever followed,\" said the hunter,\nstopping for a moment's rest. \"After this hard chase, I'm afraid I must\ngive up the game.\"\n\nSuddenly he saw the reindeer slacken pace, and walk into the entrance of\na cavern in the glacier.\n\n\"I'll make one more effort,\" said the tired hunter, climbing on until he\nreached the opening where the reindeer disappeared. In a few moments he\nreached a dark passage, at the end of which he saw glittering, coloured\nlights. His heart beat fast, but he walked on toward the brilliant\nopening.\n\nThe desire to see the lighted hall at the end of the passageway now took\npossession of the hunter and, strange to say, he forgot all about the\nquarry, which had led him to this marvelous place. When he reached the\nthreshold of the opening he was obliged to shade his eyes with both\nhands. Rainbow colours sparkled from the walls and ceiling, which were\nthickly set with precious stones. A floor of shining white marble added\nto the beauty of the place. The shepherd stood in silent wonder.\n\n\"Welcome to the Hall of Mists,\" said a queenly voice, but still he stood\ngazing from the entrance.\n\nThe queen repeated her words of welcome, and the shepherd walked humbly\nforward toward a beautiful woman, clothed in silvery white robes girdled\nwith gold. On her bright hair was a crown of jeweled blossoms. She held\na distaff in her right hand; in her left, a bunch of flowers the colour\nof the sky on a fair summer day. She was attended by many youthful\nmaidens, who stood back of the queen near jeweled spinning wheels.\n\nFilled with awe, the shepherd threw himself on his knees at the feet of\nthis Queen of the Air.\n\n\"Have no fear, my good man,\" she said in a gentle voice. \"Perseverance\nand courage led thee up a dangerous path, but thou hast not laboured in\nvain. Thou shalt be rewarded for thy dauntless chase. Choose anything\nthou wilt from my jeweled Hall of Mists.\"\n\nWithout hesitating a moment, the shepherd said, \"Gracious Queen, there\nis nothing in the world I should like to have so much as the flowers\nyour majesty holds.\"\n\nThe Queen of the Air smiled and put the blossoms into his hand. Then she\ntook up a measure of small seed, which stood near her, and said: \"Thou\nhast made a wise choice, my good man. Sow this seed in the field near\nyour cottage. Farewell.\"\n\nSuddenly a peal of thunder rang through the air, and the brilliant light\nin the Hall of Mists changed to total darkness. In a twinkling the\nbewildered man found himself once more upon the mountain-side not far\nfrom the spot where he had left his sheep grazing. At first he thought\nhe had been dreaming, but there in one hand he held a bunch of blue\nflowers; in the other, a measure of seed.\n\nHe hastened home, told the marvelous adventure to his wife, and showed\nher the blue flowers and the measure of seed. For awhile she listened in\nwide-eyed wonder, but when the shepherd said the Queen bade him choose\nanything he wished from the jeweled hall, the good wife said\nimpatiently: \"Do not tell me that you chose a bunch of flowers when you\nmight have had a precious stone! How could you be so foolish? One jewel\nwould have made us rich for life.\"\n\n\"Let us see what the seed will bring forth,\" answered her husband. \"I\nshall plant it to-morrow.\"\n\nAccordingly, the next day he plowed the ground and planted the seed. He\nwas amazed to find that the small measure held enough to sow a very\nlarge field. In a short time, tiny green shoots covered the ground. With\neager interest, the shepherd watched the little plants grow and burst\ninto blossoms exactly like those the Queen of the Air had given to him.\nIn a few weeks he saw the star-like blossoms wither and seeds begin to\nform and ripen. One night the shepherd dreamed he saw a beautiful woman,\nclothed in silver white, float over his field and bless the ripening\nstalks.\n\nThe next evening an old woman knocked at the cottage door. When the\nshepherd invited her to come in, he noticed she carried in her hand a\nnumber of stalks from his field.\n\n\"I've come to teach you what wonderful use you can make of these\nstalks,\" she said.\n\nVery gently and patiently she taught the shepherd and his wife how to\nseparate delicate fibers from the woody core; how to spin them into\nthread and weave the thread into linen. Last of all she told them how to\nbleach the useful linen. It was a wonderful evening for the peasant and\nhis wife.\n\nWhen the old woman rose to leave the cottage, she said to the shepherd,\n\"In the Queen's Hall of Mists you asked for the gift of blue flax\nflowers. To-night you have learned what a priceless blessing you chose.\nFarewell.\"\n\nShe left the cottage very quickly and when the shepherd and his wife\nwent to the door to see which way she went lo! she had disappeared. In a\nshort time all the people in the valley heard the wonderful story of\nmaking linen. For awhile they bought the linen which was made from the\nshepherd's first field of flax. But they bought some of his seed, too,\nand the next year they were able to spin their own thread and weave\ntheir linen. The blessing which came from the shepherd's choice was\nshared by all the people in the valley.\n\n\n\n\n                        THE STORY OF THE DEWDROP\n\n                             LUCILE CORBETT\n\n\nOne day as the children were coming home from school, the snowflakes\nbegan dropping lazily to the ground. One beautiful star-shaped flake\nfell on a little girl's hand.\n\n\"Oh, you pretty, pretty snow fairy. Where did you come from? Did you\ntumble off a fleecy cloud, or did you dance all the way from Frostland\nto show us your soft, lacy dress?\"\n\nTo the little girl's surprise, a tiny voice said: \"Do you really want me\nto tell you where I came from? I was not always a snowflake, and will\nnot return to Frostland for a long, long time. I can stay with you but a\nlittle while; then, when the bright sun comes and the south wind calls,\nI must leave you, for I have much to do. Many things in the woods need\nmy help.\n\n\"Last spring, when the earth became soft, the sky blue, and the warm\nbreeze played with the sun, I was sent from the clouds to give the\nviolets a drink of water. Taking the form of a sparkling dewdrop, I\nstooped and kissed the dark green leaves, and a violet held me in her\narms until the sturdy oak called.\n\n\"A sunbeam drew me up, up, and up, then let me gently drop in the quiet\npitter-patter of rain. I reached down, down to the roots, giving him new\nlife, so that he put forth leaves which sheltered and protected the\nviolets all summer.\n\n\"From the roots of the sturdy oak I traveled on and on and on until the\nbabbling brook called. I turned into a tiny stream of clear water, and\nthe brook rocked me as it went murmuring through a shady dell. The birds\ndipped into the cool water, then shook their wings till the drops\nglistened like diamonds in the sunlight. The willow tree bent and looked\nat herself in the mirror of water, the ferns crept nearer and nearer,\nand the small white pebble was worn smooth by the laughing brook, as it\nsang on its way to the sea.\n\n\"When I reached the big, broad waters, I found many, many dewdrops,\nwhich had been changed into rain and into streams to help the plants,\nthe flowers, and trees. Ships, looking like great white birds, sailed on\nthe waters. Suddenly a storm came up, the sea grew dark and\nangry-looking. I was turned into white foam, and the waves tossed me\nhigher and higher until the ships went down. The seagulls flapped their\nwings and gave their cry of warning for all things in the forest to keep\naway from the wild billows.\n\n\"After the storm, I was carried up and up in the air as mist, so that I\nblotted out all sight of land. I drew closer and closer to the small\nislands, and wrapped them in a thick blanket of fog. The wind sighed,\nthe flowers closed their beautiful petals, and the birds hid their heads\nunder their wings in fear of this clinging white monster.\n\n\"The winter winds came along and carried me into the far Northland,\nwhere the Ice King reigns supreme. Here I found little men dressed in\nfur to keep them warm. Great white bears walked on huge cakes of ice.\nBut the birds and flowers could not live in that still, cold land. The\nsilence was broken only by the crunching of the ice. I, too, became ice,\nand drifted slowly out on the shining white waste.\n\n\"Then again came the sun, warm and strong, and forced back the cold\nnorth wind. Instead of being a thick white cake of ice, I became a tiny,\nfluffy bit of frost, as white as ermine, as soft, as soft as down.\nGently the north wind, who was now a slave of the mighty sun, gathered\nme up and carried me into a strange land, a very strange land. The earth\nwas hard, the trees bare, and the flowers were all dead. Dark,\nsullen-looking clouds took me from the north wind and sent me floating\ndown, down through space until I reached your hand.\n\n\"When you gather up a handful of snow to make a big, round snowball, do\nnot forget that once we were bright dewdrops sparkling in the morning\nsun. And when you wade in the little brook in the summer time, we will\nflow over your bare feet and sing you a song of the sea.\"\n\n\n\n\n                             THE DEW MOTHER\n\n\n               The tall Dew Mother, dressed in grey,\n               Last night at dusk went down the way,\n               By winding lane and meadow deep,\n               And kissed each little flower to sleep.\n\n               And some sweet buds so drowsy sat,\n               They hardly heard her pit-a-pat,\u2014\u2014\n               They scarcely knew that they were found,\u2014\u2014\n               Already dreams had wrapped them round.\n\n               But she, so pale and kind and tall,\n               Her cool, sweet kisses laid on all,\n               And left each leaf a dewdrop bright\n               To play with in the morning light.\n\n                                                              MAY BYRON.\n\n\n\n\n                        ORIGIN OF THE DANDELION\n\n                            (INDIAN LEGEND)\n\n\nThe gentle South Breeze, whom the Indians call Shawondasee, lay asleep\non the soft grass in front of his wigwam. His face was turned toward the\nNorthland, and he was dreaming of the joys and blessings he would send\nthere to fill the summer days with gladness.\n\nIn the spring he had told the bluebird and swallow that it was time to\nbuild their nests in the budding Northland. His warm breath had melted\nthe winter snows and enticed the brooks and rills to flow again toward\nthe sea. Now the last days of spring were waning and summer was at hand.\n\nShawondasee smiled in his dream. He wafted gentle showers to the meadows\nof the Northland and blossoms opened their faces to the sun. Little\nchildren clapped their hands in glee when they saw the shining\nbuttercups and the daisies with golden hearts.\n\nThe laughter which Shawondasee heard in his dream wakened him. Slowly he\nopened his eyes and looked dreamily at the great stretches of prairie\nwhich lay before him. In a little while the South Breeze aroused himself\nand gazed intently toward the Northland. There among the slender waving\ngrasses he saw a beautiful maiden. Her tall, graceful figure was clothed\nin delicate green, and her moccasins were of the same color. Her hair\nwas yellow as gold. Merrily she danced about the prairie, nodding and\nsmiling at Shawondasee, who became enchanted with her grace and beauty.\n\n\"'Tis the loveliest vision I've ever seen,\" murmured the South Breeze\nsoftly. \"Surely she is a daughter of the Sun, and he has made her\nwonderful hair out of his own beams.\"\n\nAll day long he watched her dancing gaily on the northern prairie, and\nat night when he went into his wigwam, he said, \"I shall journey\nnorthward and woo the sunny-haired maiden. Gently will I woo her to be\nmy bride.\"\n\nThe next day when Shawondasee came sleepily out of his wigwam, there, in\nthe morning light, he saw the graceful maiden flitting about on the\nprairie. All the while she nodded her golden head and smiled gaily at\nhim.\n\n\"There is plenty of time to woo her,\" sighed Shawondasee; \"I'll enjoy\nher dancing a little longer before I journey northward and ask her to\nlive with me in the Southland.\"\n\nOne morning when South Breeze came out of his wigwam to watch the\ndancing maiden, he noticed a great change had come to her. On her head\nwas a fleecy white crown.\n\n\"What has happened to my golden-haired prairie maiden?\" he sighed. \"Can\nit be that my rough brother, North Wind, has crowned her with snow?\"\n\nHe sprang to his feet and hastened toward the northern plains. As he\ndrew near the maiden, he saw that her golden hair had, indeed, gone, and\nin its place were tresses soft and white as the snow.\n\nShawondasee's heart was filled with sorrow. His breath came quick and\nfast and, as he came very near to the maiden, he drew a deep, deep sigh.\n\nSuddenly the strangest thing happened. All the air was filled with soft,\ndowny fibers, which flitted over the prairie like the tiniest fairy\nsails and, in a little while, sank lightly among the waving grasses.\nShawondasee closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, lo!\nthe prairie maiden had vanished.\n\n\"I cannot give up my beautiful maiden,\" sighed South Breeze. \"I shall\nnot go back to the Southland until I have found her.\"\n\nFor weeks he wandered over the meadows, but no trace of the maiden could\nhe find. One day Kabibonokka, the rough North Wind, blew sharp and\nshrill. His cold blast made the gentle Shawondasee shiver and hasten\nback to his warm wigwam in the South.\n\nDuring the cold winter months while Kabibonokka, with his icy breath,\nstalked over the prairie, Shawondasee stayed in his wigwam and mourned\nthe loss of his prairie maiden. But when the warm days came again and\nthe grass sprang up on the northern plains, the South Breeze came forth\nand planned to journey northward.\n\nOne day he looked toward the prairie where a year ago he had seen the\ndancing, golden-haired maiden. A marvelous sight greeted him. Hundreds\nof bright yellow flowers among the waving grasses nodded and smiled at\nhim. The prairie was shining with golden dandelions.\n\n\n\n\n                      PRINCE BUTTERFLY AND CLOVER\n\n\nIn a quiet, pleasant meadow, where green old trees waved their branches\nas the summer winds went singing by, bloomed a sisterhood of flowers. A\nneighbouring brook rippled musically, and passing clouds cast shadows\nupon the waving grass below.\n\nThe flowers were very happy together in this pleasant spot. No cold\nwinds came to blight them, no rude hands tore them from their stems.\nWarm sunbeams smiled on them all day long, and the dewdrops refreshed\nthem at night with a cooling drink.\n\nOne morning when the flowers awoke, fragrant and fresh, a little worm\ncame creeping by.\n\n\"Oh, pity and love me,\" sighed the little worm. \"Give me shelter, dear\nflowers. I am lonely, poor, and weak. A little spot for a resting place\nis all I ask. Only let me lie in the deep, green moss and weave my\nlittle tomb and sleep my long, unbroken sleep until spring's first\nflowers come. Then will I come forth in fairy dress, and repay your\ngentle care for a poor worm. Kind flowers, let me stay.\"\n\nBut none of the proud flowers would give shelter to the poor worm. Wild\nRose showed her little thorns while her soft face glowed with pride.\nViolet hid beneath some drooping ferns and the daisy turned her face\naway. Little Houstonia laughed scornfully, as she danced on her slender\nstem, while Cowslip bent down and whispered the tale to the brook.\n\nA blue-eyed Grass looked down on the poor worm as she silently turned\naway.\n\n\"You will harm our delicate leaves,\" she said; \"that is why you may not\nstay.\"\n\nAt that moment a sweet voice called from a distance:\n\n\"Come here, poor worm, come to me. The sun lies warm in this quiet spot.\nI will share my home with you.\"\n\nThe flowers all looked in wonder to see who had offered the worm a home.\nTo their surprise, they found Clover Blossom, with fluttering wings,\nbeckoning him to come. From her snug little nook where the cool winds\nrustled by, and the murmuring bees and butterflies loved to come, her\nrosy face smiled kindly down as the friendless worm drew near.\n\n\"Poor thing, you are welcome here,\" she said in a soft voice. \"In the\nsoft, green moss close at my side you may sleep until spring comes. I\nwill spread my leaves over you, and guard you through the long winter.\"\n\nThen, deep in a moss bed, the grateful worm spun his winter home, and\nlay down for his long rest.\n\nAnd well did Clover Blossom keep her watch. Autumn came and took all her\nsister flowers. Then when it was time for her to go, she spread her\nwithered leaves softly over the sleeping worm, and bent her faithful\nlittle head beneath the winter snow.\n\nSpring came again and the flowers arose from their winter sleep. How\ngaily they danced on their slender stems, and sang their songs with the\nrippling waves of the brook. The warm winds kissed their cheeks, as one\nby one they came again to dwell in their summer homes.\n\nLittle Clover Blossom bloomed once more, and watched patiently by the\nmossy bed where the worm still lay quietly sleeping. Her sister flowers\ncried scornfully, as they waved in the summer air, \"Come and dance with\nus, Little Clover. That ugly worm was poor and friendless. He will not\ncome again in fairy dress. Don't believe what a worm tells you\u2014at any\nrate, he lies in the green moss dead. So come and be happy with us.\"\n\nBut Little Clover kept watch for she did not doubt the poor worm's\ntruth; she trusted that he would come as he had said.\n\nAt last she felt the moss at her side move, then a small cell opened\nwide, and out flew a glittering butterfly that soared up to the summer\nsky on golden wings!\n\nThen the flowers cried out, \"Clover, your watching was in vain. It is as\nwe told you, he will never come again.\" And the unkind flowers danced\nfor joy as they watched him silently soar away.\n\nLittle Clover bowed her head in silence. As she drooped she heard a\nDaisy say:\n\n\"O sisters look, I see him now. He is floating back from cloudland.\nSpread wide your leaves that he may choose the one he deems most fair.\"\n\nThen Wild Rose glowed with a deep blush as she proudly waved on her\nstem; Cowslip bent to look at herself in the rippling brook, little\nHoustonia merrily danced and spread out her white leaves wide; and Daisy\nwhispered her joy and hope to Violet, who peeped out from the tall green\nferns to watch the glittering form of the butterfly that shone in the\nsummer sky.\n\nNearer and nearer the bright form came, and fairer and fairer grew the\nblossoms. Each welcomed him in her sweetest tones and each offered him\nhoney and dew. But in vain did they beckon and smile and call. He\nfloated past Violet, Daisy, and Rose, and went straight to the pleasant\nhome of Clover Blossom, the flower most truly fair.\n\n\"Dear flower,\" he said, \"when I was alone and friendless you watched\nover me and cared for me. And now I will try to show the thanks the poor\nworm could not tell.\n\n           \"Sunbeam, breeze shall come to thee,\n           And the coolest dews that fall;\n           Whate'er a flower can wish is thine,\n           For thou art worthy all.\n\n           \"And the home thou shared with the friendless worm\n           The butterfly's home shall be,\n           And thou shalt find, dear, faithful flower,\n           A loving friend in me.\"\n\nThen, through the long, bright summer hours, through sunshine and rain,\nlived happily together Clover and Prince Butterfly.\n\n\n\n\n                            A SONG OF CLOVER\n\n\n                I wonder what the Clover thinks,\n                Intimate friend of Bobolinks,\n                Lover of Daisies, slim and white,\n                Waltzer with Buttercups at night;\n                Keeper of Inn for traveling Bees,\n                Serving to them wine dregs and lees\n                Left by the Royal Humming Birds\n                Who sip and pay with fine-spun words;\n                Fellow with all the lowliest,\n                Peer of the gayest and the best,\n                Comrade of winds, beloved of sun,\n                Kissed by the Dewdrops, one by one;\n                Prophet of Good-Luck mystery\n                By sign of four which few may see;\n                Emblem of comfort in the speech\n                Which poor men's babies early reach;\n                Sweet by the roadsides, sweet by rills,\n                Sweet in the meadows, sweet on hills,\n                Sweet in its every living breath,\n                Sweetest, perhaps, at last, in death!\n                Oh! who knows what the Clover thinks!\n                No one! unless the Bobolinks.\n\n                                                              SAXE HOLM.\n\n\n\n\n                       TITHONUS: A LEGEND OF THE\n                              GRASSHOPPER\n\n                            LILLIAN S. HYDE\n\n\nEvery day when Helios drove his wonderful horses and fiery chariot\nacross the sky, Aurora opened the gates of pearl and drew back the dark\ncurtains of the night; for Aurora was the Goddess of the Dawn. She was\nso beautiful that the whole sky flushed pink with pleasure when she\nappeared in the east.\n\nOn the earth lived a mortal called Tithonus, who loved Aurora so well\nthat he never failed to leave his bed while it was still dark to watch\nfor her coming. Aurora loved Tithonus in return, and one day she flew to\nthe king of the gods, and begged of him that Tithonus might be given a\ndraft of nectar, and so become immortal.\n\nJupiter granted this request, and Aurora took Tithonus up to Mount\nOlympus to live in her golden house.\n\nThe goddess had forgotten to ask that Tithonus might never grow old.\nTherefore, the time came when grey hairs could be seen among his golden\ncurls. Aurora was always kind to him and continued to give him beautiful\ngarments, and to feed him on ambrosia. Still, Tithonus grew older and\nolder and, in time, after several hundred years, he was so very old that\nhe could not move at all. Little was left of him but his voice, and even\nthat had grown high and thin. Aurora felt so sorry to see him withering\naway in this manner that she changed him into a little insect, and sent\nhim down to earth again where men called him the grasshopper.\n\nVery glad to be free and active once more, Tithonus hops about in the\nfields all day, chirping cheerfully to Aurora.\n\n\n\n\n                            THE GRASSHOPPER\n\n\n                 Shuttle of the sunburnt grass,\n                 Fifer in the dun cuirass,\n                 Fifing shrilly in the morn,\n                 Shrilly still at eve unworn;\n                 Now to rear, now in the van,\n                 Gayest of the elfin clan:\n                 Though I watch their rustling flight,\n                 I can never guess aright\n                 Where their lodging-places are;\n                 'Mid some daisy's golden star,\n                 Or beneath a roofing leaf,\n                 Or in fringes of a sheaf,\n                 Tenanted as soon as bound!\n                 Loud thy reveille doth sound,\n                 When the earth is laid asleep,\n                 And her dreams are passing deep,\n                 On mid-August afternoons;\n                 And through all the harvest moons,\n                 Nights brimmed up with honeyed peace,\n                 Thy gainsaying doth not cease.\n                 When the frost comes, thou art dead;\n                 We along the stubble tread,\n                 On blue, frozen morns, and note\n                 No least murmur is afloat:\n                 Wondrous still our fields are then,\n                 Fifer of the elfin men!\n\n                                                        EDITH M. THOMAS.\n\n\n\n\n                         THE GOLDEN GRASSHOPPER\n\n                              CHARLES LAMB\n\n\nIt chanced upon a time that while the fairies were looking for cowslips\nin the meads, while yet the dew was hanging on the buds like beads, they\nfound a babe left in its swathing-clothes\u2014a little, sorrowful, deserted\nthing. It was a pity to see the abandoned little orphan left in that\nway.\n\nHow the cold dew kept wetting its childish coats; and its little hair,\nlike gossamer, how it was bedabbled! Its pouting mouth, unknowing how to\nspeak, lay half-opened like a rose-lipped shell; and its cheek was\nsofter than any peach, upon which the tears, for very roundness, could\nnot long dwell, but fell off in clearness like pearls\u2014some on the grass,\nand some on his little hand; and some haply wandered to the little\ndimpled well under his mouth.\n\nPity it was, too, to see how the burning sun had scorched its helpless\nlimbs; for it lay without shade or shelter, for foul weather or fair.\nSo, having compassion on its sad plight, the fairies turned themselves\ninto grasshoppers and swarmed about the babe, making such shrill cries\nas that pretty little chirping creature makes in its mirth, till, with\ntheir noise, they attracted the attention of a passing rustic, a\ntender-hearted kind who, wondering at their small but loud concert,\nstrayed aside curiously, and found the babe where it lay in the remote\ngrass, and, taking it up, wrapped it in his russet coat, and bore it to\nhis cottage, where his wife kindly nurtured it till it grew up a goodly\npersonage.\n\nThis babe prospered and, in time, became the famous Sir Thomas Gresham,\none of the greatest merchants of England. He afterwards adopted the\ngrasshopper as his crest, and you may see to this day, on a tall staff\nhigh above the roof of the Royal Exchange in London, a huge Golden\nGrasshopper to remind you of the wisest, richest, and greatest of all\nthe men who built up the trade and commerce of England.\n\n         \"Witness his goodly vessels on the Thames,\n           Whose holds were fraught with costly merchandise,\u2014\u2014\n         Jewels from Ind, and pearls for costly dames,\n           And gorgeous silks that Samarcand supplies:\n           Witness that Royal Bourse he bade arise,\n         The mart of merchants from the East and West;\n           Whose slender summit pointing to the skies,\n         Still bears, in token of his grateful breast,\n         The tender grasshopper, his chosen crest.\"\n\n                                                            THOMAS HOOD.\n\n\n\n\n                            A BLADE OF GRASS\n\n                              JOHN RUSKIN\n\n\nGather a single blade of grass, and examine for a minute its narrow,\nsword-shaped strip of fluted green. Nothing there, as it seems of\nnotable goodness or beauty. A very little strength and a very little\ntallness, and a few delicate long lines meeting in a point, not a\nperfect point either, but blunt and unfinished, by no means a creditable\nor apparently much-cared-for example of Nature's workmanship, made only\nto be trodden on to-day, and to-morrow to be cast into the oven, and a\nlittle pale and hollow stalk, feeble and flaccid, leading down to the\ndull brown fiber of roots.\n\nAnd yet, think of it well, and judge whether of all the gorgeous flowers\nthat beam in summer air, and of all strong and goodly trees, pleasant to\nthe eyes, or good for food, stately palm and pine, strong ash and oak,\nscented citron, burdened vine, there be any by man so deeply loved, by\nGod so highly graced, as that narrow point of feeble green. And well\ndoes it fulfill its mission. Consider what we owe merely to the meadow\ngrass, to the covering of the dark ground by that glorious enamel, by\nthe companies of those soft, and countless, and peaceful spears.\n\nThe fields! Follow forth but for a little time the thoughts of all that\nwe ought to recognize in these words. All spring and summer is in them,\nthe walks by silent and scented paths, the rests in noonday heat, the\njoy of herds and flocks, the power of all shepherd life and meditation,\nthe life of sunlight upon the world falling in emerald streaks, and\nfalling in soft blue shadows where else it would have struck upon the\ndark mold or scorching dust.\n\nPastures beside the pacing brooks, soft banks and knolls of lowly hills,\nthymy slopes of down, overlooked by the blue line of lifted sea, crisp\nlawns, all dim with early dew, or smooth in evening warmth of barred\nsunshine, dinted by happy feet, and softening in their fall the sound of\nloving voices,\u2014all these are summed in those simple words; and these are\nnot all.\n\nWe may not measure to the full the depth of this heavenly gift in our\nown land, though still as we think of it longer, the infinite of that\nmeadow sweetness, Shakespeare's peculiar joy would open on us more and\nmore; yet we have it but in part. Go out in the springtime among the\nmeadows that slope from the shores of the Swiss lakes to the root of the\nlower mountains. There, mingled with the taller Gentians, and the white\nNarcissus, the grass grows deep and free; and as you follow the winding\nmountain paths, beneath arching boughs, all veiled with blossoms\u2014paths\nthat forever droop and rise over the green banks and mounds sweeping\ndown in scented undulation steep to the blue water, studded here and\nthere with new-mown heaps filling all the air with fainter\nsweetness,\u2014look up towards the higher hills, where the waves of\neverlasting green roll silently into their long inlets among the shadows\nof the pines; and we may, perhaps, at last know the meaning of those\nquiet words of the Psalmist, \"He maketh the grass to grow upon the\nmountains.\"\n\n          Then Aurora, the Sun's\n          Rosy handmaiden, runs\n        With a basket of fruit blossoms poised on her head,\n        Green ones and pink ones and white ones, and red,\n        And with both hands uplifted, outscatters them wide\n        Through gardens and orchards on every side,\n          Such abundance,\n          Redundance,\n          On every side\n        Of blossoms for apples and damsons and cherries,\n        For currants and quinces, pears, plums and strawberries,\n        That the labourers call to each other to see\n        What a wonderful fruit year 'tis likely to be.\n\n                                                         CHARLES DALMON.\n\n\n\n\n                           PRINCESS FIRE-FLY\n\n                           (JAPANESE LEGEND)\n\n\nDeep in the pink petals of a lotus bloom that grew in the castle moats\nof Fukui, lived Hi-o, the king of the Fire-Flies. In this beautiful\nflower his daughter, the Princess Hotaru, passed her childhood exploring\nevery shady nook and fragrant corner of the bell-like palace, listening\nto the buzz of life around, and peeping over the edge of the petals at\nthe wonderful world which lay mysteriously beyond. The princess had few\nyouthful companions, but, as she daily bade her father farewell, she\ndreamed of the time when she, too, would fly abroad, and her brilliant\nlight would attract unusual admiration.\n\nGradually, a beautiful sheen o'erspread her body; night by night it\nbecame brighter, until at last her home, in the hours of darkness, was\nas a lamp of coral wherein shone a lamp of gold. So glorious was her\nlight that the stars paled before it, and the bright, sickle moon\nwithdrew behind a cloud from jealousy.\n\nThe Princess was now allowed to fly from her home, to loiter among the\npleasant rice fields, and to explore the indigo meadows which lay far\noff on the horizon. She had no lack of friends and would-be lovers.\nThousands of insects, attracted by her magic light, came and offered\ntheir homage, but the Princess cared for none of their attentions and\nthough she spoke politely to them all, she gave encouragement to none.\n\nOne evening the Princess said to her mother, the Queen:\n\n\"I have had many admirers but no one has found a way to my heart.\nTo-night I shall hold court and if any of them love me they will come to\nme here. Then I shall set them an impossible task. If they are wise they\nwill not attempt to do it, but if they love their lives more than they\nlove me I do not want them. I shall say to one and all: 'Only he who\nloves me more than life shall call me bride.'\"\n\n\"As you will,\" said her mother. And that evening, seated upon a throne\nformed of the heart of a lotus, Princess Hotaru held her court.\n\nNo sooner had twilight set in than forth came the golden beetle and laid\nhis fortunes at her feet.\n\n\"Go and bring me fire and I will be your bride,\" said Hotaru.\n\nBowing his head the green-gold creature spread his wings and left the\ncourt with a stately whirr.\n\nNext came cockchafer, who wooed her in passionate words. But to him she\ngave the same answer. \"Bring me fire and you may have me for your wife.\"\n\nDragon-fly, proud in his gorgeous colours, offered his heart and his\nhand, quite sure that he would be accepted at once. The humble hawk-moth\npersistently addressed the lovely Princess. As the evening wore on\ncountless other insects gained an audience, but the answer to them all\nwas ever the same, \"The treasure of fire shall be my bridegroom's gift.\"\n\nOne by one they took wing, enraptured by the hope of success and\nunconscious that they were all bent on the same errand.\n\nBut none ever came back to wed the Princess. The hawk-moth entered a\ntemple and circled round and round the tall wax lights, coming nearer\nand nearer each time. \"Now to win the Princess!\" he murmured. Alas! the\nfoolish creature darted forward to snatch a flash of flame, but the\nflame singed his wings and he fell helpless to the ground.\n\nThe beetle whizzed off to a neighbouring house and watched intently for\na moment or two a log fire crackling on a hearth. He then boldly caught\nat a tongue of flame, hoping to carry it to the Princess. But he, too,\nwas buried by the fire.\n\nThe dragon-fly, notwithstanding his sunlit splendours, could not fulfill\nthe bidding of the Lady of the Lotus Bloom. He also fell a prey to her\nimperious command. Others there were who tried to steal from the diamond\nits heart of fire, or winged their way to the great mountain, or sped to\nthe depths of the valley in their search for the great gift.\n\nBut all their efforts to bring the treasure of fire were in vain. The\nsun in roseate splendour shone on the bodies of the insect lovers who\nhad given up their lives in their devotion to the Princess.\n\nNow tidings came to Hi-maro, the Prince of the Fire-Flies, on the north\nside of the castle moat, that Princess Hotaru was exceedingly beautiful,\nwhereupon he fled swiftly to her home among the lotus flowers, to ask of\nher father his daughter in marriage. The father agreed to the Prince's\nrequest with the condition that the Prince should come in person\nbringing the Princess the gift of fire.\n\nEven as a flood of light the Prince at the head of his host of\nfire-flies came and filled the lotus palace with a blaze of glory.\n\nBut Hotaru herself was so beautiful that her charms were not dimmed.\n\nOne look passed between the youth and the maiden and the visit ended in\nthe Prince's wooing and winning the Princess. He took her to his palace\non the north side of the castle moat and there they lived happily for\nmany years.\n\nMany, many years have passed since Hi-maro won the Princess and still it\nis the fancy of all Fire-Fly Princesses to send their suitors in search\nof fire as a love-offering. It is for this reason that we see many\nthousand insects hovering around the evening lights in the vain hope of\nsecuring a flash of fire that shall win them their prize. (Adapted.)\n\n\n\n\n                                  JULY\n\n\n             When the scarlet cardinal tells\n               Her dreams to the dragon-fly\n             And the lazy breeze makes a nest in the trees\n               And murmurs a lullaby,\n                 It is July.\n\n                                                    SUSAN HARTLEY SWETT.\n\n\n\n\n                         CUFF AND THE WOODCHUCK\n\n                             JOHN BURROUGHS\n\n\nI knew a farmer in New York who had a very large bob-tailed churn dog by\nthe name of Cuff. The farmer kept a large dairy and made a great deal of\nbutter, and it was the business of Cuff to spend nearly half of each\nsummer day treading the endless round of the churning machine. During\nthe remainder of the day he had plenty of time to sleep and rest, and\nsit on his hips and survey the landscape.\n\nOne day, sitting thus, he discovered a woodchuck about forty rods from\nthe house, on a steep hillside, feeding about near his hole, which was\nbeneath a large rock. The old dog, forgetting his stiffness, and\nremembering the fun he had had with woodchucks in his earlier days,\nstarted off at his highest speed, vainly hoping to catch this one before\nhe could get to his hole. But the woodchuck, seeing the dog come\nlabouring up the hill, sprang to the mouth of his den, and, when his\npursuer was only a few yards off, whistled tauntingly and went in. This\noccurred several times, the old dog marching up the hill, and then\nmarching down again, having had his labour for his pains.\n\nI suspect that he revolved the subject in his mind while revolving the\ngreat wheel of the churning machine, and that some turn or other brought\nhim a happy thought, for next time he showed himself a strategist.\nInstead of giving chase to the woodchuck, when first discovered, he\ncrouched down to the ground, and, resting his head on his paws, watched\nhim. The woodchuck kept working away from his hole, lured by the tender\nclover, but, not unmindful of his safety, lifted himself up on his\nhaunches every few moments and surveyed the approaches.\n\nPresently, after the woodchuck had let himself down from one of these\nattitudes of observation and resumed his feeding, Cuff started swiftly\nbut stealthily up the hill, precisely in the attitude of a cat when she\nis stalking a bird. When the woodchuck rose up again, Cuff was perfectly\nmotionless and half hid by the grass. When he again resumed his clover,\nCuff sped up the hill as before, this time crossing a fence, but in a\nlow place, and so nimbly that he was not discovered. Again the woodchuck\nwas on the lookout; again Cuff was motionless and hugging the ground.\n\nAs the dog neared his victim, he was partially hidden by a swell in the\nearth, but still the woodchuck from his lookout reported \"All right,\"\nwhen Cuff, having not twice as far to run as the chuck, threw all\nstealthiness aside and rushed directly for the hole. At that moment the\nwoodchuck discovered his danger and, seeing that it was a race for life,\nleaped as I never saw marmot leap before. But he was two seconds too\nlate, his retreat was cut off, and the powerful jaws of the old dog\nclosed upon him.\n\nThe next season Cuff tried the same tactics again with like success, but\nwhen the third woodchuck had taken up his abode at the fatal hole, the\nold churner's wits and strength had begun to fail him, and he was\nbaffled in each attempt to capture the animal.\n\n\n\n\n                     WHY THE LADY-BUG IS SAID TO BE\n                             BELOVED OF GOD\n\n                Translated from the French by M. L. COOK\n\n\nA long time ago, in France, the great lords had full power over the\npeople. They had power to make them work and fight, and they judged them\nand punished them when they did wrong.\n\nNow there was a lord in these times, who had a dearly beloved younger\nbrother; and this brother was found dead one morning, lying near a\nhedge, from behind which the murderer must have sprung to strike him\ndown.\n\nThe lord ordered the murderer to be taken, if possible, and vowed that\nif he was found he should suffer a punishment for his crime.\n\nThe very evening after his brother's death, when the lord was praying in\nhis room, there entered his steward, Crondas, who said to him:\n\n\"My lord, I have discovered your brother's murderer, and have had him\nbrought here that he may appear before you.\"\n\n\"Let him be brought to me,\" said the lord, \"and if you see in me any\nsigns of mercy, remind me of the crime he has committed, that I may\npunish him as he deserves.\"\n\nCrondas made a sign to the servants; and they brought in a peasant with\na white, shocked face, who fell on his knees before his master,\nexclaiming:\n\n\"Have mercy upon me, my lord! I swear to you I have committed no crime!\"\n\nWhen the lord demanded of Crondas the proofs of the man's guilt, Crondas\nshowed him a purse, saying:\n\n\"My lord, if you are inclined to believe what this man says, I only beg\nyou to ask the scoundrel how he happened to have in his house this\npurse, which belonged to your dead brother.\"\n\n\"I recognize it,\" said the lord, with deep feeling.\n\n\"And this, my lord, do you also recognize it?\" said Crondas, showing him\na gold ring.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the lord again; \"it is the ring my brother always wore on\nthe ring finger of his left hand.\"\n\n\"My lord,\" went on Crondas, \"I found these things myself, in a\nhiding-place in this man's house. Now, does he dare say, on his knees,\nthat he is innocent of the dreadful crime with which he is charged?\"\n\nNot being able to explain the presence of the things in his house, the\npoor peasant was judged to be guilty, and condemned to be killed on the\nvery spot where his victim's body had been found. While he lay in\nprison, waiting for his execution, all the peasants round about visited\nthe lord and begged him not to punish the man. They all said of him\u2014what\nwe say when we wish to credit anyone with unusual kindness and\ngentleness:\n\n\"We have known him long, my lord, and we know he would not even crush an\ninsect in his path.\"\n\nBut Crondas, who never left the lord, said to each one:\n\n\"Bah! that is no reason why he should not kill a man; and if he is not\npunished, many others will be encouraged to be murderers. Let him suffer\nfor his misdeeds.\"\n\nAnd to every effort the peasants made to put off the day of punishment,\nCrondas replied:\n\n\"Ah, my lord, these people know how merciful you are. They think that,\nthe first anguish of your grief once past, you will pardon the\nmurderer.\"\n\nAt this the lord never failed to cry:\n\n\"No, no, never! He shall be punished.\"\n\nSo the lord, urged by Crondas, ordered the men to prepare to execute the\npeasant, adding that he wished to be present, that he might see perish\nthe wretch who had killed his brother.\n\nCrondas was very active in the preparations, bringing faggots to help\nbuild the fire, and arranging with his own hands a sort of throne made\nof branches for his lord. Then he went to tell him all was ready, and\nthe lord came, followed by a crowd of people, who wept and lamented over\nthe peasant's unjust death.\n\nCrondas then said to the servants:\n\n\"Tie him, and set fire to the pile.\"\n\nMeantime the lord was watching the proceedings with deep attention and\nsaying nothing; but his eyes went from the peasant to Crondas and from\nCrondas back to the peasant, then to the servants who stood by the\nfaggots ready to light the fire.\n\nAnd as the servants were slow in obeying, Crondas cried to them:\n\n\"Come, come, hurry up! Our lord is waiting.\"\n\nHe was in haste to see the death of the peasant; but the poor man said\nto those who were about to tie him:\n\n\"Oh, let me make a last prayer, I beg of you!\"\n\nAnd, though Crondas begged the lord not to grant this request, the lord\nextended his hand to command the servants to grant to the peasant that\nwhich he had asked; and, as he did so, he saw Crondas make a sign of\nimpatience.\n\nThe peasant, dropping his sad, haggard eyes, was about to kneel on a\nstone not far from where his lord was sitting; but, seeing on the stone\na little lady-bug just at the place where his knee was at rest, he put\nit to one side gently, with his hand, so as not to crush it. Then,\nkneeling down, he began to pray.\n\nAs the lord watched him, he noticed that the little creature, whose life\nhe had just spared, suddenly opened its bright wings and, taking flight,\nlighted on Crondas's left hand. Crondas, for no reason except that he\nwas perhaps annoyed at having to wait so long for the execution, put a\nfinger of his right hand on the insect, and almost crushed it. When he\nlifted it, a pair of broken red wings faintly quivered.\n\nAt this moment the peasant, having finished his prayer, rose from the\nstone. The lord, descending from his throne, cried suddenly:\n\n\"Let that man go! Do not kill him; he is not my brother's murderer. That\nis impossible!\"\n\nWhile speaking thus, the lord kept his eyes fixed on the face of\nCrondas, which suddenly grew white with fear. However, Crondas\napproached his master, saying:\n\n\"But the proofs, my lord? The proofs are there. If you do not find them\nsufficient to convict this man, whom can you accuse of the murder?\"\n\nThen the lord, taking Crondas's hand, cried loudly:\n\n\"Whom can I accuse? Perhaps you, Crondas, for there is blood upon your\nhand. At the very moment when you pretended to be full of horror for the\ncrime of murder, you killed for mere pleasure this poor little creature,\nwhich had lighted unsuspectingly upon your hand, but which the peasant,\nunjustly condemned, had spared, when his own death stared him in the\nface.\"\n\nThen, seizing Crondas, and looking sternly and fixedly at the cowering\nfellow, the lord thundered:\n\n\"Now, confess your sin!\"\n\nCrondas grew more ghastly than before and, trying to control his voice,\nfaltered out:\n\n\"I confess. Have mercy, my lord! I killed your brother because he\nthreatened to tell you of my dishonesty toward you. I took his purse and\nring, and hid them in this man's house, to make you think it was he who\nhad sinned. I am the guilty one. Do with me as you will. Punish me in\nhis place.\"\n\nThe lord did as Crondas had said, and the murderer suffered for his sin\ninstead of the peasant, who was made steward in Crondas's place. No one\npleaded for the guilty man's life, for he had been hard and cruel, and\nno man was his friend.\n\nNow all the people of the country felt the good God himself had sent the\nlittle red lady-bug that it might teach the lord to administer justice.\nSince then everyone who sees such an insect takes care not to hurt it,\nand says:\n\n\"That is the insect beloved of God. Perhaps it is on its way now to help\nsomeone. I would not harm it, for my hand would be stained with blood.\"\n\nAnd the story has been handed down from peasant to peasant, and is known\nthroughout the whole of France.\n\nAnd that is why the lady-bug is called in France \"La petite bete au bon\nDieu,\" which means \"the little insect beloved of God\"; and that is why\neveryone has reverence for it and loves it, and would not take its life.\n\n\n\n\n                            SUMMER SPINNERS\n\n\n                     An angular spider weaves\n                     Great webs between the trees,\n                     Webs that are witches' sieves.\n                     And honey- and bumble-bees\n                     Go droning among the leaves\n                     Like the fairies' obo\u00ebs.\n\n                                                         MADISON CAWEIN.\n\n\n\n\n                          THE STORY OF ARACHNE\n\n                              (GREEK MYTH)\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived a beautiful Grecian maiden named Arachne,\nwho could card and spin, weave and embroider with marvelous skill. She\nbecame so proud of her art that she boasted no one in the whole land\ncould equal her.\n\nSo great was her fame that many traveled from afar to see the beautiful\ngarments which she made. Whenever she sat at her loom a group of people\nstood near so that they might see her work in the making. Indeed, it is\nsaid, that even the nymphs left their haunts among streams and groves to\nbehold the grace and ease with which this maiden worked.\n\nOne day a group of people stood watching Arachne at her loom. Their\nadmiration knew no bounds. They looked at each other in astonishment.\n\n\"See how deftly she rolls the wool into soft fleecy balls,\" said one.\n\n\"And with what delicate grace she cards it,\" said another. \"It is as\nlight and fine as the mists of the morning. She is wonderful, indeed.\"\n\n\"Surely the maiden has more than human skill,\" added the first speaker.\n\"I believe Minerva, the goddess of spinning and weaving, taught her how\nto throw that swift shuttle.\"\n\nWhen Arachne heard these last words she stopped her work, tossed her\nhead, and said haughtily, \"I did not learn my art from Minerva, but I'm\nquite sure I can equal the goddess in skill.\"\n\n\"Hush!\" cried one of the bystanders. \"Those are rash words, indeed. No\nmortal can compare with the gods.\"\n\nBut Arachne's pride knew no bounds. She tossed her head again and said,\n\"I'm willing at any time to match my skill with Minerva's. If she can\nprove herself to be my superior I'll bear any punishment she may name.\"\n\nThe people were very much frightened to hear the maiden boast in this\nmanner. They slipped away to their homes in fear and dread.\n\nA few days after this conversation happened Arachne was seated at her\nloom. As usual many who were interested stood watching her. Suddenly\nthere appeared before her an aged woman leaning on a staff, who said,\n\"Lo, I've come to give you advice which I have learned through the\nyears. Beware of pride and boastfulness. True knowledge teaches\nhumility. Seek for fame among mortals if you like, but never try to\nmatch your skill with Minerva's. Your proud boasting has offended the\ngoddess. Ask humbly for her forgiveness and I believe she will pardon\nyour rash words.\"\n\nArachne laughed scornfully and said, \"Old woman, begone! I care not for\nyour advice. If Minerva's skill is greater than mine let the goddess\nprove it by fair trial. Why does she not come herself to see me?\"\n\nThen a marvelous thing happened. In a twinkling the bent figure of the\nold woman changed to the shining form of the goddess Minerva. The nymphs\nwho stood near bowed reverently and the people drew back in breathless\nawe.\n\n\"A contest in weaving shall begin at once,\" declared the goddess.\n\nArachne's face flushed and then grew pale but she was not daunted. In\nher foolish pride she felt sure of victory.\n\nMinerva now commanded that two looms be set up. In a few moments this\nwas done; then each took her place and made ready by tying the web to\nthe beam.\n\nNow began the famous contest. With rare grace and ease the goddess and\nthe maiden threw their swift shuttles. Silently the skilled weavers\nworked until each web was finished. Then Arachne glanced at her rival's\nmarvelous web. The maiden never had dreamed of a vision so beautiful.\nHer heart sank, for, in a moment, she knew how foolish she had been to\nmatch her skill with Minerva's. Poor Arachne could not bear the great\nblow to her pride. In her grief she hung her head. But quickly Minerva\nsprinkled the maiden's body with magic juices and said, \"Boastful\nArachne, thou art now changed into a spider. Thou and thy descendants\nshall spin through the ages to come.\"\n\nAnd there hanging to a slender thread was the first spider.\n\n\n\n\n                    HOW THE SPIDER MAKES ITS WEB[2]\n\n                            C. WILLIAM BEEBE\n\n\nNature has provided spiders with an organ filled always with liquid\nwhich, on being exposed to the air, hardens, and can be drawn out into\nthe slender threads we know as cobwebs. The silk-worm encases its body\nwith a mile or more of gleaming silk, but there its usefulness is ended\nas far as the silkworm is concerned. But spiders have found a hundred\nuses for their cordage, some of which are startlingly similar to human\ninventions.\n\nThose spiders which burrow in the earth hang their tunnels with silken\ntapestries impervious to wet, which, at the same time, act as lining to\nthe tube. Then the entrance may be a trap-door of soil and silk, hinged\nwith strong silken threads; or in the turret spiders, which are found in\nour fields, there is reared a tiny tower of leaves or twigs bound\ntogether with silk. Who of us has not teased the inmate by pushing a\nbent straw into his stronghold and awaiting his furious onslaught upon\nthe innocent stalk!\n\nFootnote 2:\n\n  From Beebe's _The Log of the Sun_, by permission of Henry Holt\n  Company.\n\nA list of all the uses of cobwebs would take more space than we can\nspare; but of these the most familiar is the snare set for unwary\nflies,\u2014the wonderfully ingenious webs which sparkle with dew among the\ngrasses or stretch from bush to bush. The framework is of strong webbing\nand upon this is closely woven the sticky spiral which is so elastic, so\nethereal, and yet strong enough to entangle a good-sized insect. How\nknowing seems the little worker, as when, the web and his dew of\nconcealment being completed, he spins a strong cable from the center of\nthe web to the entrance of his watch-tower. Then, when a trembling of\nhis aerial spans warn him of a capture, how eagerly he seizes his master\ncable and jerks away in it, thus vibrating the whole structure and\nmaking more certain the confusion of his victim.\n\nWhat is more interesting than to see a great yellow garden-spider,\nhanging head downwards in the center of his web, when we approach too\nclosely, instead of deserting his snare, set it vibrating back and forth\nso rapidly that he becomes a mere blur; a more certain method of\nescaping the onslaught of a bird than if he ran to the shelter of a\nleaf.\n\nThose spiders which leap upon their prey instead of setting snares for\nit have still a use for their thready life, throwing out a cable as they\nleap, to break their fall if they miss their foothold. What a strange\nuse of the cobweb is that of the little flying spiders! Up they run to\nthe top of a post, elevate their abdomens and run out several threads\nwhich lengthen and lengthen until the breeze catches them and away go\nthe wingless aeronauts for yards or for miles as fortune and wind and\nweather may dictate! We wonder if they can cut loose or pull in their\nballoon cables at will.\n\nMany species of spiders spin a case for holding their eggs, and some\ncarry this about with them until the young are hatched.\n\nA most fascinating tale would unfold could we discover all the uses of\ncobweb when the spiders themselves are through with it. Certain it is\nthat our ruby-throated humming bird robs many webs to fasten together\nthe plant down, wood pulp, and lichens which compose her dainty nest.\n\nSearch the pond and you will find another member of the spider family\nswimming about at ease beneath the surface, thoroughly aquatic in\nhabits, but breathing a bubble of air which he carries about with him.\nWhen his supply is low he swims to a submarine castle of silk, so\nair-tight that he can keep it filled with a large bubble of air, upon\nwhich he draws from time to time.\n\nAnd so we might go on enumerating almost endless uses for the web which\nis Nature's gifts to these little waifs, who ages ago left the sea and\nhave won a place for themselves in the sunshine among the butterflies\nand flowers.\n\n\n\n\n                           THE FAIRY SPINNER\n\n                            (SOUTHERN TALE)\n\n\nMany years ago there lived at a swamp's edge a tiny fairy who occupied\nher time in spinning, and made the most beautiful and delicate fabrics\nimaginable.\n\nHer wheel whirled so fast that it was nothing but a blur such as a fly's\nwings make when he is tangled in a flower, and her spindle was the sting\nof a bumble-bee\u2014her uncle\u2014who had left it to her, for any good use in\namends for a life so grouchy that none of the other creatures would have\nanything to do with him.\n\nStill, one inhabitant of the swamp was worse than the bee, and the fairy\nwas mightily disturbed when she discovered that he had taken up his\nabode in the very next bush. He was an enormous spider, big as a bird\nand hideously gorgeous with red, blue, and yellow. He took some pride in\nhimself as a spinner, but when he saw the shining tissue that the fairy\nwas weaving he realized that his own art was cheap and poor in\ncomparison and he was jealous and determined to destroy her. She caught\nup her wheel and spindle and ran with the spider in pursuit. She asked\nthe mouse for shelter, but he was afraid, and shut the door. She begged\nthe toad to protect her, but he only ran out his tongue. Finally a\nfire-fly came along, with his lantern lit. He saw the fairy; he saw the\nspider, and, calling to the fairy to follow, he flew with her across the\nfield, lighting the way, for it was now night. They soon reached a bush\nwhich bore a handsome pink blossom.\n\n\"Jump into the flower,\" commanded the fire-fly. Still clutching her\nwheel, the fairy put her last strength into a spring and alighted in the\nheart of the blossom. The spider was close upon her, but as he put his\nugly claw on the lower petal to draw himself up after her, she gave him\nsuch a stab in the leg with her spindle that he lost his hold and fell\nto the ground. In another second the flower closed over the fairy,\ngathering its petals so tightly that the spider could not get in. He\nwove his web about it, believing that he would catch her when she\nventured out in the morning. But when morning came she did not appear.\nThe spider kept watch, but finally the petals dropped to the earth and\nwhen he saw no fairy he knew it was all up, so he bit his own body and\ndied. But the fairy was not dead. She remained snuggled in the little\nball that the plant put out behind the blossom and in a few days the\nball opened and all the beautiful fabric she had been spinning while in\nhiding poured out in a tassel of snowy white. And men wove the threads\nto make garments for themselves, and they bless the fairy of the cotton\nplant and are glad when she escapes the weevil as well as the spider.\n\n\n\n\n                             MOTHER SPIDER\n\n                        FRANCES GILLESPY WICKES\n\n\nIt was a beautiful day in midsummer. The meadow was alive with busy\nlittle people astir in the bright sunlight. A long line of ants came\ncrawling down the path carrying provisions to their home under the elm\ntree; and an old toad came hopping down through the grass, blinking in\nthe warm sun. Just a little higher up the bees were droning drowsily as\nthey flew from flower to flower; and above them all, seeming almost in\nthe blue sky, a robin was calling to his mate.\n\nPretty soon Mrs. Spider came down the path. She seemed to be in a great\nhurry. She looked neither to the right nor to the left, but kept\nstraight ahead, holding tightly to a little white bag which she carried\nin her mouth. She was just rushing past Mr. Toad when a big black beetle\ncame humping by, stumbled against Mrs. Spider, and knocked the bag out\nof her mouth.\n\nIn an instant Mrs. Spider pounced down upon him, and, though he was so\nmuch bigger than she, he tumbled over on his back. While he was trying\nto kick himself right side up once more, Mrs. Spider made a quick little\ndash, took up her bag, and scuttled off through the grass.\n\n\"Well, I never,\" said Grasshopper Green, who was playing see-saw on a\nblade of grass.\n\n\"No, nor I,\" grumbled Mr. Beetle, as he wriggled back to his feet. \"I\ndidn't want her bag. She needn't have made such a fuss.\"\n\n\"She must have had something very fine in that bag,\" said Grasshopper\nGreen, \"for she was so frightened when she dropped it. I wonder what it\nwas\"\u2014and he balanced himself on his grass blade until a stray breeze\nblew him off, and then he straightway forgot about Mrs. Spider\naltogether.\n\nTwo weeks after this Grasshopper Green started out for a little exercise\nafter breakfast. Just as he reached the edge of the brook he saw Mrs.\nSpider coming toward him. She was moving quite slowly, and no longer\ncarried the little white bag. As she came nearer, he could see that she\nhad something on her back.\n\n\"Good morning, neighbor,\" called Grasshopper Green. \"May I help you\ncarry your things?\" \"Thank you,\" she said, \"but they wouldn't stay with\nyou, even if they could stay on when you give such great jumps.\"\n\n\"They!\" cried Grasshopper Green. And then, as he came nearer, he saw\nthat the things on Mrs. Spider's back were wee little baby spiders.\n\n\"Aren't they pretty children?\" she asked proudly. \"I was so afraid that\nsomething would happen to my eggs that I never let go of the bag once,\nexcept when that stupid Mr. Beetle knocked it out of my mouth.\"\n\n\"Oh, ho,\" said Grasshopper Green, \"so that was what frightened you so!\nYour bag was full of eggs! And, now, you are going to carry all these\nchildren on your back? Doesn't it tire you dreadfully?\"\n\n\"I don't mind that a bit,\" said Mrs. Spider, \"if only the children are\nwell and safe. In a little while, you know, they will be able to run\nabout by themselves, and then we shall be so happy here in the meadow\ngrass. Oh, it's well worth the trouble, neighbor Grasshopper.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Grasshopper Green, \"I have a dozen wee boys of my own at\nhome; and that reminds me that it is time to go home to breakfast!\nGood-bye, neighbor. I hope the children will soon be running about with\nyou. You certainly are taking good care of them. Good-bye.\"\n\nThen home he went; and the proud, happy mother Spider kept on her way to\nhunt for a breakfast for the babies she loved so well.\n\n\n\n\n                          IN BROOKS AND PONDS\n\n\n\n\n                               THE BROOK\n\n\n                  I chatter over stony ways\n                    In little sharps and trebles,\n                  I bubble into eddying bays,\n                    I babble on the pebbles.\n\n                  I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,\n                    Among the skimming swallows;\n                  I make the netted sunbeams dance\n                    Against my sandy shallows.\n\nALFRED TENNYSON.\n\n\n\n\n                        LEGEND OF THE WATER-LILY\n\n\nOne night, long, long ago when the Moon of Flowers shone softly on the\nprairie a group of Indian youths sitting in a circle on the grass were\ntalking about the stars. One of the braves, a young chieftain, gazed\nintently toward the south. On a wooded hill back of his wigwam twinkled\na star which was the brightest he had ever seen.\n\n\"Surely the star has a message for the Red Men. Who can read it?\" the\nwatchers asked each other.\n\nEach night during the beautiful Moon of Flowers the star grew more and\nmore radiant until its glorious light filled the southern sky, but not\none of the Indian youths had been able to explain the meaning of the\nlight.\n\nOne night after the Moon of Flowers had given her place in Sky Land to\nthe Hot Moon the chief dreamed that a beautiful maiden stood by his side\nand said, \"Young brave, how beautiful your world is when the Summer\nQueen reigns. Great stretches of prairie glisten with dandelions and red\nlilies; butterflies flit about in the sunlight; gentle breezes touch the\nforest leaves and they sing soft answers to the rapture of the birds;\nlittle children shout for joy in merry laughter. I long to live among\nyou. Ask your wise men how I may become a part of this beauty, and how I\nmay add to the children's happiness.\"\n\nThen the young chief awakened. He sprang to his feet, called his braves\ntogether in the council-lodge and told them his dream.\n\n\"It's the message of the radiant star,\" they said. \"Let us smoke the\npipe of peace as a sign of our welcome.\"\n\nAccordingly a band of young braves led by the chieftain climbed the\nwooded hill and smoked a pipe of peace filled with sweet-scented herbs.\nThen they stretched forth their hands towards the star and bade welcome\nto her. At the close of their ceremonies the light grew more luminous\nthan ever before and the braves knew their welcome was understood. They\nwalked back to the village and the star followed them all the way, and\nshone over their wigwams until daybreak.\n\nAt night the chief dreamed that the beautiful maiden stood again by his\nside. \"I'm coming to dwell among your people,\" she said. \"I'm wondering\nwhat form I shall take in order to add to the children's joy.\"\n\n\"They love to hear the birds sing,\" said the chief.\n\nBut the maiden shook her head. \"I shall not live in the tree-tops,\" she\nanswered.\n\n\"Choose your own way to live, Star-Maiden,\" said the chief.\n\n\"I shall live among you as a flower,\" she said. \"Surely the children's\nhearts are gladdened by the blossoms of the earth.\"\n\n\"They are, indeed,\" declared the chief. \"The mountain-rose is wondrously\nbeautiful.\"\n\n\"Oh, but it is too far away from the children,\" sighed the maiden.\n\n\"The prairie dandelion makes our little ones clap their hands in glee,\"\nsuggested the chief.\n\nThe maiden thought awhile; then she said, \"The buffalo's hoof often\ncrushes the prairie dandelion.\"\n\nThe chief was sorely puzzled. Finally he said, \"You would be safe from\nharm if you should choose the rocky cliffs for your blooming place.\"\n\nBut the maiden said, \"The children seldom climb the cliffs. I must live\nwhere the children can see me.\"\n\nSuddenly her face brightened and she said, \"I know! I know! I'll live in\nthe clear streamlet and bloom on its surface. I shall feel soft breezes\nblow and hear the birds sing. In the branches which bend over me the\nwarblers will build their nests. The children will play on the banks,\nand they will touch me with their little hands as they glide safely\nalong in their canoes. Look for me in the streamlet.\"\n\nThen the young brave awakened. He sprang up and walked to a clear stream\nwhich flowed near the Indian village. On the waters floated beautiful\nwhite blossoms with delicate waxen leaves. Hundreds of lovely\nwater-lilies were waiting there to surprise the Indian children and\nbring added joy into their lives.\n\n\n\n\n                         THE TALE OF TWO TAILS\n                             MARY H. WILSON\n\n\n                 \"Taddypole and Pollywog\n                 Lived together in a bog;\n                 Here you see the very pool\n                 Where they went to summer school.\n\n                 \"By and by\u2014'tis true, though strange,\n                 O'er them came a wondrous change;\n                 Here you see them on a log,\n                 Each a most decided Frog.\"\n\n                                                     MOTHER'S PORTFOLIO.\n\nThe little pond behind the machine-shop was full of tadpoles\u2014wee\nfellows\u2014all head and tail. Jolliest of these were Taddypole and\nPollywog, two little cousins, who spent their time in countless swimming\nmatches or games of hide-and-seek among the stones which bordered the\npond.\n\nBarefooted boys and girls peeped over the edge of the water to watch the\ntadpoles darting hither and thither; then, with merry shouts, returned\nto their own play.\n\nTaddy's and Pollie's round eyes watched them curiously. Sometimes when\nthe landbabies waded in the shallow water these tiny water-babies played\nfearlessly around their feet, nibbling their toes or playing leapfrog\nover them.\n\nSo they passed merry days and when the twilight came, Taddy and Pollie\nwere ready to listen to the band concert. This, unfortunately, was given\non land, so the little tadpoles could not be present, but from the water\nthey could catch glimpses of Father Frog booming away on his big bass\ndrum, and hear the sweet chirping chorus of the tiny frog violinists in\nthe marsh near by.\n\n\"Oh, Pollie,\" cried Tadpole, \"if we could only go to the concert! Why,\nI'd be willing to give up hide-and-seek for a week just to get a little\nnearer to the music.\"\n\n\"I know,\" said Pollywog gloomily. \"I want to go myself, the very worst\nkind of way. There's no use wishing, though, for we have no clothes that\nwould be suitable. Only green silk dress suits with polka dots are worn\nthis year. Besides, we can't stand it out of the water. It's too warm or\nsomething, I don't know just what, but I always feel half smothered if I\ntry.\"\n\n\"Besides,\" reflected Taddy, \"we haven't been invited. Only musicians are\nasked, and we can't sing, you know.\"\n\nSplash! Ker-Chunk! Father Frog hopped into the water, then out again on\na broad stone, where he began thundering a bass solo:\n\n                        \"Come along, come along,\n                              Come along!\"\n\n\"Oh, how I wish we could!\" cried the little tadpoles, feeling that this\nwas a personal invitation. They swam as close as possible to the stone,\nand gazed admiringly at the great singer.\n\n\"Could what?\" grumbled Father Frog.\n\n\"Wish we could go to the concert.\"\n\n\"Ker-chug!\" answered Father Frog.\n\nIt sounded very much like a hoarse chuckle. \"Why don't you go?\"\n\n\"No invitation.\"\n\n\"No dress suit.\"\n\n\"Can't breathe out of the water.\"\n\nThe tadpoles' voices were very mournful as they gave their reasons.\n\n\"I invite you,\" said Father Frog, \"to the July concert three weeks from\nto-day. Your dress suits will be ready, and as far as breathing is\nconcerned it's all practice. Would you believe it?\" he said in a hoarse\nwhisper, \"I couldn't stay out of the water very well myself at one time,\nbut I practised breathing every day, until now it is the easiest thing\nin the world. But speaking of practice making perfect reminds me I must\nrehearse my song for the concert.\n\n                        \"Come along, come along,\n                              Come along!\"\n\n\"Let's go down in the sand,\" whispered Pollie. \"I can always think\nbetter down there; and, really, this is all so surprising I must think\nit over. Oh, Taddy, do you think we could truly go to the concert?\"\n\nTaddy swished his tail and dived down without answering, feeling this to\nbe too much of a problem for a tadpole to decide.\n\n\"It's very strange,\" said Taddy a few days later; \"it certainly seems as\nif we were getting legs\u2014what use have tadpoles for them? We only need\nour strong tails for swimming.\"\n\n\"Taddy,\" cried Pollie, \"there's something still stranger. Our tails are\nshrinking. If they don't stop they will disappear, and then what could\nwe do?\"\n\n\"Grr-nm, grr-nm!\" sounded Father Frog's hoarse voice. \"Getting ready for\nthe concert, I see! Well, when you lose those ridiculous tails you will\nlook much better.\"\n\n\"Lose them!\" exclaimed the tadpoles; \"and what do you think we could do\nwithout them?\" But Father Frog had disappeared, leaving only the echo of\nhis \"Come along.\"\n\n\"I feel as if something strange were about to happen,\" said Pollie. \"I'm\ntired of tag and hide-and-seek; let's think of some new game.\"\n\n\"We might practice breathing, as Father Frog advised,\" suggested Taddy;\n\"let's go to the top of the water and see who can keep his head out the\nlonger.\"\n\nThis new game interested the tadpoles very much, and in a week's time\nthey began really to enjoy the air.\n\n\"I can stay out a long while now,\" announced Taddy triumphantly, \"and\nsince my front legs appeared I can jump quite high.\"\n\n\"Our tails are quite gone,\" said Pollie, \"and I don't know but that it\nis an improvement. I think I like legs better than tails, and hopping is\nmuch more fun than swimming. Some day I mean to hop up on that wet stone\nwhere Father Frog sits so often. Wouldn't he be surprised to see me\nthere?\"\n\n\"What fun!\" exclaimed Taddy. \"Try it now. There, you did it! Oh, Pollie,\nhow fine you look! Do you like it up there? I'm coming, too, Pollie.\nHurrah!\"\n\n\"Ho, ho!\" chuckled Father Frog from the land. \"Are you ready for the\nconcert, little frogs?\"\n\nTaddy and Pollie looked at each other in astonishment.\n\n\"Are we frogs?\" they cried.\n\n\"Why, yes.\"\n\n\"Oh, Taddy, and you have your green suit!\"\n\n\"So have you, Pollie.\"\n\n\"Why, I shouldn't be surprised at anything now, not even if we could\nsing. Let's try,\" and both little frogs lifted up their voices and sang.\n\n\"Che-weep, che-weep, che-weep.\"\n\nThey looked so droll, and sang with such a funny chirp, that Father Frog\nfell off the bank splash into the water with laughter.\n\nTaddy and Pollie didn't mind this in the least, for they were sure that\nChe-weep was the most beautiful song in the world.\n\nAnd this is the way Taddypole and Pollywog lost their tails, and gained\ntheir voices in time for the July concert.\n\n\n\n\n                          ORIGIN OF BULLFROGS\n\n\nOnce upon a time in a mountain valley there was a group of Indian lodges\nwhere the people dwelt very happily. It was an excellent place for a\nvillage. In the thick forests which covered the mountain slopes there\nwas abundance of game, and through the valley flowed a sparkling clear\nbrook fed by a full torrent and many slender rills which leaped down the\nwild mountain sides. So pure and delicious was the water from this\nstream that the Indians felt sure it was a gift to them from the Great\nSpirit.\n\nEach day it was the custom for the Indian maidens to take their kettles\nto the brook and fill them with water. They were much surprised one\nsummer morning to note that the stream was not so deep as usual.\n\n\"Is it because we have had little rain lately?\" they asked each other.\n\nThey reported what they had noticed to the villagers who said, \"Our\nbrook will not fail us. The weather has been very dry of late; but soon\nwe shall have plenty of rain which will swell the waters of our precious\nstream.\"\n\nBut, strange to say, the rain did not deepen the brook and when the\nIndians saw that the water was becoming shallower each day they were\nvery much alarmed. One morning they found that the brook and the waters\nwhich fed it had entirely disappeared. With sad hearts they gazed at the\nbed of shining pebbles which marked the course of their beloved stream.\n\n\"Is the Great Spirit angry with us?\" they whispered. \"What have we done\nto make him take away our life-giving water?\"\n\nThe chief called the men to the council lodge in order to determine the\nbest thing to do.\n\nNow it happened that the people of the happy village had often heard\nrumors of another group of Indians who lived higher up on the mountain.\nAfter much deliberation a wise man rose in the council lodge and said,\n\"Let us send one of our fleet-footed braves on a journey to discover\nthis village which we have heard about but whose people we know not.\nPerhaps they can tell him what has stopped the flow of waters. Let the\nrunner follow the bed of the mountain stream which leaped most willingly\nto our precious brook.\"\n\nAccordingly a swift runner was chosen to search for the other Indian\nvillage. He was advised to follow a trail which led to the source of the\nbrook. It was a hazardous journey up the slippery path of the mountain\nslope which was covered with dense thickets of tangled underbrush and\nforest trees.\n\nFor three days the young brave pursued his task of climbing the\nmountain. At last he came to a small stretch of level plain and there he\nsaw a group of wigwams. Back of the village the runner could see a clear\nstream of water whose course further down the mountain had been stopped\nby a large dam which checked the water and turned it into a great pond.\nSeveral Indians came out of their wigwams and gazed coldly at the\nstranger. Not a word of welcome did they give.\n\n\"Why have you done this mischief?\" asked the runner, pointing to the\ndam. \"Know you not that this stopping of the mountain brook has cut off\nthe supply of water to us who live in the valley below?\"\n\n\"The dam was built by the order of our chief,\" replied one of the men.\n\n\"Lead me to him that I may tell him the misery he has caused my people.\nSurely he will be merciful,\" said the runner.\n\nBut no one offered to lead the way. In a little while one of them\npointed to the pond and said, \"The chief lives there.\"\n\nThe runner went quickly to the edge of the pond and there, lying in the\nmud, he saw a monster whose bloated body of giant size was half hidden.\nHis great yellow eyes bulged out like knots on a tree-trunk; his mouth\nreached almost from ear to ear. At the approach of the Indian this\ncreature aroused himself and stretched out his great broad skinny feet.\n\nIn a hoarse frog-like voice the monster chief croaked, \"What do you\nwant? What do you want?\"\n\n\"I came to see why the brook which brought our village water has dried\nup. It is because you have built a dam to stop its course,\" said the\nrunner.\n\n\"What do I care?\" lazily replied the chief. \"What do I care?\"\n\n\"We cannot live without the water from our brook,\" pleaded the Indian.\n\n\"What do I care?\" again croaked the monster. \"If you want water go\nsomewhere else! Go somewhere else!\"\n\n\"My people are dying from thirst! No one may rightfully keep for his own\nuse the water from a mountain stream. The Great Spirit sent the brook to\nour village!\" said the runner earnestly.\n\nThe monster rolled his great yellow eyes for several minutes. Then he\nsaid, \"Shoot a hole in the wall of the dam with one of your arrows. Your\npeople may have as much water as will flow through the arrow hole.\"\n\nVery swiftly the runner sped an arrow. It pierced the wall and a slender\nstream of water trickled through the opening.\n\n\"Begone!\" croaked the monster when he saw the water flowing. \"Begone!\nBegone!\"\n\nFeeling encouraged at the hope that enough water would flow to supply\nthe needs of his people the runner hastened back to the village. When he\ntold what had happened there was great rejoicing, especially when the\nIndians saw a slender stream of water flowing into the brook's dry bed.\nBut, alas! The water did not continue to flow. In a few weeks the people\nwere again suffering from thirst. A council of all the men in the\nvillage was held and earnestly they implored the Great Spirit to help\nthem.\n\nAfter much deliberation it was decided that the bravest man among them\nshould go to the Frog Chief, and challenge him to do battle for the\nmountain water. \"Let us hope that our warrior will stay this monster\nwhose selfishness is bringing destruction to us,\" said one of the\nleaders.\n\nMany of the young men offered to go, each declaring his willingness to\ndo battle, even at the greatest risk, with the monster chief. While\nseveral braves were clamoring for this great privilege of fighting for\nthe good of the village, there appeared in the doorway of the council\nlodge a warrior who was marvelous to see. His flashing eyes were\nencircled with green rings; his cheeks were as red as blood. Great clam\nshells hung from his ears, and tall eagle plumes nodded on his head. It\nwas Glooscap, the spirit who brought great blessings to the Indians and\nwho sometimes took human shape in order to help them.\n\nThe silence of the council was broken by this mighty warrior who said,\n\"I will undertake to do battle with the monster who has stopped the flow\nof water to your brook. He shall account to me for this wicked deed.\"\n\nThen swiftly he departed and followed the mountain trail to the upper\nvillage.\n\nIn a short time he reached the place and sat down near the group of\nwigwams to rest. The people saw him, but they offered him neither food\nnor drink.\n\n\"Fetch me water to quench my thirst,\" said Glooscap to a small boy who\ncame near.\n\nAfter a long while the lad returned with a drinking vessel half filled\nwith muddy water. Glooscap took the cup, emptied the contents on the\ngrass and said, \"I want clean water from the mountain brook.\"\n\n\"I cannot give it to you,\" said the lad. \"Our chief drinks all the clean\nwater.\"\n\n\"Then lead me to your chief,\" said Glooscap. \"He shall give me pure\nwater.\"\n\nQuaking with fear, the Indian boy led Glooscap to the pond where the\nmonster chief lay sunning himself.\n\n\"What do you want?\" croaked the yellow-eyed creature.\n\n\"I've come to you for a drink of pure water,\" said Glooscap.\n\n\"Go somewhere else! Go somewhere else!\" said the monster hoarsely.\n\nThe mighty Glooscap now rushed forward with his spear, thrust it through\nthe chief's great body, and lo! a stream of water rushed forth with such\nforce that it broke the dam and flowed down the mountain in a clear,\nsparkling torrent. The monster chief had swallowed all the pure water of\nthe mountain streams.\n\nThen Glooscap rose to a giant's height, caught the monster in his\npowerful hand and squeezed him with all his might. When he loosened his\ngrasp there in his hand was a great bullfrog with crumpled back, yellow,\nbulging eyes, wide mouth, and broad, skinny feet. Glooscap flung the\ncreature back into the pond and ever since that day croaking bull-frogs\nmay be found in muddy streams.\n\n\n\n\n                            WOODLAND WATERS\n\n\n               Through leaves of the nodding trees\n               Where blossoms sway in the breeze,\n               Pink bag-pipes make for the bees,\n                 Whose slogan is droning and drawling,\n               Where columbine scatters its bells\n               And the wild bleeding-heart its shells\n               O'er mosses and rocks of the dells\n                 The brook of the forest is calling.\n\n               You can hear it under the hill\n               When the wind in the wood is still,\n               And, strokes of a fairy drill,\n                 Sounds the bill of the yellow-hammer.\n               By the Solomon's seal it slips\n               Cohosh and the grass that drips\n               Like the sound of an Undine's lips\n                 Is the sound of its falls that stammer.\n\n                                                         MADISON CAWEIN.\n\n\n\n\n                           THE GRUBBIEST GRUB\n\n                                J. BEVAN\n\n\n\"There's no use trying,\" said the newest newt; \"you'll never be anything\n_but_ grubby.\"\n\nThe newest newt lived at the bottom of the garden pond. He was a very\nelegant newt. The orange spots on his waistcoat were the brightest to be\nseen in all the garden.\n\nThe grubbiest grub was not elegant. He was unquestionably the very\ngrubbiest thing in the garden pond. However, he had ambitions.\n\n\"But there's no use trying,\" said the newest newt again. \"I myself saw\nyou fall from a willow leaf not so long since, and had ideas about you.\nI thought, perhaps, you might be some new kind of egg and hatch into a\nroyal turtle. But I watched you, and you didn't hatch\u2014you grew just like\na tadpole. Only you didn't grow even into a frog.\"\n\nThe grubbiest grub said nothing. His heart grew a little bitter as he\nthought, \"Not even into a frog.\"\n\n\"But cheer up,\" said the newest newt, \"there's mud enough at the bottom\nof the garden spot for all of us. And it's not a bad place\u2014aristocratic\nturtles in the neighbourhood, and I live here.\"\n\nHe was off with an extra swirl of his extra shiny tail. He was due at\nthe turtles' ball at sunset. He was always being invited somewhere\nbecause of the orange on his waistcoat.\n\nThe grubbiest grub was never invited anywhere, and he didn't look like\nanything that anybody had ever seen, and didn't seem related to anybody.\nAnd his heart rebelled.\n\n\"Up above the pond there is light,\" he said. \"I know that, and there is\nsome strange thing\u2014tall, and coloured like\u2014like\u2014\u2014\" He couldn't think\nwhat. He had only pond grass and pond creatures to compare it to.\n\"Like\u2014\u2014\" A little fish swam slowly past him, and, as it turned, the long\nlight, sifting through the water from the sunset, caught colours on its\nbody. \"Like that!\" said the grubbiest grub.\n\nThe fish was swaying slowly. Then it saw the grubbiest grub. \"Good\nevening,\" said the sparkling fish; \"and isn't there a party?\"\n\n\"To be sure,\" answered the grubbiest grub, \"but you see I'm not\ninvited.\"\n\nThe sparkling fish looked again. \"Why,\" she said, \"I thought you\nbelonged to that set of newts and turtles, and the better class of pond\nfrogs. Anyway, why aren't you invited?\"\n\n\"I'm far too grubby,\" said the grubbiest grub; \"didn't you know?\"\n\nThe little silver fish swam slowly around the grub.\n\n\"I think you belong above,\" she said at last; \"don't you ever want to go\nup there?\"\n\n\"I have dreamed of a thing gleaming like\u2014like\u2014\u2014\"\n\n\"Rainbows,\" said the shining fish.\n\n\"Rainbows,\" repeated the grubbiest grub, \"and I have wanted so to find\none. But I never could tell anyone. The newt would have died laughing.\"\n\n\"So you're afraid of being laughed at!\" said the fish. \"I think you _do_\nbelong to the turtle set.\" And she swam away.\n\nSuddenly something seemed to sting and burn into the heart of the grubby\ngrub. The look the silver fish had given him was worse than the laughter\nof any number of newts. \"I _will_ go and find the thing I dreamed,\" he\nsaid.\n\nThe grubbiest grub started slowly up a mass of tangled roots and thence\non to a long, thin stem. The wave that rippled round the stem saw the\ngrub coming. \"You don't belong here,\" he said.\n\n\"Please,\" entreated the grub, and his poor grubby face looked so sad\nthat the wave paused a moment before he brushed him off.\n\n\"Well\u2014what do you want here?\" asked the wave. \"We can't have grubs\neating out our lily hearts, you know.\"\n\nThe grub took a deep breath, and clung on tightly to the lily stem. He\nwas terribly afraid of being laughed at, but he thought of the silver\nfish and the pain that was worse than any laughter. \"I don't want to eat\nyour lily's heart,\" he said; \"I'm only looking for a thing I\u2014dreamed.\"\n\nStrange, the wave didn't laugh. He only looked more closely at the\ngrubby grub. \"Oh, you're _that_ kind,\" he said. \"Sure enough. Well, go\nalong. Take the first turning by the moss roots, and good luck to you.\"\n\nThe grubbiest grub went on. He found moving upward easier as he grew\nmore used to it. At the place where the moss roots clung most closely to\nthe lily stem, he turned off, then along the moss roots to the edge of\nthe pond, and on up to a broad shaft of green pointing still higher.\n\nThe grubbiest grub paused. He was very, very tired, and everything was\nnew and strange to him. He had never breathed the air before, nor seen\nthe stars.\n\nAbout him were many voices, and there were points of light and trails,\nand flashes of gold, such as the silver fish had scattered in the water.\nThere was darkness, too, reaching beneath to clutch him.\n\nThe grubbiest grub clung tightly to the shaft of green. \"What am I doing\nhere? What am I doing here?\" he asked himself, and his back ached and\nhis sides ached, and his heart was numb with aching.\n\n\"Why, you are waiting for the morning,\" said a little voice beside him.\n\"Don't be frightened. I've seen your kind before. You came up from the\nmud, and if you wait till daylight you'll have wings and fly away. The\nchildren in the big house will clap their hands and say, \"Look, look,\nanother dragon-fly! Your wings are like rainbows.\"\n\n\"You can't be laughing at me,\" said the grubbiest grub; \"your voice is\nkind.\"\n\n\"Why should I laugh?\" said the little voice. \"I am one of the\ngrass-blade spirits, and I love all things with wings.\"\n\n\"But I have no wings,\" said the grubby grub, \"and it seems darker.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said the grass-blade spirit. \"It's only the moon gone for a\nmoment. But, oh!\" she cried, as the moon flickered through on the broad\ngreen shaft again, \"your shell has broken open.\"\n\nAnd sure enough, there sat a pale wisp of a dragon-fly in the moonlight.\n\"But I have no wings,\" he cried in disappointment. \"I cannot fly.\"\n\n\"Only wait,\" said the grass-blade spirit, and he waited in eager,\ntrembling excitement.\n\nHe waited while the stars turned round the heavens and the moon sank.\n\nThen his heart lifted up, and he felt his wings, and he flew.\n\nHe flew, trembling, quivering, white but touched with iridescent colour,\non, on above the pointed shaft, on still in the dawn.\n\nThe grass-blade spirit watched. \"Yes! yes!\" he cried from below;\n\"splendid\u2014O beautiful spirit\u2014but higher!\"\n\nHigher he went, and then he sank exhausted.\n\n\"You have found your dream,\" cried the grass-blade spirit, as the\ndragon-fly felt the warmth about him.\n\nHe opened his eyes. He saw blue and gold and yellow of sunlight flashing\nin the dawn. About him was fragrance and rest and peace.\n\n\"I love you,\" said the iris flower, where he had fallen; \"and I have\nwaited for you\u2014it is day.\"\n\nSo the poor grub, with the funny, blinking eyes and the puffy face had\nfallen on the petals of a great sweet iris flower. Of course, as you\nknow, every flower is the house of a fairy. And this house was a palace\nof blue flowers veined in gold, and blue fringes and tassels in the\ninmost inner room, where the wonderful fairy lived who was the flower\nprincess.\n\nThe iris-flower princess rose from her couch of lavender and gold. It\nwas then that she said, \"I have waited for you\u2014it is day.\"\n\nAnd it was day, sparkling and gleaming on all the grass-blades.\n\nThe grubbiest grub\u2014who was a dragon-fly prince now, in green velvet and\na silken cloak, shimmering like wings behind him\u2014and the flower princess\nstood on the flower palace steps, and looked out across the\ngrass-blades.\n\nAll the little grass-blade spirits cried, \"All hail, Prince Dragon-Fly!\"\nand the flower princess\u2014who would be queen now of all the winged folk as\nwell\u2014called to the grass-blade spirit who had urged Prince Dragon-Fly to\nfind her. And as the little grass-blade fairy knelt there at her feet,\nshe proclaimed him \"Knight of the Grass-Blades, Keeper of the Dewdrops,\nand Lord High Admiral of the Garden Pond.\"\n\nThe folk at the bottom of the garden pond, however, went on just the\nsame in spite of the New Dewdrop\u2014High Lord, Grass-Blade Admiral. In\nfact, they didn't even know that there was a new admiral, and they never\ndreamed of the great coronation ceremony that was to make the poor\nlittle despised grubby thing the king of the winged creatures. They just\nthought about themselves as usual, and the success of the last ball, and\nthe aristocratic turtles, and the extra shiny mud floor where the newest\nnewt with the orange spots on his waistcoat had danced so beautifully\nwith Sir Fat-Frog's fattest daughter.\n\n\n\n\n                             THE DRAGON-FLY\n\n\n               To-day I saw the dragon-fly\n               Come from the wells where he did lie;\n               An inner impulse rent the veil\n               Of his old husk! from head to tail\n               Came out clear plates of sapphire mail.\n\n               He dried his wings: like gauze they grew;\n               Through crofts and pastures wet with dew\n               A living flash of light he flew.\n\n                                                        ALFRED TENNYSON.\n\n\n\n\n                              ON THE WING\n\n                 Out of a tuft a little lark\n                 Went higher up than I could mark,\n                 His little throat was all one thirst\n                 To sing until his heart should burst,\n                 To sing aloft in golden light\n                 His song from blue air out of sight.\n\n                                                         JOHN MASEFIELD.\n\n                  When birdies sing on every tree.\n                  The distant huntsman winds his horn,\n                  And the skylarks sing with me,\n                    O what sweet company.\n\n                                                          WILLIAM BLAKE.\n\n\n\n\n                       HOW WOODPECKER CHANGED HIS\n                                COLOURS\n\n                            (MICMAC LEGEND)\n\n\nLong, long ago Woodpecker wore a plain suit of dark grey feathers with a\nfew white patches on it. He often looked admiringly at the bright\ncolours which many of the birds wore, and sometimes his gay companions\ntaunted him about his plain clothes. Then Grey Woodpecker would leave\nthe woods for awhile and flit about an Indian village.\n\nHere he made friends with an Indian girl whose name was\nPretty-Dancing-Maiden who was the pride of her people. There was no\nsport she loved so much as dancing, and the graceful movements of her\nslender figure and dainty feet made all the people call her the best\ndancer in the village.\n\nWhenever this maiden dressed for a dance Grey Woodpecker helped her\npaint her face with many colours. When she was ready he would hop a\nlittle distance off and, with his head on one side, say,\n\"Pretty-Dancing-Maiden is more beautiful than any bird of the forest.\"\n\nOne day after she had finished painting he looked admiringly at her but\nsaid nothing. The maiden laughed merrily and asked, \"What colour needs\ndeepening, Grey Woodpecker?\"\n\n\"Red! _Red! Red!_\" was his answer, for the bird loved the brilliant\ncolour best which the maiden used on her cheeks and smiling lips.\n\nThen Pretty-Dancing-Maiden always took up the bits of wood which she\nused for brushes, dipped them into red paint, and again touched daintily\nher cheeks and lips. And with a merry good-bye to Grey Woodpecker she\nran lightly out of the wigwam to the dance.\n\nIt happened one evening after the maiden had gayly dressed for the dance\nand waved good-bye to her little feathered friend, the bird looked\nintently at the bits of wood which the maiden had used to put on the\nbeautiful red paint. In a little while his eyes twinkled merrily and he\nsaid, \"I'll make myself beautiful too! I'll use Pretty-Dancing-Maiden's\nred paint brushes and brighten my suit of plain grey and white.\"\n\nHe took up the wooden brushes and rubbed the red paint over his ears.\nTwo brilliant stripes he made, for there was plenty of the colour on the\nbits of sticks. How happy he was!\n\n\"The birds of the forest shall never again call me a bird of plain\nclothes,\" said he.\n\nAnd ever since that far-off day the woodpeckers have worn red stripes\nover their ears.\n\n\n\n\n                       A RETORT FROM THE CATBIRD\n\n\n              I heard the Catbird in the bush\n                With breathless ecstasy;\n              No bobolink or fluttering thrush\n                Made carol sweet as he.\n\n              It bubbled like a mountain rill\n                Drenching the weary day,\n              With eddying turn and rippling trill,\n                A magic roundelay.\n\n              I heard the Catbird once again.\n                A harsh, discordant note,\n              Which pierced the shuddering ear with pain,\n                Came from the selfsame throat.\n\n              O bird perverse! That heavenly voice\n                Tuned to so sharp a key!\n              Why cease to make the air rejoice\n                Debasing minstrelsy?\n\n              Why not be ever at your best?\n                Again the peevish mew\n              Answering, accusing me with zest:\n                \"Are you?\" he cried, \"are y-o-u?\"\n\n                                                    ABBIE FARWELL BROWN.\n\n\n\n\n                            WOODPECKER LIFE\n\n                        MARGARET COULSON WALKER\n\n\nOn the thirteenth of July a red-mutched woodpecker knocked on the\nstricken bough of a lofty elm to crave of the Dryad within hospitality\nfor a season. Yes, her wish would be granted, but only on condition that\nshe would dig out a shelter for herself there in the hard, dry wood.\n\nWhat had gone wrong in the woodpecker family that she was in need of\nshelter this late in the year? Earlier in the summer she and her mate\nhad burrowed out a comfortable home in a great oak tree not two hundred\nyards away. Then they were on the best of terms and had relieved each\nother at the task of digging out their dwelling place. Twenty or\ntwenty-five minutes at a time was thought long enough for either of them\nto devote to so labourious a task in the springtime; then the other\nspent an equal time at the work, while the one off duty hurried away to\npartake of refreshments or to seek rest in change of occupation.\n\nThen there seemed to be some joy in their lives, for when they had\noccasionally found time for recreation, they had chased each other\naround the tree trunks and given utterance to their enjoyment of the\ngame in many a peal of cackling laughter. Near the base of a tree the\ngame began, and, spirally round and round its trunk, they pursued each\nother, the one in the lead every now and then casting a challenging look\nbehind, then hurrying upward faster than before. Their playtimes were\nbrief, however, for the unfinished burrow was calling.\n\nWhen this was completed and later a half dozen or more eggs were laid,\nthough madam spent most of her time in dispensing warmth to them, her\nmate also did his share. Together they had devoted their energies to\nproviding for the little ones that pecked their way out of the round,\nwhite eggs. Many long journeys were they compelled to take, and many\nwere the hours spent in search of suitable food for their hungry\noffspring; but on their return their throats were always full to the\nbrim with the nourishment which they pumped into infant throats as,\nhanging head downward over them, they clung with their claws to the\nentrance of their home. And when, after a time, the chicks were old\nenough to scramble about on the trunk of the tree outside their home, a\nwheezy call from one of them was enough to bring one or both of the\nparents, with throat distended with the best the wood afforded, to\nminister to their wants. Together they had driven away the\nover-solicitous squirrels and meddlesome sparrows who came to visit\nthem. Together they had guided their asthmatic young family about the\nwood, teaching them by example, if not by precept, where food was to be\nfound, and how to meet the dangers they were likely to encounter at any\nmoment.\n\nThe accidents of nature had depleted the brood, till now but two of them\nwere left. A ball of baby feathers in the home of an owl living in the\nwood told the story of the passing of one of them; the gladness which\nattended the home-coming of a foraging mother squirrel marked the taking\noff of another; so they had gone, till only these two remained, wheezy\nand exacting.\n\nOf late the care of them had fallen mainly on the father, who picked up\na living for them as best he could. At times he seemed to try to get\naway from them\u2014a futile effort, for when they did not follow his\nundulating flight in their awkward up-and-down fashion, they went in\nsearch of him if he was gone a few minutes overtime.\n\nHere on the thirteenth of July was the mother seeking shelter away from\nher former home. Had there been a family disagreement? Was the home-nest\nno longer large enough for the parent birds and their now almost\ngrown-up family? Was she planning for a new brood? Surely not! It would\nbe impossible to rear in a single season two broods requiring so much\ncare.\n\nWhatever her purpose, here she was, drawing her plans on the under side\nof the dry old bough. Soon she began to peck out an entrance, and it was\nnot long before the chips were flying in every direction. More than an\nhour she worked, then flew to the dead top of a tree across the way,\nwhere she sat for a brief time resting and sunning herself. Twice she\nleft her perch to dart out after passing insects, then returned to her\nlabour. Occasionally she swung around to the top side of the dead\nbranch, and tore off bits of bark either for the purpose of seeing if\nthe hole was going clear through or for securing the insect fare lurking\nunder it. This part of the work continued at intervals, till the bark\nwas removed from all the excavated portion of the bough. All day, until\nabout five o'clock, she spent at her task with but little rest, then\nthere was a long visit to the rest perch in the neighbouring treetop.\n\nThe early morning hours were probably devoted to commissary tours; for\nit was almost eight o'clock when she appeared on the scene of her\nlabours and again began to wield the pick. About ten o'clock her spouse\nappeared and arranged himself comfortably on the same limb about a foot\naway from the hole she was digging, but not by so much as a single\nstroke did he assist her. Soon a wheezy, whistling cry called him to\nduties as insistent as home building, and he departed.\n\nAfter watching the progress of woodpecker affairs for some time, a\ndweller in the house under the tree decided to lend a hand. A worm-eaten\nhitching-post stood near, on which was placed pieces of bread for the\nhungry little wielder of the pick. This not only satisfied her wants,\nbut served also to bring her mate and offspring near occasionally. At\nfirst the young members of the family refused to pick up this food set\nbefore them, but, instead, clung to a neighbouring tree and called\nvociferously for help. Then the father took the bits of bread and pushed\nthem far down into the screaming throats. The young Romulus must have\npossessed wonderful powers of endurance if the woodpeckers of old\nministered to him as vigorously in response to his infantile wails as\nthe woodpeckers of to-day respond to the screaming demands of their own\noffspring. How gentle the wolf must have seemed in comparison!\n\nSeveral times the young woodpeckers followed the father to the limb in\nwhich the mother was chiseling a home. Together they watched her work,\nbut during the first three days seemed to take no interest whatever in\nthe hole she was making. Then the father went in and examined the\nopening, but flew away without giving any real aid. And all through the\nwork his assistance seemed to be limited to inspection.\n\nIn her digging, the mother woodpecker clung with her claws to the\nopening of the burrow, and, head downward, pecked rapidly. Sometimes she\nwould throw out chips\u2014which were little more than coarse sawdust\u2014after\nthree or four blows; again, she worked for a minute or two, then threw\nout several billfuls at a time. In throwing out these chips she slipped\nbackward and forward over the lower edge of the opening, after the\nmanner of that old-fashioned toy called a \"supple jack.\" First she threw\nher chips to one side, then to the other, till the ground beneath the\nburrow, for a space thirty feet in circumference, was generously\nsprinkled with them.\n\nThough several persons were watching her, and though squirrels were\nspringing about among the branches, she was not disturbed, but went\nsteadily on with her task. While she was away on short vacations, the\nwren, dwelling in the porch roof beneath, frequently investigated the\nhole she was digging\u2014sparrows examined it, and squirrels looked into it,\nbut it was very noticeable that they all had an eye on her return. Once,\nin her absence, one of her own young woodpeckers scrambled to the edge\nof the hole, and peeped in for a moment, then scuttled back again to the\nplace where the dead branch joined the trunk of the tree, and, in his\nusual noisy manner, demanded food.\n\nIt was near the end of the third day's labour that the woodpecker was\nfirst seen \"trying on\" her new home. Then she went into it, and,\nnestling there, with head up for the first time, looked out of the\nwindow. Evidently, the pocket was neither deep enough nor wide enough,\nfor after this she worked on both bottom and sides of it, scattering\nchips as before. The work periods were shorter now and the rests more\nfrequent, showing that her strength was failing. On the afternoon of the\nfifth day, when the burrow was finished, completely exhausted, she made\nher way to the roof of the house, where, with wings spread, she lay for\nmore than an hour. Seemingly too tired to reach her usual resting place\nin the treetop across the way, she lay there gathering strength for the\nlonger flight.\n\nThough the sexes are alike in the redhead family, it was not difficult\nto distinguish them in this case, for the feathers about the head and\nneck of the mother were much more worn than those of her less\nindustrious mate. Yet it may be an injustice to him to accuse him of\nindolence, for was he not purveying to their younglings?\u2014a task which\nmay have taxed his energies to the limit. Perhaps, after all, it was\nonly a case of division of labour.\n\nAfter the completion of the burrow, though the woodpecker was anxiously\nwatched for, for several days, she was not seen near it again, though\nthe usual bits of bread placed on the hitching-post brought her to its\nneighbourhood.\n\nThe experiment was tried of putting some of the crusts on the top of the\npost and stuffing others tightly into the large worm-holes. The latter\nwere invariably taken first. Though the young birds came there regularly\nto be fed, more than a week passed before they made the slightest effort\nto help themselves. They would cling to the sides of the post, and, with\nupward-pointing, open bills, whistle asthmatically for the food, which\nthe parents were compelled to place in their throats. Whether it was\nwilfulness or inability that caused them to act as they did, it was\nimpossible to determine.\n\nThe whistling of the young birds, which was once believed to predict\nrain, or to be a demand for it from a thirsty throat, always precedes or\naccompanies the taking of food. It is, doubtless, a little more frequent\nbefore showers, for at such times the older birds are able to collect\nmore beetles and other insects that come out then from their shelters\ninto the open.\n\nThe old belief that woodpeckers are ever athirst because of their\ninability to drink any save the rain that falls into their open throats\nor the drops that fall from the leaves, may have some foundation. In the\ncase of this family, though a basin of water was always conveniently\nnear, and though sparrows, robins, bluejays, and wrens constantly\npatronized it, no woodpecker was ever seen to refresh himself from\nit\u2014many as there were of them in the vicinity.\n\nWhen more bread than the four birds could consume was placed in the\npost, the older ones carried a part of it away\u2014usually the larger pieces\non top\u2014for future use, or pounded it tightly into worm-holes in the same\npost, but never into the ones in which they found it.\n\nSeveral weeks after the burrow was finished, one evening just about\nsunset, a redhead was seen peeping from the window in the treetop; then\nit was drawn back, and again it appeared and was withdrawn to be seen no\nmore during the evening. It was a dormitory, then, that you hollowed out\nfor yourself, was it, my lady?\n\nOne morning, near the close of August, it was noticed that the entrance\nto the lodging was distinctly larger, and that a patch of daylight\nshowed through from the other side. Whether, for some reason, the bird\nherself had enlarged the opening before departing for the South, or\nwhether this had been done by mischievous squirrels on murder bent, is\nnot known; but certain it is that the red-mutched labourer was gone.\nOthers of her kind lingered in the grove for a week or more, and though\nfood was placed on the accustomed post, neither she nor any of her\nimmediate family appeared to claim it.\n\nWhen he is gone, the most accomplished songsters are not missed more\nthan the red-headed woodpecker, whose broad patches of clear colour\nenliven the wood. Though he may no longer assist in the growth of the\nforests by bringing refreshing showers, as he is said to have done in\nthe long time ago, he certainly is doing much in his own way to preserve\nthem. Well might the ancients have made a god of him. He still possesses\none of the gifts which won that honour for him\u2014the power of producing\nthunder\u2014and in a way that mortals can understand. Hear it rumbling among\nthe dead treetops, as the bird drums rapidly on the dry wood and sets it\nto vibrating, then quickly lays his hollow bill against it to add\nresonance to the peal. Vulcan himself could not have felt greater\nsatisfaction than he, as he stops to listen, in conscious pride over his\naccomplishment.\n\nWhether he is a god made manifest in feathers, or merely an old woman\nunder a curse, expiating the crime of selfishness in picking up a living\nwhere there seems to be no life, and in sharing this scant fare with the\nhungry, as we see this bird with breast flattened and shoulders bent by\nhard work, while our sympathies are awakened, we bless the day that gave\nto the world this tireless little labourer of the woods.\n\n\n\n\n                       KINGFISHER'S NECKLACE AND\n                                 RUFFLE\n\n\nKingfisher is very proud, indeed, of his white collar and ruffled\nhead-dress, but there was a time in the long, long ago when he had\nneither of these ornaments. He wore a plain suit of gray-blue feathers\nand his head was as smooth as a robin's.\n\nIn that far-off time Kingfisher lived near a large lake, which was\nbordered by long stretches of pine trees. He chose this place for a home\nbecause he could catch plenty of fish in the clear waters of the lake.\nAlso, he had made a friend of Wolf, who lived with the great spirit,\nManabozho, in a bear-skin wigwam, which stood on the shore.\n\nWolf was a mighty hunter and provided Manabozho with plenty of food. It\nhappened one season that game was scarce in the forest near the wigwam,\nand Wolf decided to hunt in the woods on the opposite side of the lake.\n\n\"Brother Wolf,\" said Manabozho, \"see how dense the pine woods over there\nare. No hunter has ever ventured into that tangled forest.\"\n\n\"That is why I shall surely find plenty of game there,\" answered Wolf.\n\nAccordingly, early next morning Wolf ran around the long margin of the\nlake until he came to the thick forest. He soon caught all the game he\ncould carry, but instead of returning with it to the lodge, he stopped\nto fish on Big Rock, which jutted out into the lake.\n\nKingfisher, perched on one of the tall pine trees, called out: \"Wolf, do\nnot fish from Big Rock. The sea-serpents are lurking near, and they will\ncatch you.\"\n\n\"I want some fine fish to take to Manabozho,\" answered Wolf. \"I'm not\nafraid of the sea-ser\u2014\u2014!\"\n\nHe had not finished speaking when, in a very mysterious way, something\ngave his fishing-line a mighty jerk, and Wolf was pulled headlong into\nthe water.\n\nManabozho had no game for supper. All night he listened for the\nfootsteps of his faithful hunter, but Wolf did not return to the lodge.\nIn the morning the great spirit began to search for his companion. He\ntraveled all around the long margin of the lake, but not a single trace\nof Wolf could he find. Near Big Rock, on a tall pine tree, sat\nKingfisher. Manabozho had never before spoken to the plain little bird,\nwho was very much surprised when the great spirit said, \"Kingfisher, can\nyou tell me what has happened to Manabozho's brother Wolf? I'll give you\na beautiful necklace of wampum if you can help me find him.\"\n\nKingfisher flew down from the pine tree to a branch near the great\nspirit and said, \"Yesterday I saw your brother Wolf fishing from Big\nRock. A sea-serpent pulled him under the water. If you would rescue him\nyou must watch on this side of the lake. When the sun is highest the\nsea-serpents come to the rocks to sun themselves.\"\n\nManabozho was so pleased with the information that he put a necklace of\nbeautiful white wampum around Kingfisher's neck.\n\n\"You must not tell the serpents that I am watching for Wolf,\" said\nManabozho.\n\nBut Kingfisher was looking in the mirror of the lake, admiring his new\nnecklace, so he did not hear the great spirit's words. Manabozho became\nsuspicious and seized the little bird by the head. Kingfisher wriggled\nand twisted, and finally freed himself from the hand of the angry\nManabozho and flew away. But the feathers on Kingfisher's head were very\nmuch ruffled in the struggle, and he has worn them so ever since; also,\nto this day, he wears Manabozho's gift of the beautiful white necklace.\n\n\n\n\n                               OWL WISDOM\n\n                             FRANCES WRIGHT\n\n\nOnce upon a time the owls were the largest and the most dull and stupid\nof all the birds of the air. While the eagle soared above the mountain's\ncrest to hail the sun before his rising, and the lark carolled his matin\nin the blue fields of ether, the owls were snoring; when the thrush and\nthe blackbird, retreating from the heat of noon, filled the deep groves\nwith their melody, the owls snored out the sylvan concert; and when the\nsoft cushat poured his evening tale of love into the ear of his\nlistening mate, the owls were still snoring in their unbroken and\ndreamless sleep.\n\nIt chanced, most naturally, that when towards midnight, the heavy,\nbig-headed creatures half-opened their stupid eyes, and half-stretched\nfirst one drowsy pinion and then the other, that their stomachs craved\nfor food; whereupon, after much yawning and stretching, they dragged\nthemselves from their holes and went prowling after bats and mice in the\ndark. Tired with their hunt, and not over content with their supper,\nwhich was both coarse and scanty, they thus laid their heads together,\nand, however dull by nature, and doubly dulled by sleep, they were for\nonce stimulated by hunger and disappointment to something like\ningenuity.\n\nSaid an old gray-headed owl: \"This barbarous exercise ill suits with my\nyears and my gravity.\"\n\n\"And this barbarous fare,\" said a pert, idle youngster, \"ill suits with\nthe youthful activity of my stomach.\"\n\n\"I'll stake my reputation upon it,\" said a third, shaking his dull head,\n\"but that proud, self-sufficient gormandizing eagle has eaten a whole\nsheep for his supper.\"\n\n\"And I'll stake mine,\" yawned a fourth, \"that his first cousin, the\nvulture, and his second cousin, the hawk, have feasted; the one on a fat\nlamb, and the other on a hen and chickens.\"\n\n\"Chut,\" said the first old grey-beard, \"we'll feast ere long on sheep,\nlamb, hen, chickens, and all; ay! mayhap on the eagle's own little ones,\nto say nothing of his cousins.\"\n\n\"How so,\" hooted out the whole junto\u2014\"you would not fight the king of\nbirds?\"\n\n\"Let me alone for that; there are better weapons than beak or talons;\nand so he and his subjects shall find. But you must all aid in the\nenterprise.\"\n\n\"If there be no fighting, and not too much labour, and not too much\u2014\u2014\"\n\n\"Peace! there shall be nothing but sleeping!\"\n\n\"Sleeping?\"\n\n\"Ay! and some talking. But leave that to me.\"\n\nHere all the heavy heads poked forward, closing in a circle round their\nNestor; while all their great round eyes opened in full stare upon his.\n\n\"To-morrow you must all sleep as usual, until I give a long hoot; then\nyou must all open your eyes and observe what shall chance.\"\n\nTired with so unusual a debate, all went to sleep accordingly, and\nsnored louder than usual; until, just as the sun had awakened to full\nlife and stir all the feathered tribe, the old owl hooted and screeched\nforth such a yell, as first terrified and then attracted on wings,\nspurred by curiosity, though still trembling with fear, every bird of\nthe air from the giant eagle to the diminutive wren.\n\n\"A vision! a vision!\" cried the owl; and again he screeched and again he\nhooted, rustling up all his feathers, flapping his wings, blinking his\neyes, and tumbling head over tail like a bird distracted.\n\nEvery creature present stared and wondered.\n\n\"A vision, a vision! A miracle, a miracle!\" again shouted the owl.\n\n\"I have seen a bird larger than the ostrich and stronger than the eagle.\nLightnings flame from his eyes, and thunder roars from his beak. He has\nspoken; and lo! his command was: _The owls are my servants and to them I\nmake known my will. Let all the birds of the air_ _hearken to their\nvoice. Let them do their bidding, respect their repose, and feed them\nwith the fat of the land; or, behold, I will feed upon them._\"\n\nThereupon, the owls set up a hoot in chorus, and all the birds scattered\nto the four winds to collect food for the servants to eat, lest the\nunseen master should eat them.\n\nFrom this time forth these stupid owls were deemed the wisest of the\nbirds of the air; they supped every night upon fat yearlings; and when\nthey hooted all the feathered tribe clapped their wings and sang a song\nof praise.\n\n\n\n\n                              BIRDS' NESTS\n\n                            ERNEST INGERSOLL\n\n\nA bird's nest is a bird's house. Sometimes it is strong, well made and\ntightly roofed, and sometimes it is not, just as with men's houses. The\nprincipal difference between the bird's house and ours is that we build\nours to be used all the year round, while the bird prefers to make a new\none each summer. There are some birds, such as the fish-hawk, however,\nthat keep the same nest many years in succession, repairing it each\nspring; and I think more birds would do so were it not that their houses\nare usually made so slightly that the winter's gales knock them to\npieces when the owners are absent at some Southern health resort. This\nis a pity, too, for many of our commonest nests are exceedingly pretty\nand call for a great deal of work and care on the part of the builders,\nwhose only tools are their feet and beaks.\n\nTake, for instance, the lovely hammock-like basket, hung by its rim\nbeneath the fork of some low branch, which is made by the little grey,\nred-eyed vireo, which carols to us all the early summer days from every\ngarden and orchard. Such a nest was hung in a maple close to my porch.\nThe bird had built it within arm's length of where we were constantly\npassing, yet we never saw it until it was quite finished; and the only\nway we could get a look at it then was by pulling aside a branch. This\ncare was not taken from fear of us, but in the hope that the cradle\nwould escape the sharp eyes of red squirrels, weasels, bluejays, and\nother creatures who hunt for and rob birds' nests of eggs and young to\nget food for themselves. I am happy to say, however, that the vireo's\nnest was not disturbed.\n\nHow to hide their nests safely is the great question in the minds of all\nthe little birds. The big, strong ones do not need to worry about that\nso much, because they can drive away most robbers; therefore, we find\nthat the hawks and crows, jays, kingbirds, and others able to take care\nof themselves, usually set their baskets in the crotch of some tree,\nwhere they can be seen easily enough, but all nests of this kind are\nstrongly made, and fastened so that the winds shall not rock them out of\ntheir places or spill the contents.\n\nBut the _little_ birds try to hide their homes in various clever ways. A\ngood many seek holes and crannies. The woodpeckers are able to dig these\nfor themselves, for their beaks are like chisels. Others, like the\nwrens, bluebirds, nuthatches, chicadees, and so forth, find knot-holes,\nplaces where a branch has broken off, and various small hollows, in\nwhich to make their beds, where the young will be snug in bad weather,\nand pretty safe from all enemies except snakes.\n\nOthers, like the kingfisher, the sand-swallow, and certain sea-birds,\nmake or find holes in earth-banks and rocky cliffs, so that their babies\nare born in a tiny cave. All of our swallows, before the country was\nsettled by white people, lived in this manner or in hollow trees; but as\nsoon as civilization came those we soon named barn-swallows left the\nwilds and put their nests under the roofs of barns and other\noutbuildings. Then some one, remembering the ways of old England, began\nto put bird-houses in the gardens; and now, in all parts of the United\nStates, you may find those cousins of the swallows, the purple martins,\nliving by the dozen in these lofty little hotels on the top of a pole.\n\nThe nests of the cliff-swallows are little jugs of mud, plastered by\ntheir bases to the face of the rock. The birds make them by bringing\npellets of mud in their bills from some stream-side, and putting them\none upon another, until each pair has formed a windowless, bottle-like\nhouse, with a front door like the neck of the jug, so small that no big\nbird can enter it. These are very safe and snug nests, and the birds can\nsit in their doorways and gossip with each other very sociably, for the\nnests are crowded together like the houses in a city block. This is the\nsame kind of swallow that now puts its nest in rows along the outside of\nour barns under the eaves; but often they are mere cups instead of jugs,\nbecause the barn roof sheds the rain, and a clay roof is no longer\nnecessary to protect the feather bed inside.\n\nAnother one of the small birds that is more and more coming to seek our\nprotection and sympathy is the greenish-brown flycatcher that (as some\nfolks think) calls out her own name every few minutes, _Phoebe, Phoebe_.\nShe makes her home very solidly of mud and moss, lined with horse-hair,\nand in the old days always rested it on a ledge of rock, as many still\ndo. Most of the phoebes, however, now think it easier and safer to get\nunder a roof, and so they put their mossy cups on the stone piers or\nsupporting timbers of bridges, among the rafters of sheds and porches,\nand in similar places.\n\nA great number and wide variety of birds make their houses upon the\nground. Most of the sea-birds do so\u2014along the ledges of the sea-cliff.\nNearly all the water fowl and game birds (except herons) also do so; and\nmost of the ducks and similar birds nestle among the wet reeds of\nmarshes, where their rude bedding is damp all the time and sometimes\nsoaking wet. To keep their eggs warm when they have to leave them for a\ntime, many of the ducks pluck a large quantity of downy feathers from\ntheir breasts with which to cover the eggs. The eider of the arctic\nregions is the foremost in this practice, and the eider-down sold in\nshops is gathered from their nests; but it is a habit of many other\nducks. One of the most interesting of these ground-nest birds is the\nleast bittern, a solitary bird frequenting swamps and marshy places.\n\nNot only the water-birds, however, but some of the smallest and\nprettiest of our songsters choose to dwell and lay their eggs close to\nthe ground, although they seem to be exposed there to many more dangers\nthan are those in the treetops or elsewhere. None try more anxiously to\nhide their homes than do these ground-nesters, arching the grasses above\nthem, or building little sheds of leaves to protect and hide the shining\neggs. (Adapted.)\n\n\n\n\n                         HATTO THE HERMIT: THE\n                        LEGEND OF A BIRD'S NEST\n\n                             SELMA LAGERL\u00d6F\n\n\nHatto, the hermit, stood in the desert and prayed to God. The storm was\non, and his long hair and beard blew about him as wind-whipped grass\nblows about an old ruin. But he did not brush back the hair from his\neyes, nor did he fasten his long beard to his girdle, for his arms were\nraised in prayer. Since sunrise he had held his gaunt, hairy arms\nout-stretched toward heaven, as untiring as a tree stretching out its\nboughs, and thus he would remain until evening. It was a great thing for\nwhich he was praying.\n\nHe was a man who had suffered much from the wickedness and dishonesty of\nthe world. He himself had persecuted and tortured others, and\npersecution and torture had been his portion, more than he could endure.\nTherefore, he had gone forth into the wilderness, had dug himself a cave\non the river bank, and had become a holy man whose prayers found hearing\nat the throne of God.\n\nHatto, the hermit, stood on the river bank before his cave and prayed\nthe great prayer of his life. He prayed God to send down the Day of\nJudgment upon this wicked world. He cried to the angels of the trumpets,\nwho are to herald the end of the reign of sin.\n\nRound about him was the wilderness, barren and desolate. But a little up\nthe bank stood an old willow with shortened trunk, which swelled out at\nthe top of a round hump like a queer head, and from it new, freshly\ngreen twigs were sprouting. Every autumn the peasants from the unwooded\nflatlands robbed the willow of her fresh new shoots. But every year the\ntree put forth new ones, and on stormy days the slender, flexible twigs\nwhipped about the old willow, as hair and beard whipped about Hatto, the\nhermit.\n\nIt was just on this day that a pair of water thrushes, who usually built\ntheir nest on the trunk of the old willow between the new twigs, had\ndecided to begin their work. But the wild whipping of the twigs\ndisturbed the birds. They flew up with their bits of dry grass with\nnothing accomplished. Then it was that they caught sight of old Hatto.\n\nNo one now living can picture to himself how moss-grown and dried-up,\nhow gnarled and black and generally unlike a human being, such an old\ndesert hermit can become. His skin clung so close to forehead and\ncheekbones that his head looked like a skull, and only a tiny gleam down\nin the depth of his eyeballs showed that there was still life in him.\nThe dried-up muscles gave no curve to the body; the outstretched naked\narms were merely a couple of narrow bones, covered with hard, wrinkled,\nbark-like skin. He wore an old black cloak, clinging close to his body.\nHe was tanned brown by the sun and black with dirt. His hair and beard\nalone were of a lighter shade, for rain and sunshine had faded them to\nthe grey-green hue of the under side of willow leaves.\n\nThe birds, flying about uneasily and seeking a place for their nest,\ntook Hatto the hermit to be another old willow cut off by axe and saw in\nits heavenward striving. They flew about him many times, flew away and\nreturned again, took note of the guide posts on the way to him,\ncalculated his position in regard to protection from storm and birds of\nprey, found it rather unfavourable, but decided to locate there on\naccount of the close vicinity of the stream and the reeds, their chief\nsource of supply. One of the birds shot down suddenly and laid a bit of\ngrass in the hermit's outstretched hand.\n\nThe storm had abated a little, so that the straw was not blown from his\nhand at once, but the hermit did not pause in his prayer, \"Come soon, O\nLord, come to destroy this world of sin, that mankind may not more\nincrease its load of guilt.\"\n\nThe storm roared out again, and the bit of grass fluttered out of the\nhermit's great bony hand. But the birds came again and endeavoured to\nerect the cornerstone of their new home between his fingers. Suddenly a\ndirty, clumsy thumb laid itself over the grass spears and held them in\nfirm position, while four fingers reached over the palm, making a\npeaceful niche where a nest would be safe. The hermit continued his\nuntiring supplications, and before his eyes danced fever visions of the\nday of judgment. The earth trembled, the skies shot fire. He saw the\nblack clouds of hurrying birds beneath the glowing firmament; herds of\nfleeing animals spread over the earth. But while his soul was filled\nwith these visions of fever, his eyes began to watch the flight of the\ntiny birds that came and went with lightning dashes, laying new straws\nin the nest with little chirps of pleasure.\n\nThe old man did not move. He had made a vow to stand the entire day with\noutstretched arms, in order to force God to hear him.\n\nThe little thrushes built and built busily all the day, and their work\nprogressed finely. There was no lack of material in this wilderness of\nrolling ground with stiff grass and brush, and on the river bank, with\nits reeds and rushes. They could not take time for dinner or supper.\nThey flew back and forth, glowing with interest and pleasure, and when\ndusk came they had reached the peak of their roof.\n\nBut before evening fell the hermit's eyes had come to rest on their\nlabour more and more. He watched them in their flight; he scolded them\nwhen they were clumsy; he grieved when the wind spoiled their efforts,\nand he became almost angry when they stopped a moment to rest.\n\nThen the sun sank and the birds sought their accustomed resting place\namong the reeds, safe from all harm, for no enemy could approach without\na warning splash of the water or a quivering of the reeds.\n\nWhen the morning broke, the thrushes thought at first that the events of\nthe preceding day had been but a beautiful dream.\n\nThey found their guideposts and flew straight to their nest, but the\nnest had disappeared. They peered out over the moors and flew high up to\ngain a wider view. But there was no sign of nest or tree. Finally they\nsat down on a stone by the water and thought the matter over. They\nwagged their tails and turned their heads to right and left. Where were\nnest and tree?\n\nBut scarcely had the sun raised itself a hand's breadth over the belt of\nwoods beyond the stream, when their tree suddenly came wandering up and\nstood itself upon the selfsame place it had occupied the day before. It\nwas as black and as gnarled as before, and it carried their nest on the\ntip of something that was probably a thin, upright bough.\n\nThe birds began to build again without attempting to ponder further over\nthe many miracles of nature.\n\nHatto, the hermit, who chased the little children from his cave and told\nthem it were better for them if they had never seen the light of day; he\nwho waded out deep into the mud of the river to hurl curses after the\nflagged boats filled with gay young people rowing past; he from whose\nevil glance the shepherds carefully guarded their flocks, he did not\nreturn to his place on the river bank because of thought for the little\nbirds. But he knew that not only every letter in the Holy Book has its\nown mystical meaning, but that everything that God allows to happen in\nthe natural world has its significance also. And he had discovered what\nit might mean, this sign of the birds building in his hand: God had\nwilled that he should stand with outstretched arm until the birds had\nraised their young\u2014could he do this, then would his prayer be heard.\n\nBut on this day his glance followed the motions of the birds with\ngreater attention. He saw the rapid completion of the nest. The tiny\nbuilders flew around it and examined it carefully. They brought a few\nrags of moss from the real willow and plastered them on the outside as a\nfinishing decoration. They brought the softest young grass, and the\nfemale bird pulled the down from her breast to furnish the inside.\n\nThe peasants of the neighbourhood, who feared the evil power which the\nprayers of the hermit might have with God, were used to bring him bread\nand milk to soften his anger. They came now, and found him standing\nmotionless, the bird's nest in his hand.\n\n\"See how the holy man loves the little creatures,\" they said, and feared\nhim no longer. They raised the milk can to his lips and fed him with the\nbread. When he had eaten and drunk he drove them away with curses, but\nthey smiled at his anger.\n\nHis body had long since become the servant of his will. He had taught it\nobedience by hunger and scourge, by days of kneeling and sleepless\nnights. Now his muscles of steel held his arm outstretched days and\nweeks, and while the mother bird sat on her eggs and did not leave the\nnest, he would not go to his cave even to sleep at night. He learned how\nto sleep standing with outstretched arm.\n\nHe grew accustomed to the two uneasy little eyes that peered down at him\nover the edge of the nest. He watched for rain and hail, and protected\nthe nest as well as he could.\n\nOne day the little mother left her place. Both thrushes sat on the edge\nof the nest, their tails moving rapidly, holding great consultation and\nlooking very happy, although the whole nest seemed filled with a\nfrightened squeaking. After a little they set out upon an energetic gnat\nhunt.\n\nOne gnat after another fell before them, and was brought home to that\nwhich squeaked and peeped up there in his hand. And the peeping grew\nmore intense whenever the food was brought in. It disturbed the holy man\nat his prayers. Gently, very gently, his arm sank down on the joints\nthat had almost lost the power of motion, until his deep-set, glowing\neyes peered into the nest.\n\nNever had he seen anything so ugly and so miserable\u2014naked little bodies,\nwith a few scattered down tufts, no eyes, no strength to fly, nothing\nbut six great open beaks.\n\nHe could not understand it himself, but he liked them just as they were.\nHe had not thought to make an exception of the old birds in his prayers\nfor the great Doom, but when he now implored God to release the world\nthrough utter destruction, he made a silent exception in favour of these\nsix little helpless creatures.\n\nWhen the peasant women brought him food he no longer rewarded them with\ncurses. As he was necessary for the little ones up there in his hand, he\nwas glad that the people did not let him starve.\n\nSoon six little round heads peered all day over the edge of the nest.\nOld Hatto's arm sank to the level of his eyes more and more frequently.\nHe saw the feathers grow out of the red skin; he saw the eyes open and\nthe little bodies round out. The fortunate inheritance of all the beauty\nwith which nature endows the feathered denizens of the air came early\ninto their heritage.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd, meanwhile, the prayers for the great destruction came more and more\nslowly from Hatto's lips.\n\nHe believed he had God's promise that it should come as soon as the\nlittle birds were able to fly. And now he stood there seeking an escape\nfrom God. For he could not sacrifice these six little ones, whom he had\nwatched and cared for.\n\nIt had been different before, when he had had nothing of his own to care\nfor. Love of the small and the helpless\u2014that love which every little\nchild must teach to the dangerous grown man\u2014this love came over him and\nmade him hesitate.\n\nSometimes he wished that he could throw the entire nest into the stream,\nfor he still believed that those alone are to be envied who die without\nhaving known care or sin. Was it not his duty to save these little ones\nfrom beasts of prey, from cold and hunger and all of the many ills of\nlife? But just as he was pondering on this, a hawk swooped down on the\nnest to kill the little ones. Hatto caught the robber in his left hand,\nwhirled him around his head, and threw him far out into the stream.\n\nThen came the day when the little ones were ready to fly. One of the old\nbirds sat inside the nest, trying to push the young ones out on the\nedge, while the other flew about and showed them how easy it was if they\nwould only try. But as the young ones would not overcome their fear,\nboth old birds flew out before them, showing off all their prettiest\narts and tricks. They turned and twisted in the air, they shot up\nstraight as does the lark, or they hung motionless on rapidly fluttering\nwings.\n\nBut the little ones would not move, and then Hatto decided to interfere\nin the matter himself. He gave them a careful push with one finger, and\nthus ended the dispute. They tumble out, trembling and uncertain,\nhitting at the air as bats do; they sink down, but rise up again; they\nfind the proper motion and use it at once to regain the nest. The old\nbirds come back to them in happy pride, and Hatto chuckles.\n\nIt was he who had brought the matter to such a happy conclusion. And now\nhe pondered most seriously the question as to whether a loophole of\nescape could be found for God.\n\nPerhaps, when one comes to think of it, God holds this earth like a\nbird's nest in His right hand and perhaps He loves those within it\u2014all\nthe helpless children of earth. Perhaps He is merciful to them whom He\nhad vowed to destroy, just as the hermit was merciful to the little\nbirds. Of course the hermit's birds were much better than God's human\nbeings, but he could still understand that God might have pity for them\nin His heart.\n\nNext day the nest was empty, and the bitterness of loneliness came over\nthe hermit. His arm sank slowly down at his side, and it seemed to him\nthat all nature held its breath to hear the roar of the trumpets\nannouncing the Last Judgment. But in the same moment all the birds\nreturned and settled down on his head and shoulders, for they had no\nfear of him. And a light shot through the tortured brain of the old\nhermit. He had lowered his arm every day to look at the birds.\n\nAnd then, as he stood there, the six young birds flying about him, he\nnodded, smiling, to some one whom he could not see.\n\n\"Thou art free,\" he said. \"Thou art free. I did not keep my vow,\ntherefore Thou needst not keep Thine.\"\n\nAnd it seemed to him that the hills ceased from trembling and that the\nriver sank quietly into its bed to rest.\n\n\n\n\n                         UNDER GREENWOOD TREES\n\n\n\n\n                                  SONG\n\n\n                   Under the greenwood tree\n                   Who loves to lie with me\n                   And tune his merry note\n                   Unto the sweet bird's throat\u2014\n                 Come hither, come hither, come hither!\n                     Here shall he see\n                     No enemy\n                 But winter and rough weather.\n\n                                                    WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.\n\n\n\n\n                           THE PLUCKY PRINCE\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived a king who was exceedingly rich. His palace\nwas built of rare marble; in his majesty's dining room food was served\non plates and in vessels of pure gold; the royal family wore robes\nfashioned from richest silk and costliest ermine. But, although the\nking's household lived in this royal way, his majesty gave strict orders\nto all in the palace that nothing should be wasted. The command was\nintended particularly for the crown prince who spent money lavishly. It\nseemed as if he had never learned the proper value of things, and his\nextravagance was the talk of all the people in the kingdom.\n\nThe king had had many stormy interviews with his reckless son. Again and\nagain did this wasteful prince promise to mend his ways, but before long\nhe forgot his pledge, and did something which was marked by astonishing\nextravagance.\n\nAt last the king's patience came to an end. He decided to disinherit the\nprince and banish him from the royal household. Filled with wrath his\nmajesty sent for the youth and in sternest words gave the following\ndecree:\n\n\"Henceforth you are banished from this palace! Flee from my presence!\"\n\nThe carefree manner of the prince at these words exasperated his majesty\nwho grew white with rage and said, \"Prodigal, listen further to my stern\ndecree. I forbid you to wear any clothing made from skins of beasts or\nthe threads of the silk-worm; your exile cave shall not be lighted by\noil or taper, nor by candles of tallow or wax. You shall taste no\nvegetables that grow under the earth or on vines in the sunlight. Your\nhunger shall not be fed by fish, flesh, or fowl. Begone, thou Prodigal!\nGo, starve upon the plain! Nevermore shalt thou waste my wealth. Thou\nart banished! This is my stern decree!\"\n\nThe young prince was too much astonished at this outburst of rage to\nrealize the measure of the punishment the king had put upon him. He\nturned and left his majesty's presence without a word. But although\nsomewhat dazed by his royal father's decree, the youth snapped his\nfinger gayly as he slammed the palace door and said in his usual\ncarefree way, \"The king has left me the mighty help of trees. So long as\nI may use the blessed trees of the earth I shall not perish nor lack\nenjoyment.\" And whistling a merry tune he passed out of the gate of the\nroyal park.\n\n\"I shall not take shelter in a dark cave,\" mused the prince.\n\nImmediately he planned to build a spacious house from carefully selected\nwood. For the stout rafters he choose heavy English oak and for the\nfloors, smooth Norwegian pine. Beautiful pillars of palmetto were raised\nto hold the roof, made of cypress shingles and strengthened by oaken\neaves and carved gargoyles. After the house was completed, the floors\nwere covered with curious palm-matting, dyed crimson by the stain of\ntropical logwood. The rooms were furnished with rich chairs, tables, and\ncouches made from rosewood, black walnut, and fragrant sandal-wood.\nNothing was lacking in this home of beauty and comfort.\n\nThe merry prince examined his house with great pride. \"Now,\" said he, \"I\nmean to give a ball, and show his majesty, the king, what luxury is mine\neven though he left me nothing but the precious trees to furnish my\nhouse, clothing, and larder!\"\n\nAccordingly, invitations were sent to the royal family, and many knights\nand ladies of high degree.\n\nThe king was very much surprised to receive word from his banished son.\n\n\"'Tis a huge joke,\" said his majesty. \"However, we'll accept the\ninvitation, and see what sport the prodigal can offer us.\"\n\nOn the night of the ball the prince was dressed in a superb robe, made\nfrom the fiber of the cocoa-tree; his fine dancing shoes were made of\ncaoutchouc, and on his brow he wore a coronet of laurel leaves. With\nprincely grace he received the king, knights, and ladies in a large hall\nbrilliantly lighted with candlenuts in sconces. The rooms were fragrant\nwith pink apple-blossoms from Maine, and rich magnolia and orange\nblossoms from the Southland.\n\nThe king and his train could not hide their astonishment at the superb\nbeauty of the rooms and decorations.\n\n\"I wonder what the scapegoat will offer us to eat?\" whispered the king\nto the High Chancellor.\n\n\"Providing refreshment from trees will tax his wits more than building\nand furnishing a house,\" answered the chancellor, smiling.\n\nIt was not long before the guests were invited into the dining room,\nwhere a sumptuous feast awaited them. His majesty looked with\nastonishment at the variety of luscious fruit heaped on large wooden\nplatters curiously carved. Some of them held the products of the\nNorth,\u2014apples, pears, plums, cherries, grapes, and peaches. Others were\nfilled with tempting fruit from the South,\u2014bananas, oranges,\npomegranates, figs, dates, ripe olives, juicy soursops, and creamy\ndurions. Delicious breadfruit, from the tropics, and rich cassava cakes\nfrom Java were served with luscious guava jam. Beautiful wooden bowls\nheld almonds, English walnuts, filberts, pecans, chestnuts, Chinese\nnuts, and Brazilian creams. Dainty wicker baskets held sweets made of\nmaple sugar cream covered with chocolate or cocoanut. The king declared\nthat the grape juice and sweet pear cider were daintier than any wine he\nhad ever tasted.\n\nAfter the feast was ended the prince, with merry, twinkling eyes, said\nto his father: \"See what a man banishment has made of me!\"\n\nTo the youth's astonishment, his majesty smiled graciously, and, in the\npresence of the High Chancellor and all the knights and ladies, the king\nembraced his son and said, \"Banishment has made a man of you! And,\nfurthermore, you have taught all of us the wonders of the woodland.\nWelcome back to my heart, O Prince!\"\n\nAnd the High Chancellor, knights, and ladies of high degree all said,\n\"Long live our plucky Prince.\"\n\nAdapted from a poem by May Bryon.\n\n\n\n\n                                THE OAK\n\n\n                A song to the oak\n                The brave old oak,\n              Who hath ruled in the greenwood long:\n                Here's health and renown\n                To his broad green crown\n              And his fifty arms so strong.\n                There's fear in his frown\n                When the sun goes down,\n              And the fire in the west fades out;\n                And he showeth his might\n                On a wild midnight,\n              When the storms through his branches shout.\n                Then here's to the oak\n                The brave old oak!\n              Who stands in his pride alone;\n                And still flourish he,\n                A hale, green tree\n              When a hundred years are gone.\n\n                                                          H. F. CHORLEY.\n\n\n\n\n                              SUMMER SNOW\n\n                           MRS. HUMPHREY WARD\n\n\nA king once lived in a very hot part of Spain, where they have little\nrain and where it hardly ever snows or freezes.\n\nThis king had a very beautiful wife whom he loved very much. But the\nqueen had one great fault. She was always wishing for the most\nimpossible things.\n\nThe king always tried to give her everything she wanted, but she was\nnever satisfied.\n\nAt last, one day in winter, a very strange thing happened. A shower of\nsnow fell in the town where the king and queen lived. It made the hills\nwhite, so that they looked as if some one had been dusting white sugar\nover them.\n\nNow snow was hardly ever seen in the town, so the people talked about\nit, a great deal. After the queen had looked at it a little while, she\nbegan to cry bitterly.\n\nNone of the ladies could comfort her, nor would she tell any one what\nwas the matter. There she sat at her window weeping, till the king came\nto her. He could not imagine why she was crying, and begged her to tell\nhim.\n\n\"I am weeping,\" she said, sobbing all the time, \"because the hills are\nnot always covered with snow. See how pretty they look! And yet, I have\nnever, till now, seen them look like that. If you really love me, you\nwould find some way or other to make it snow once a year at any rate.\"\n\n\"But how can I make it snow?\" cried the king, in great trouble, because\nshe would go on weeping and weeping, and spoiling her pretty eyes.\n\n\"I am sure I don't know,\" said the queen crossly.\n\nWell, the king thought and thought, and at last he hit upon a beautiful\nplan. He sent to all parts of Spain to buy almond trees to plant. The\nalmond tree has a lovely pink-white blossom, you know.\n\nWhen the next spring arrived, thousands of these almond trees came into\nbloom on all the hills around the town. At a distance, the hills looked\nas if they were covered with white snow.\n\nFor once the discontented queen was delighted. She could now keep saying\na nice \"Thank you\" to the king for all the trouble he had taken to\nplease her. And suddenly it seemed to the king as if a black speck in\nthe queen's heart had been washed away and so they lived happy ever\nafterwards.\n\n\n\n\n                        THE BOY WHO HATED TREES\n\n                           ALICE L. BECKWITH\n\n\n\"Good night, Dick. Remember, now, to wake up with the robins so that you\nmay be ready to help me set out our new trees.\"\n\n\"Good night,\" answered Dick in a sulky tone, for Dick was cross.\n\n\"Trees, trees, trees!\" he mumbled to himself, as he began to undress.\n\"I'm so sick of hearing about trees. And now father has bought some old\ntwigs to set out to-morrow, and I want to go fishing.\n\n\"I wish I lived in a land where there were no trees. We could get along\nwell enough without them.\" And with this thought he jumped into bed.\n\nDick had been asleep perhaps an hour or more when he heard a queer,\nrustling noise, and then a voice called out: \"Here he is\u2014the boy who\nhates trees!\"\n\nThere was the strangest procession coming toward him. It was made up of\ntrees of all kinds. The Pine and Elm came first; the Maple and Oak\nfollowed: the Maple's leaves were flushed scarlet, she was so excited.\nThe Willow was weeping, and the Poplar was trembling all over.\n\nNext came all the fruit trees, led by the Cherry, while the Walnut, the\nWhite Birch, and the Palm were behind.\n\nWhat did it all mean? Dick was frightened for a moment. It seemed as if\nevery tree of which he had ever heard was there, and he wondered how the\nroom could hold them all.\n\nWhen they had all grown quiet, the Pine said: \"Dear brothers and\nsisters, here is a boy who hates trees; he cannot see that we are of any\nuse. It is more than I can stand, and I have called this meeting to see\nwhat can be done about it. Has anyone anything to say?\"\n\nThe Cherry looked very sour. \"I cannot see that boys are of any use,\"\nshe said. \"Many years ago, when cherry trees were scarce in this\ncountry, a boy named George cut down my great-grandfather just to try\nhis new hatchet.\"\n\n\"And boys know so little,\" said the White Birch; \"they are always\nhacking me with knives, and taking off my coat, no matter how cold the\nweather is. I loved a boy once, but it was many years ago. He was a\nlittle Indian boy. He loved trees. I remember how he stood beside me one\nday and said:\n\n                 \"'Give me of your bark, O Birch Tree!\n                 For the summer time is coming,\n                 And the sun is warm in heaven,\n                 And you need no white skin wrapper.'\n\n\"Then he took off my bark so carefully that he did not hurt me a bit.\nBut he is not living now. This boy is not like him.\"\n\n\"I don't like boys, either,\" spoke up the Apple. \"One day a boy climbed\nup into my branches and broke off one of my limbs. He was a very silly\nboy, for he wanted green apples. Had my fruit been ripe, I would have\ntossed one down to him. How happy we should be if it were not for boys!\"\n\nThe Maple was very angry. \"This boy said we were of no use, but it was\nonly this morning that I heard him tease his grandfather for a cake of\nmy sugar.\"\n\n\"He ate it as if he liked it, too,\" said the Palm. \"I saw him; he was\nfanning himself with one of my leaves.\"\n\nThe Willow wiped her eyes. \"Boys, boys, boys!\" she said. \"I'm so sick of\nboys! This same boy made a whistle out of one of my children this very\nnight, when he went for the cows.\"\n\nThen a queer tree in the corner spoke in a thick voice: \"We are of no\nuse, are we? If it were not for me, where would he get the tires for his\nbicycle? There are his rubber boots, too. Why, he uses me every day\nabout something. But I've thought of a plan.\"\n\nThe trees crowded around him, talking together excitedly. \"But how shall\nwe do it?\" Dick heard them say. \"Oh,\" said the Elm, \"the Wind will help\nus. He is our friend.\"\n\nBefore Dick could cry out, he found himself being carried away by the\nWind.\n\n\"Where am I going?\" he called.\n\n\"To the land of no trees,\" they answered; and they bowed and smiled.\nEven the Willow held up her head long enough to call, \"Good-by!\" and\nthen home and trees were left far behind.\n\nHow fast the Wind traveled! On and on they rushed, until suddenly the\nWind dropped him and went whistling away.\n\nDick felt really frightened when he found himself all alone.\n\n\"Oh, I'm so hot!\" he exclaimed. \"Where am I?\"\n\nCertainly he had never before been in such a place.\n\nThere were no trees nor green grass anywhere in sight. As far as he\ncould see, there was only sand\u2014white sand, hot and scorching.\n\n\"It seems to me I've seen pictures in my geography like this,\" he said\nto himself. \"I can't stay here. What shall I do?\"\n\nAll at once he noticed a tiny speck far away in the distance. Now it\nlooked larger. He brushed away something that looked very much like a\ntear, though he told himself that it was only because he was so warm.\n\nYes, that speck surely moved, and was coming nearer. What if it were a\nbear!\n\n\"There is no tree to climb, and I cannot run\u2014I am so tired, and it is\nvery hot.\"\n\nNearer and nearer it came, moving slowly. Dick watched it with a beating\nheart. At last he saw that it was not a single animal, but a great many\nin line.\n\n\"Oh, they are camels!\" he cried. \"Yes, I know they are. Once at a circus\nI saw some that looked just like them\u2014but what queer-looking men are on\nthem!\"\n\nThey were now very near him, and one of the men beckoned with his hand\nand said something.\n\n\"I can't understand him,\" said Dick to himself, \"but I suppose he meant\nhe'll give me a ride.\"\n\nThe man helped him up and they journeyed on. After a time Dick grew very\ntired even of riding.\n\n\"The camel joggles me so,\" he said, \"and I am so thirsty I shall die. If\nthey would only stop a minute!\"\n\nWhat was the matter? What were they saying? Each man was bowing himself\ntoward the ground and waving his hands.\n\n\"I don't see what they are making all that fuss about. I can't see\nanything; the sun hurts my eyes so.\" And Dick covered his eyes with his\nhand.\n\nSuddenly there was a shout, and the camels stood still. Dick lifted his\nhead. Could he believe his eyes? Right before him was a little spot of\ngreen grass, a spring of cool water, and one of those things he hated\u2014a\ntree.\n\nHate a tree? He thought that he had never seen anything so beautiful in\nhis life.\n\nHe fairly tumbled off the camel in his haste to reach it. The tears ran\ndown his face as he threw his arms around its trunk.\n\n\"Dear tree!\" he cried.\n\n\"Dick, Dick, are you going to help me plant the new trees?\" called his\nfather.\n\nOpening his eyes, Dick found himself in his own little room, both hands\nclasping his pillow.\n\nDick was soon dressed and downstairs, and so anxious was he to plant\ntrees that he could hardly eat his breakfast.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\n                In just one night he had learned to see\n                The wonderful beauty there is in a tree.\n\n\n\n\n                       THE FRIENDLY SUMMER TREES\n\n                             FRANK A. WAUGH\n\n\nIt is curious how friendly the forests are to the sick. The trees reach\nout their arms to shelter them. In the stillness of the morning and\nthrough the long nights they whisper to every one who listens; there lie\nthe patients listening and looking up through the gently waving branches\nto the floating clouds by day, and to the twinkling stars by night,\nuntil presently they are overcome by the spirit of health, which is the\nspirit of the pine-trees.\n\nTrees appear at their best in the forest company, I think, just as men\nand women appear at their best in society. The single maple tree or the\nelm may be very proud and beautiful, but alone it cannot cure the sick\nor even accommodate a picnic.\n\nSo we ought to become acquainted with the trees, in their own society\nand in their native surroundings. We shall then understand them much\nbetter than when we find them lonely on our city lawns.\n\nThere is a glorious wealth waiting for us when we come to choose our\ntree friends for our homes. There are the elm, several kinds of maples,\ntwo kinds of sycamores, the linden, many sorts of oaks, the pines and\nthe spruces, and almost a hundred others. Besides these big, lusty,\nshade-yielding trees, there are many small, more curious or more\nornamental ones. Such are the magnolias, the maidenhair-tree, the\nKentucky coffee-tree, the sweet-gum, and the flowering dogwood. These\nsmaller trees are, of course, particularly suited to small lawns and\nclose quarters; though, wherever possible, the true American will give\nfirst place to the big, noble, native trees like the elm and the maple.\nEven if there is room for only one of these, it will seem to be the one\nbest friend in the garden.\n\nAnd while I am speaking of these trees, I would not forget the apple.\nThere is no kind of tree more beautiful in spring, more comfortable and\nhomelike summer and winter, and more to be chosen for a life-long\nfriend. Recently I was consulted by a committee of a Massachusetts town\nwho wanted to cut down a half-dozen sturdy old apple trees, because a\nnew library had been built in their midst, and the committee thought\nsome more rare trees were needed to keep the balance. Blue spruce or\nCamperdown elm would have been choice, strange, and outlandish, but the\nhomely, common apple tree they would gladly sacrifice.\n\nWe admire the tree for its size; the mere bigness of it draws our\nattention; we look up to it. We admire it for its form, the form of the\nelm, or the maple, or the pine, or the palm is wonderful. We admire the\ntree in its leafage, for its texture and color. Why, even the shadow of\na tree is beautiful. The clever gardener places his best tree where its\nshadow will be traced all the afternoon across the lawn. How cool and\npleasant the shadow lies there!\n\nNowhere do trees seem so useful as in the street. Even the city yearns\nfor trees, and the best residence and suburban sections make these their\ngreatest pride. The citizens turn to the city trees as one of the most\nimportant forms of public property. Tree-planting is to be encouraged,\nand the trees now grown to maturity must be saved at any cost. Leaky gas\nmains are the deadly enemies of street trees. Electric wires kill\nthousands more.\n\nFor the protection of street trees and those on public parks and\ngrounds, every city should have a tree-warden. These are provided for by\nlaw in some states, but the system should become general. Truly modern\ncities have officers with the title of \"city forester,\" with the\nextremely useful occupation of caring for the public trees. Such\nofficers should be appointed everywhere.\n\nThe annual festival called Arbor Day, established in this country for\nthe promotion of tree-planting, has, unfortunately, been turned over\nexclusively to the public schools, whereas it ought to be observed also\nby the churches, lodges, political clubs, and women's clubs. At all\nevents, tree-planting should go on constantly, and should everywhere\naccompany the campaign for the preservation of street trees. We may well\nremember that as a rough, general rule, only one tree out of every\ntwenty planted ever comes to maturity. Let us, therefore, plant\nliberally.\n\nIn rural and semi-rural communities everywhere, it is a custom to secure\nfrom the woods and pastures those trees needed for street and house-lot\nplanting. Where stock is collected from the wild in this way, it is best\nto take the trees from the open pasture\u2014or from recently cultivated\nland, where possible. Effort should be made also to select those which\nhave grown on rich, well-drained soil. The theory that trees taken from\nthe forest will be more hardy, runs quite opposite to the fact. Indeed,\nthe best plan is everywhere to buy young trees from nurseries. Nursery\ntrees have clean, symmetrical tops, and are likely to have a hundred\ntimes more good rootage than trees taken from the field.\n\nEverything is in favor of the nursery-grown tree, except the price;\nhowever, very often the expense of digging and bringing in a half-dozen\ngood-sized maples from the woods is greater than the cost of better\ntrees of like size from the most expensive nursery in the country.\n\nArbor Day is not necessarily the best day for tree-planting, especially\nin the matter of big trees for streets, school grounds, and public\nplaces. The experts prefer to handle such trees in mid-winter; they do\nthis even in sections where the ground freezes to a depth of two or\nthree feet; in fact, it is considered the height of good practice to\ntake up the tree from its place, accompanied by a huge block of frozen\nearth. Evergreen trees, such as pines and spruces, may be handled very\nsuccessfully in August, and this season is widely chosen for the purpose\nby knowing treemen.\n\nMany tree-lovers make the mistake of crowding their small private\ngrounds with their pets. If one has only a city lot thirty feet wide by\na hundred feet deep, he cannot grow a large forest. One or two large\ntrees will be all such a place can reasonably support; any more will\nmake the premises too crowded. The trees themselves will suffer, and,\nbesides that, there will be no opportunity to view them. There will be\nno room for a flower garden, and no lawn for any purpose.\n\nThe common mistake in planting trees on small home grounds is to place\nthe individual in the middle of the lawn. As a matter of design, the\ncenter of the lawn should be kept open, and trees, at any rate, should\nfile along the boundaries. In our northern climate sturdy, protecting\nevergreens will naturally choose a north boundary, and the shady summer\ntrees with heavy foliage will cast their comfortable shadows from the\nsouth side of the garden.\n\nThe tree-lover who hopes to get the most satisfaction out of his hobby\nwill not always wait to see his trees grow. It requires too many years.\nAbout the best way to do is to adopt a tract of well-grown woodland, and\nthen to make the most of it. Improvement cuttings will come first; for\nthe axe is as important as the spade, and trees have to be cut as well\nas planted. The best trees can be left and nursed and admired. If there\nis space enough, forest effects can be developed; roads and paths can be\nbuilt; game-cover can be introduced, and wild life encouraged. Birds and\nboys and others friends will visit you in your woods, and the days will\ngo by like a lusty ballad. Between you and me and the beech-tree, it\nwill be a jolly, pleasant company.\n\n\n\n\n                               FOREST DAY\n\n                             SELMA LAGERL\u00d6F\n\n\nOn the mountain's broad back there had been a forest fire ten years\nbefore. Since that time the charred trees had been felled and removed\nand the great fire-swept area had begun to deck itself with green along\nthe edges, where it skirted the healthy forest. However, the larger part\nof the top was still barren and appallingly desolate. Charred stumps,\nstanding sentinel-like between the rock ledges, bore witness that once\nthere had been a forest fire here; but no fresh shoots sprang from the\nground.\n\nOne day in the early summer all the children in the parish had assembled\nin front of the schoolhouse near the fire-swept mountain. Each child\ncarried either a spade or a hoe on its shoulder and a basket of food in\nits hand. As soon as all were assembled they marched in a long\nprocession toward the forest. The banner came first, with the teachers\non either side of it. Then followed a couple of foresters and a wagon\nload of pine shrubs and spruce seeds; then the children.\n\nThe procession did not pause in any of the birch groves near the\nsettlements, but marched on deep into the forest. As it moved along the\nfoxes stuck their heads out of their lairs in astonishment and wondered\nwhat kind of backwoods people these were. As they marched past the old\ncoal pits where charcoal kilns were fired every autumn, the cross-beaks\ntwisted their hooked bills and asked one another what kind of coalers\nthese might be, who were now thronging the forest.\n\nFinally, the procession reached the big burnt mountain plain. The rocks\nhad been stripped of the fine twin-flower creepers that once covered\nthem; they had been robbed of the pretty silver moss and the attractive\nreindeer moss. Around the dark water gathered in clefts and hollows\nthere was now no wood-sorrel. The little patches of soil in crevices and\nbetween stones were without ferns, without star-flowers, without all the\ngreen and red and light and soft and soothing things that usually clothe\nthe forest ground.\n\nIt was as if a bright light flashed upon the mountain when all the\nparish children covered it. Here again was something sweet and delicate,\nsomething fresh and rosy, something young and growing. Perhaps these\nchildren would bring to the poor abandoned forest a little new life.\n\nWhen the children had rested and eaten their luncheon, they seized hoes\nand spades and began to work. The foresters showed them what to do. They\nset out shrub after shrub on every clear spot of earth they could find.\n\nAs they worked, they talked quite knowingly among themselves of how the\nlittle shrubs they were planting would bind the soil so that it could\nnot get away, and of how new soil would form under the trees. By and by\nseeds would drop, and, in a few years, they would be picking both\nstrawberries and raspberries where now there were only bare rocks. The\nlittle shrubs which they were planting would gradually become tall\ntrees. Perhaps big houses and great splendid ships would be built from\nthem!\n\nIf the children had not come here and planted while there was still a\nlittle soil in the clefts, all the earth would have been carried away by\nwinds and water, and the mountain could never more have been clothed in\ngreen.\n\n\"It was well that we came,\" said the children. \"We were just in the nick\nof time.\" They felt very important.\n\nWhile they were working on the mountain their parents were at home. By\nand by they began to wonder how the children were getting along.\n\nOf course it was only a joke about their planting a forest, but it might\nbe amusing to see what they were trying to do.\n\nSo presently both fathers and mothers were on their way to the forest.\nWhen they came to the outlying stock farms they met some of their\nneighbors.\n\n\"Are you going to the fire-swept mountain?\" they asked.\n\n\"That's where we're bound for.\"\n\n\"To have a look at the children?\"\n\n\"Yes, to see what they are up to.\"\n\n\"It's only play, of course.\"\n\n\"It isn't likely that there will be many forest trees planted by the\nyoungsters. We have brought the coffee pot along so that we can have\nsomething warm to drink, since we must stay there all day with only\nlunch-basket provisions.\"\n\nSo the parents of the children went on up the mountain. At first they\nthought only of how pretty it looked to see all the rosy-cheeked little\nchildren scattered over the gray hills. Later they observed how the\nchildren were working,\u2014how some were setting out shrubs, while others\nwere digging furrows and sowing seeds. Others again were pulling up\nheather to prevent its choking the growing trees. They saw that the\nchildren took the work seriously and were so intent upon what they were\ndoing that they scarcely had time to glance up.\n\nThe fathers and mothers stood for a moment and looked on; then they,\ntoo, began to pull up heather,\u2014just for the fun of it. The children were\nthe instructors, for they were already trained and had to show their\nelders what to do.\n\nThen it happened that all the grown-ups who had come to watch the\nchildren took part in the work. Then, of course, it became greater fun\nthan before. By and by the children had even more help. Other implements\nwere needed, so a couple of long-legged boys were sent down to the\nvillage for spades and hoes. As they ran past the cabins, the\nstay-at-homes came out and asked, \"What's wrong? Has there been an\naccident?\"\n\n\"No, indeed! But the whole parish is up on the fire-swept mountain\nplanting a forest.\"\n\n\"If the whole parish is there, we can't stay at home.\"\n\nSo party after party of peasants went crowding to the top of the burnt\nmountain. They stood a moment and looked on. The temptation to join the\nworkers was irresistible.\n\n\"It's a pleasure to sow one's own acres in the spring and to think of\nthe grain that will spring up from the earth, but this work is even more\nthrilling,\" they thought.\n\nNot only slender blades would come from that sowing, but mighty trees\nwith tall trunks and sturdy branches. It meant giving birth not merely\nto a summer's grain, but to many years' growths. It meant the awakening\nhum of insects, the song of the thrush, the play of grouse, and all\nkinds of life, on the desolate mountain. Moreover, it was like raising a\nmemorial for coming generations. They could have left a bare, treeless\nheight as an heritage. Instead, they were to leave a glorious forest.\n\nComing generations would know their forefathers had been a good and wise\nfolk and they would remember them with reverence and gratitude.\n\n\n\n\n                        WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE\n\n\n                   Woodman, spare that tree!\n                     Touch not a single bough!\n                   In youth it sheltered me,\n                     And I'll protect it now.\n                   'Twas my forefather's hand\n                     That placed it near his cot;\n                   There, woodman, let it stand\u2014\u2014\n                     Thy axe shall harm it not!\n\n                   That old familiar tree,\n                     Whose glory and renown\n                   Are spread o'er land and sea\u2014\u2014\n                     And wouldst thou hew it down?\n                   Woodman, forbear thy stroke!\n                     Cut not its earth-bound ties;\n                   Oh, spare that aged oak,\n                     Now towering to the skies!\n\n                   My heartstrings round thee cling,\n                     Close as thy bark, old friend!\n                   Here shall the wild bird sing,\n                     And still thy branches bend.\n                   Old tree! the storm still brave!\n                     And, woodman, leave the spot.\n                   While I've a hand to save,\n                     Thy axe shall harm it not!\n\n                                                       GEORGE P. MORRIS.\n\n\n\n\n                       IN AN OLD-FASHIONED GARDEN\n\n\n          The garden was pleasant with old-fashioned flowers,\n          The sunflowers and hollyhocks stood up like towers;\n          There were dark turncap-lilies and jasemine rare,\n          And sweet thyme and marjoram scented the air.\n\n                                                 WILLIAM BRIGHTLY RANDS.\n\n              Buttercup, Poppy, Forget-me-not,\n              These three bloomed in a garden spot;\n              And once, all merry with song and play,\n              A little one heard three voices say:\n              \"Shine and shadow, summer and spring,\n                O thou child with the tangled hair\n              And laughing eyes! We thee shall bring\n                Each an offering passing fair.\"\n              The little one did not understand\n                But they bent and kissed the dimpled hand.\n\n                                                           EUGENE FIELD.\n\n\n\n\n                       HOW THE ROSE BECAME QUEEN\n\n                          ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE\n\n\nOnce upon a time there was a very great garden that lay between two\nranges of blue, blue hills. And the sky above was blue, as blue as the\nhills, so that you could hardly tell where the sky ended and the hills\nbegan, and underneath was the great, beautiful garden which covered all\nthe lands between.\n\nAnd in this rare garden there were all the choicest flowers and fruit\nthat the world knew, and when the flowers were all in bloom, under that\nblue, blue sky\u2014in all the wonderful colors of gold and crimson, and\nroyal purple, and with all the banks of white daisies, and all the sweet\norchards of apple-bloom, there was nothing like it in the whole world,\nand the sweet perfume went out so far that sailors in the ships coming\nin from sea, a hundred miles away, could smell the sweet odors and would\nsay, \"The wind blows from the garden of the Princess Beautiful.\" For I\nmust tell you that the garden was owned by a great Princess, and she was\ncalled Beautiful by all who knew of her, and every traveler to that\ndistant country made his way to her white marble palace to seek\npermission to look upon the most beautiful garden in the world.\n\nAnd many who came there were of high rank, like herself, and some of\nthem tried to win her love, for the Princess was like her name and as\nbeautiful as the rarest flower in all that marvelous garden. But to the\nprinces and kings she would not listen, for her heart and pride were\nonly in her flowers, and she wished to remain with them forever and be\nhappy in their beauty. She was only sad when she saw that some of those\nwho came went away with heavy hearts because she would not leave her\npalace for theirs.\n\nNow once there came to the palace of the Princess Beautiful a great\nqueen. She had traveled far to see the splendid garden, and when she\ncame the Princess led her with all her court among the flowers. And all\nthat sunlit day, under the blue, blue sky, the great queen and her court\nlingered in the garden\u2014up and down the paths of white shells, where\nhyacinths and lilies and daffodils and azaleas grew on every side\u2014and\nrested in the shade of blossoming orchard trees. And when it was\nevening, and they had gone, and the flowers were left alone they\nwhispered and murmured together, for never before had they seen a queen\nand her court.\n\nAnd by and by, as the days passed, the flowers decided that they, too,\nmust have a queen\u2014some rare flower, fine and stately, whom they would\nhonor, even as they had seen their beautiful Princess honor her royal\nguest. And night after night they talked of these things, but never\ncould decide which of their number should be chosen for the high place.\n\nAnd then one day a great sadness came upon the fair garden between the\nhills. A young traveler from an unknown country had come to the white\npalace, and one sunny afternoon the Princess Beautiful had led him among\nthe beds of primroses and lilies and daffodils. And when the sun was\ngoing down and she turned and looked into his face, and saw how fair he\nwas, and how the sun made his hair like gold, how it shimmered on his\nbeautiful garments of velvet and fine lace. She felt for the first time\na great love arise within her heart. Then, all at once, she forgot her\ngarden, her palace, and her pride, forgot everything in all the world\nexcept the fair youth who stood there with her in the sunset\u2014and she\ntold him her great new love.\n\nAnd as she spoke, softly and tenderly, the words she had never spoken to\nany one before, the breeze died, and the sun slipped down behind the\nfar-off hills. And then, as the light faded, it seemed to the Princess\nBeautiful that the fair youth before her was fading, too. His face grew\ndim and misty\u2014his hair became a blur of gold\u2014his rare garments melted\nback into the beds of bloom. And behold, instead of the fair youth there\nstood before her in the twilight only a wonderful golden lily with a\ncrimson heart.\n\nThen the Princess Beautiful knew that because she had cared only for her\ngarden and had sent from her those who had offered a great love like her\nown, that this wonderful lily had come to her as a youth with a face of\nradiant beauty, and with hair of gold, to awaken a human love in her\nheart. And each day she mourned there by the splendid lily, and called\nit to return to her as the fair youth she had loved; and at last when\nits flowers had faded and the stem drooped, the white palace of the\nPrincess Beautiful was empty and the Princess lay beside the withered\nlily in the rare garden between the hills.\n\nAnd there they made her grave and above it they built a trellis where a\nwhite climbing rose might grow. But when the rose bloomed, instead of\nbeing white, it was a wonderful crimson, such as no one had ever seen\nbefore. And when the other flowers saw those beautiful crimson blossoms\nthey no longer mourned, for they said, \"This is our beautiful Princess\nBeautiful who has returned to be our queen.\"\n\nAnd so it was the red rose became the queen of flowers, and a symbol of\ngreat human love. The poet Burns says:\n\n                   \"My love is like a red, red rose,\n                   That's newly blown in June.\"\n\nAnd it was always in June that the great crimson rose bloomed on the\ngrave in the garden of the Princess Beautiful.\n\n\n\n\n                            MORNING GLORIES\n\n\n               They swing from the garden-trellis\n                 In Ariel-airy ease;\n               And their aromatic honey\n                 Is sought by the earliest bees.\n\n               The rose, it knows their secret,\n                 And the jessamine also knows:\n               And the rose told me the story\n                 That the jessamine told the rose.\n\n               And the jessamine said: \"At midnight,\n                 E're the red cock woke and crew,\n               The fays of Queen Titania\n                 Came here to bathe in dew.\n\n               And the yellow moonlight glistened\n                 On braids of elfin hair;\n               And fairy feet on the flowers\n                 Fell softer than any air.\n\n               And their petticoats, gay as bubbles,\n                 They hung up, every one,\n               On the morning glory's tendrils,\n                 Till their moonlight bath was done.\n\n               But the red cock crew too early,\n                 And the fairies fled in fear,\n               Leaving their petticoats purple and pink,\n                 Like blossoms hanging there.\n\n                                                         MADISON CAWEIN.\n\n\n\n\n                         WHY ROSES HAVE THORNS\n\n                           (ALGONQUIN LEGEND)\n\n\nIn the far-off days of long ago roses had no thorns. The branches of the\nbushes and the flower stems were smooth and delicate and made delicious\nfood for the animals. They greedily ate the leaves, stems, and lovely\nblossoms; sometimes, indeed, they devoured the entire plant.\n\nWith grief the roses saw that each year the number of bushes was growing\nfewer and they feared the time would come when there would be none of\ntheir blossoms left to gladden the summer days. At last they held a\ncouncil to see if anything could be done to prevent the animals from\ndestroying the bushes. But no one could think of a way out of the\ndifficulty.\n\n\"We must go to Manabozho, the Great Chief,\" said one of them. \"He will\nadvise us what to do.\"\n\nAccordingly, it was decided that several messengers, chosen from the\ncouncil, should seek the Great Chief and tell him how the animals were\nfast destroying the roses.\n\nIt was no easy matter to find Manabozho, for while he lived on earth\namong the Red Men he took many disguises. They who sought him were\ncarried by the swiftest wind through valleys and meadows and far over\nthe hilltops. All along the path of their journey, whenever they asked\nthe question, \"Where shall we find Manabozho?\" they received the same\nanswer, \"Travel on toward the sunrise. There you will find the Great\nChief. He is tending a wonderful garden.\"\n\nAt last one morning they saw the sun shining on a marvellous garden\nwhere vegetables grew in abundance. There were beds of cucumbers and\nsquash, rows of corn and beans, and many other plants, whose names the\nmessengers did not know. And what surprised them most was the beautiful\nhedge of rose-bushes which surrounded the garden. They looked anxiously\nfor the Great Gardener Chief but he was nowhere to be seen. Silently the\nmessengers hid themselves in a forest which grew near, for they believed\nManabozho would soon return. The thought of talking to him filled them\nwith awe, but they were determined to be brave and tell him their\nmission.\n\n\"He values roses or he would not have chosen them for his garden hedge,\"\nthey whispered, looking with pride at the beauty of the flowering\nbushes.\n\nWhile they were waiting a surprising thing happened. In the forest they\nheard quiet, stealthy steps approaching. Soon they saw a procession of\nanimals from the woods. There were field mice, squirrels, rabbits,\nfoxes, coyotes, elks, and bears, all making their way to Manabozho's\ngarden. They were sniffing the air as if they scented something\ndelicious. On they came until they reached the rose-hedge where they\nstopped to taste the dainty, fragrant leaves. Various cries of\nsatisfaction were uttered and immediately they began feasting on the\ndelicate bushes. Leaves, flowers, and stems were all devoured and in a\nshort time not one bit of the rose-hedge around the Great Chief's garden\nwas left. It could not have disappeared more completely if Manabozho\nhimself had cut it down. The dainty morsel of the rose-hedge, however,\nwas not enough to satisfy the hunger of the animals from the woods. They\nturned their attention to the vegetables and were devouring the very\nchoicest of them when suddenly the smaller animals pricked up their ears\nand listened. The next moment they scuttled away as fast as they could\ninto the forest. The larger animals took this for a sign of danger and\nhurried after them.\n\nIn a little while the messengers of the Rose Council heard a loud voice\nsinging. Manabozho was returning from his adventure. As he drew near his\nsong ceased for he saw that destruction had come to his precious garden.\nHis rage was terrible! In a voice which shook the neighboring hillsides\nhe declared he would punish the intruders. He was particularly grieved\nat the destruction of his rose-hedge which he valued not only for its\nbeauty but because he believed it was a means of protection to his\ngarden.\n\nWhen the messengers saw this they came forward and stated the object of\ntheir journey. Manabozho listened with eager interest while one of them\ntold the story of the rapidly decreasing number of rose-bushes.\n\n\"Great Manabozho,\" said the speaker, \"the animals of the woods find\nrose-bushes such delicious food that they eat blossoms, leaves, and\nstems. Our number is decreasing so rapidly that in a little while there\nwill be none left to gladden the earth. The destruction of your hedge\nproves how ruthlessly the animals destroy us. Help us, O Chief! Devise\nsome plan to protect us.\"\n\n\"You shall, indeed, have my help,\" said Manabozho, thoughtfully.\n\nFor some time the chief was silent. Then he said, \"I'll give _you_\nweapons and you shall protect yourselves. Sharp thorns shall grow on\nyour branches and needle-like prickles shall cover the stems which hold\nyour lovely blossoms. While you are armed with these, the cruel animals\nwill not venture to touch you.\"\n\nThe messengers thanked Manabozho with all their hearts. Delighted with\nhis gift, they hastened back to tell the Council how the Great Chief had\nsaved the roses of the world. Ever since that day roses have had thorns.\n\nAdapted from _Algonquin Indian Tales_, by Egerton R. Young. Copyright,\n1903, by Egerton R. Young. Reprinted by permission of the Abingdon\nPress, Publishers.\n\n\n\n\n                               SWEET PEAS\n\n\n            Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight,\n              With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white\n            And taper fingers catching at all things,\n              To bend them all about with tiny rings.\n\n                                                             JOHN KEATS.\n\n\n\n\n                        A LEGEND OF THE PRIMROSE\n\n\nIn a cottage which stood near a large meadow lived a poor woman and her\nlittle child Elizabeth. The mother earned a scant living by spinning and\nweaving. She was not strong and could work for only a few hours at a\ntime.\n\nEach morning after the little girl had swept the cottage she ran to the\nmeadow and gathered a large bunch of golden primroses. They were her\nmother's favorite flowers and Elizabeth knew that their sunny color\nbrought good cheer to the room where her mother worked.\n\nOne fair morning Elizabeth wandered far across the meadows searching for\nthe brightest blossoms. She filled her arms with the sweetest primroses\nshe could find and turned to hasten back to the cottage when she saw\nstanding near her a lovely little creature. Her dress was made from the\ngolden petals of the primrose and so were her dainty shoes. On her head\nsparkled a tiny crown studded with yellow jewels. She carried a fairy\nbasket which held a number of wonderfully beautiful primroses.\n\n\"Elizabeth,\" said the little creature, speaking in the most friendly\nway, \"I'm the queen of the key-flower fairies. Tell me why you choose\ndaily to pluck our blossoms.\"\n\n\"These are primroses,\" said Elizabeth, looking at the flowers in her\narms.\n\n\"Yes, yes, I know that is the name you mortals call them but their\nproper name is the key-flower,\" nodded the fairy.\n\n\"They are the blossoms mother loves best,\" said Elizabeth, answering the\nlittle creature's first question. \"She is not strong enough to walk in\nthe meadow so each day I fill a bowl with primroses and put them near\nher spinning wheel.\"\n\nThe queen of the key-flowers fairies came close to Elizabeth, took a\nblossom from her basket, and offering it to the little girl said, \"Today\nI'm going to send your mother a gift. Hold this flower in your hand and\nwalk to the hills on the east side of the meadow. You will find a path\nall the way bordered with our blossoms. Follow the path carefully until\nyou come to a hillside in which there is a great arched doorway marked\nout by the pale gold of these flowers. Touch the door gently with this\nkey-flower which I give you. It will open, and you may enter into an\nenchanted hall.\"\n\nElizabeth took the flower which the fairy offered her and the next\nmoment the tiny creature vanished.\n\nStretching across the meadow Elizabeth now noticed the flower-bordered\npath which the fairy had directed her to follow. It led to a sunny\nhillside where the little girl found exactly what the fairy had\ndescribed\u2014an arched doorway around which grew pale golden primroses in\nfull bloom.\n\nVery gently Elizabeth tapped with her key-flower on the door, which\nimmediately swung open without the least bit of noise.\n\n\"Come in,\" called a silvery voice. And there, standing in a hall\nmarvellously lighted, stood the queen of the key-flower fairies.\nElizabeth walked into the enchanted hall. Through a crystal roof the\ngolden sunlight streamed on lovely hanging-baskets filled with brilliant\nprimroses. The floor and walls were covered with rich green moss and the\ncurious furniture was fashioned from pale yellow petals. On the tables\nstood baskets and vases holding large bunches of primrose blossoms.\nTheir delicious scent filled the air.\n\n\"This is key-flower hall,\" said the fairy.\n\nThen, pointing to some golden chests which stood near the walls she\ncontinued, \"Your key-flower will unlock those treasure-boxes. Open one\nof them and see what it holds.\"\n\nElizabeth tapped gently with her fairy primrose on one of the boxes.\nImmediately the lid opened and she saw that the chest was filled with\npale golden flower petals.\n\n\"You may take home to your mother as many flower petals as you can carry\nin your apron,\" said the fairy.\n\nElizabeth began to fill her apron with the soft golden disks, but,\nstrange to say, she no sooner lifted them from the treasure-chest than\nthey hardened into golden coins.\n\nThe fairy laughed merrily when she saw the astonished look on\nElizabeth's face. Then, suddenly, again the little creature vanished.\n\nElizabeth hurried home as fast as she could and gave the fairy's gift to\nher mother. There was plenty of money to buy all the food and comforts\nwhich the poor woman needed to make her grow strong again.\n\nElizabeth loved to tell her about her adventure with the queen of the\nprimrose fairies and the treasure which the magic key-flower unlocked.\n\n\n\n\n                           EVENING PRIMROSES\n\n\n                  While grey was the summer evening\n                    Hast never a small sprite seen\n                  Lighting the fragrant torches\n                    For the feast of the Faerie Queen?\n\n                  The buds in the primrose-bushes\n                    Upspring into yellow light,\n                  But ever the wee deft spirit\n                    Escapes my bewildered sight.\n\n                  Yet oft through the dusky garden\n                    A dainty white moth will fly,\n                  Or, pink as a pink rose-petal,\n                    One lightly will waver by.\n\n                  Perhaps 'tis the shape he comes in\n                    Perhaps it is he, indeed,\n                  Sir Moth or the merry Cobweb\n                    Or the Whimsical Mustard-Seed!\n\n                                                        HELEN GRAY CONE.\n\n\n\n\n                    LEGEND OF THE LILY-OF-THE-VALLEY\n\n                          ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE\n\n\nOnce when the Little Child of Bethlehem was playing, he grew very tired\nand thirsty, and his playmate was very thirsty, too. So Jesus ran to the\nwell for a cup of water and hurried back with it without stopping to\ndrink. But his playmate was greedy, for he seized the cup and drank it\nall except a few drops at the bottom; then he gave the empty cup to\nJesus, who took it and let the last few drops fall on the grass, when\nsuddenly, from where they fell, there flowed a little clear stream of\nwater with lilies-of-the-valley blooming along its bank.\n\n\n\n\n                           KATRINA'S SUN-DIAL\n\n\n                              Hours fly,\n                              Flowers die,\n                              New days,\n                              New ways\n                              Pass by,\n                              Love stays.\n\n                                                         HENRY VAN DYKE.\n\n\n\n\n                      THE THREE LITTLE BUTTERFLIES\n\n\nThere were once three little butterflies, one was white, one was red,\nand one was yellow. They played in the sunshine and danced from one\nblossom to another. They never grew tired, for they loved to play among\nthe flowers in the garden.\n\nOne day a heavy rain fell and the little butterflies became very wet.\nThey soon hurried home but when they got to their house they found the\ndoor locked and they could not find the key. So they had to stay\noutdoors and they became wetter and wetter.\n\nBut by and by they flew to a yellow and red striped tulip and said:\n\n\"Dear Tulip, open your little flower cup so that we may slip in until\nthe rain is over?\"\n\nThe tulip answered, \"I will gladly open my flower cup to the red\nbutterfly and the yellow one. They are like me. But the white one may\nnot come in.\"\n\nBut the butterflies, the red and the yellow ones, said: \"No, if our\nwhite brother may not go into your flower cup with us, we will stay out\nhere in the rain with him.\" And away they flew. It rained harder and\nharder and they flew to a white lily and said: \"Good lily, open your\nflower cup a little so that we may find shelter from this rain.\" The\nlily answered, \"I will open my flower cup so that the white butterfly\nmay come in because he is like me, but the red and yellow butterflies\nmust stay out in the rain.\" Then the white butterfly said: \"No; if you\nwill not shelter my brothers, you cannot shelter me. We would rather\nstay outside together and be wet than leave one another in need.\"\n\nAnd the three little butterflies flew farther on together.\n\nIt happened that the jolly old sun who was behind the clouds heard all\nthat was said and he knew how kind the little butterfly brothers were to\neach other, for, had they not stayed together in spite of the hard, hard\nrain? So his sunbeams pierced the clouds and drove away the rain, and it\nwas clear and bright once more in the garden. The butterflies were not\nwet long for the sunbeams soon dried their wings and warmed their\nbodies. Then how merry they were! They danced again and played among the\nflowers until it was evening, then they flew away together to their\nhouse\u2014and the door was wide open!\n\n\n\n\n                               THE PINKS\n\n\n                The pinks along my garden walks\n                Have all shot forth their summer stalks,\n                Thronging their buds 'mong tulips hot,\n                  And blue forget-me-not.\n\n                Their dazzling snows forth-bursting soon\n                Will lade the idle breath of June:\n                And waken through the fragrant night\n                  To steal the pale moonlight.\n\n                                                         ROBERT BRIDGES.\n\n\n\n\n                          THE FLOWER'S THANKS\n\n                              LYMAN ABBOTT\n\n\nA little flower lay drooping on the ground under an August sun. For days\nthere had been no rain. The earth was dry and hard. The little flower\nhad held up its open mouth for rain, but no rain had come.\n\nAnd now it was dying of thirst.\n\nAs it lay dying a shadow passed over the sun. The air became dark.\n\nHeavy thunder rolled. Flashes of lightning chased each other across the\nsky.\n\nThe birds hushed their singing. The very leaves of the tree stood still.\n\nAt last two big drops fell at the root of the little flower.\n\nA moment, and then the air was full of raindrops. They lifted the dying\nflower. They washed it, fed it and brought it back to life.\n\nWhen the sun broke through the clouds, two great tears glistened on the\nlittle flower's cheek. They were tears of thankfulness.\n\nThen the flower lifted up its voice and said:\n\n\"Thank you, raindrops,\u2014good raindrops,\u2014you have saved my life.\"\n\nBut the raindrops answered, \"Thank not us; thank the clouds; they sent\nus.\"\n\nThen the flower lifted up its voice and said:\n\n\"Thank you, clouds,\u2014good clouds,\u2014you have saved my life.\"\n\nBut the clouds answered, \"Thank not us; thank the sun. It saw you dying\nand called us from the ocean. The winds heard you sighing, and brought\nus here to help you.\"\n\nThen the little flower turned to the wind and the sun. The wind bent\ndown to the earth, and stopped for a moment to hear its words.\n\nThe sun sent down its beams to receive the flower's message.\n\n\"Thank you, wind,\u2014good wind,\" said the little flower.\n\n\"Thank you, sun,\u2014good sun,\u2014you have saved my life.\"\n\n\"Thank not us,\" said the sun and the wind; \"thank the good God. He saw\nyou dying; He heard you sighing, He took pity on you. We, sun and winds\nand clouds and falling raindrops are only the givers of His bounty.\"\n\nAnd the flower breathed a prayer of thanks to the great and good God.\n\n\n\n\n                                PANSIES\n\n\n     Pansies! pansies! How I love you, pansies,\n       Jaunty-faced, laughing-lipped and dewy-eyed with glee;\n     Would my song might blossom out in little five-leaved stanzas\n     As delicate in fancies,\n       As your beauty is to me.\n\n                                                   JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.\n\nFrom the Biographical Edition of the complete works of James Whitcomb\nRiley. Copyright 1913. Used by special permission of the publishers, The\nBobbs-Merrill Company.\n\n\n\n\n                         THE LITTLE HEARTSEASE\n\n\nOne morning a king went into his garden for a walk. He noticed that the\ntrees and flowers were drooped and somewhat withered. Turning to a great\nbranching oak tree, his majesty said, \"Tell me what has happened to my\ngarden?\"\n\n\"Sire,\" moaned the oak tree, \"I am most unhappy. See how thick my trunk\nis and how gnarled and twisted my great branches are. Now the pine tree,\nwhich stands at the other end of the garden, is a picture of grace and\nbeauty. How tall and slender the stem is, and what dainty needles\u2014like\nleaves\u2014adorn the branches.\"\n\nThe king walked on until he came to the pine tree. As he drew near he\nheard a deep sigh.\n\n\"What troubles you, slender pine tree?\" he asked.\n\n\"Sire,\" replied the pine, \"I've been wishing for many a day that I could\nbear luscious grapes such as ripen on the vine which trails over the\ngarden wall. To bear rich clusters of purple fruit must, indeed, bring\ngreat happiness.\"\n\nThe king walked on until he came to the garden wall where the grapevine\ntrailed. But he saw that the vine was withering and slipping down from\nthe wall.\n\n\"What a rich harvest of fruit you bear this autumn!\" said the king,\ngoing close to the grapevine. But, to his surprise, he heard a deep sigh\nand the grapevine said, \"It is very hard to be obliged to cling to a\ngarden wall for support. I should like to stand erect in the sunlight\nwhere all could see my ripe fruit.\" And the vine looked longingly at a\npeach tree which stood near.\n\nThe king turned down a little winding path, which led to a quieter spot\nin his garden. There he saw a bright-faced pansy drinking the morning\ndew, and beaming with happiness.\n\n\"Heartsease, my brave little flower,\" said the king, \"you seem very\ncheerful. Tell me what wish you are nursing in that golden heart of\nyours?\"\n\n\"Sire,\" answered the little flower, \"my dearest wish is to be the very\nbest heartsease that ever I can.\"\n\n\n\n\n                       LEGEND OF THE RED GERANIUM\n\n\nOnce upon a time there lived in a country far over the sea a prophet\nwhose name was Mohammed. He was a great leader and traveled many miles\nthrough his country, teaching the people who looked to him for guidance.\n\nOne scorching hot day, after a long pilgrimage through a dusty country,\nthe great prophet stopped to rest. A clear stream flowed near him, and\nMohammed bathed in its cool waters and then washed his travel-stained\nclothes. He spread the clean linen over a tall mallow plant. Then he lay\ndown to rest while his garments were drying.\n\nAfter sleeping for an hour or two the prophet wakened, much refreshed.\nHe lifted his dry linen from the common plant, and lo! a great surprise\nmet his eye. The mallow had been changed into a magnificent geranium,\nwhose red clusters were dazzlingly bright in the sunshine.\n\n\n\n\n                            ENCHANTED TULIPS\n\n\n                   Tulips white and tulips red,\n                   Sweeter than a violet bed!\n                   Say, old Mother Bailey, say,\n                   Why your tulips look so gay,\n                   Why they smell so sweet and why\n                   They bloom when others die?\n\n                   \"By the pixies' magic power\n                   Do my tulips always flower,\n                   By the pixies' magic spell\n                   Do they give so sweet a smell!\n                   Tulips, tulips, red and white,\n                   Fill the pixies with delight.\n\n                   \"Pixie women, pixie men,\n                   Seek my tulips from the glen;\n                   Midnight comes, they may be heard\n                   Singing sweet as any bird,\n                   Singing their wee babes to rest\n                   In the tulips they love best!\"\n\n                                                             MAUD KEARY.\n\n\n\n\n                                  IRIS\n\n\nJuno, the wife of Jupiter, was queen of the earth and sky. In her\nbeautiful golden chariot, drawn by six brilliant peacocks, the proud\nqueen sometimes drove on errands to all parts of the kingdom and even to\nthe ends of the earth.\n\nBut when she wished a message to be delivered quickly she usually sent\nIris, her faithful messenger, who was swift as the wind, to carry out\nher queen's requests. She would arch a lovely bridge of many colors from\nthe skies to the earth; then, in robes of violet, blue, green, yellow,\nand red, she would pass over the bridge like a flash of light with her\nmessage to the earth or, perhaps, to the depths of the sea. When the\npeople saw the brilliant arch in the sky they would call out, \"See the\nrainbow. Iris brings us a message from Juno.\"\n\nOne day Juno invited all the flowers to a festival, for it was Iris's\nbirthday. Many flowers came clothed in wondrous beauty. While the\nmerry-making was at its highest, three strange flowers, who were\nsisters, appeared. One wore a rich red gown, another a bright yellow,\nand a third was clad in the softest violet. Each was adorned with\nrichest jewels.\n\n\"Who are they and whence do they come?\" asked the revelers. No one could\nanswer, for no one knew the names of the strange visitors; indeed, not\none flower could remember ever having seen them before.\n\nWhen the strangers neared the others to join in the festival, the rain\nbegan to fall, and the little raindrops laughed and frolicked and danced\nin glee, while the flowers caught them in their cups and quickly let\nthem roll away again to join the rest of their playmates.\n\nSoon the sun was shining gorgeously again. And right across the sky\nspread the splendid arch of a rainbow, like bent sunbeams, one end of\nwhich was held by the strange flowers.\n\n\"The rainbow,\" cried the others, as soon as they saw it. \"See, Iris's\nbridge. And the colors worn by the strange flowers are exactly like the\nred, yellow, and violet of the rainbow. Let us give our new friends the\nname of Iris. It was they who brought her lovely arched bridge into our\nmidst.\"\n\nEver since that day these tall, stately flowers have been called by the\nname of Iris, the faithful messenger of the gods.\n\n\n\n\n                           THE YELLOW-BIRD[3]\n\n\n                      Hey! my little yellow-bird,\n                        What you doing there?\n                      Like a flashing sun-ray\n                        Flitting everywhere;\n                      Dangling down the tall weeds\n                        And the holly-hocks,\n                      And the lovely sunflowers\n                        Along the garden walks.\n\n                                                   JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.\n\nFootnote 3:\n\n  From the Biographical Edition of the complete works of James Whitcomb\n  Riley. Copyright, 1913. Used by special permission of the publishers,\n  The Bobbs-Merrill Company.\n\n\n\n\n                        ORIGIN OF THE SUNFLOWER\n\n                              (GREEK MYTH)\n\n\nClytie was the name of a beautiful nymph who lived in a coral cave far\ndown in the depths of the sea. It happened one morning that she ventured\nto the surface of the water and looked toward the east. In the distance\nwhere the earth and sky met she saw a marvellous sight. Aurora, the\ngoddess of dawn, rolled aside the soft grey curtains of the morning sky\nand there, waiting for the day's journey, stood Apollo's jeweled car.\n\nClytie saw the sun-god leap into his seat and take lightly in hand the\nreins of his restless, prancing steeds. Then up the steep slope of the\neastern sky he drove, and the gleam from his dazzling chariot filled the\nair with golden light. All day long Clytie sat on the rocks near the\nshore and watched Apollo in his brilliant course. At evening when the\nlast beams from the sun-god's car sank into the western sea, the nymph,\nwith a deep sigh, returned to her coral halls.\n\nBut she no longer took keen delight in fashioning delicate shells and\ntending her seaweed gardens. She had fallen in love with the sun-god and\nlonged with all her heart to see him again. One morning very early she\nrose to the surface of the water and wandered eastward toward a large\ngreen meadow which was very near the place where Apollo started his\ncourse. Again she saw the \"rosy-fingered Dawn\" roll aside the soft grey\ncurtains; again she saw the radiant beauty of the sun-god. Clytie fixed\nher eyes on the driver of the golden chariot and never for one moment\nlost sight of him in his day's journey through the sky. For nine days\nthe sea-nymph lingered in the meadow, tasting neither food nor drink,\nhoping for some small sign of favour from Apollo. But he was too intent\non his marvellous course to find interest in the adoring Clytie. Her\nconstancy, however, touched the heart of the sun-god with pity, and he\nchanged her into a flower. Her slender limbs became a tall green stem,\nher delicate sea-green dress turned into leaves, and her lovely face and\ngolden hair changed into sun-like flowers which faithfully follow the\nbrilliant god of day all through his course.\n\n\n\n\n                              THE BLUEBELL\n\n\n                 There is a story I have heard;\n                 A poet learned it of a bird,\n                 And kept its music, every word.\n\n                 About two thousand years ago,\n                 A little flower, as white as snow,\n                 Swayed in the silence to and fro.\n\n                 Day after day with longing eye,\n                 The floweret watched the narrow sky\n                 And the fleecy clouds that floated by.\n\n                 And swiftly o'er its petals white,\n                 There crept a blueness like the light\n                 Of skies, upon a summer night.\n\n                 And in its chalice, I am told,\n                 The bonny bell was found to hold\n                 A tiny star that gleamed like gold.\n\n\n\n\n                      THE DEW MOTHER'S GIFT TO THE\n                                  ROSE\n\n\nOn warm summer evenings, when the afterglow of sunset tints the sky, the\nDew Mother comes to care for her children of the earth, the trees,\ngrass, and flowers. She is dressed in garments of softest grey, so\ndelicate and so much like the mists of the evening sky that it is very\nhard, indeed, to see her wander about with her precious refreshing gift.\n\nOne evening, after a scorching hot day, the Dew Mother had heavy work to\nperform. She was needed everywhere. The fierce rays of the sun had\nparched the forest leaves; the fruit in the orchards and vineyards must\nbe bathed in the life-giving dew; the thirsty flowers, hanging their\nheads, waited patiently for her tender care and they knew she would not\nforsake them.\n\nWhen the Dew Mother had completed her task she was so weary that she\nfelt she must rest before leaving the earth. It happened that she was in\nan old-fashioned garden where she found a bed of velvet moss. Here she\nlay down and slept until sunrise. When she opened her eyes she saw\nbending over her a beautiful rose bush.\n\n\"My queen of flowers, thou hast watched me through the night, and\nsheltered me with tender care from the sun's first rays,\" said the Dew\nMother. \"But what new gift can I add to the beauty of the rose whose\nperfume is the richest I can bestow; whose colour is like the first\nflush of the morning sky?\"\n\nVery humbly the queen of flowers replied, \"Grant me a gift of the green\nmoss, which made your resting place under my branches.\"\n\nSo the Dew Mother gladly added the gift of delicate soft moss to the\nmanifold beauties of the rose, and to-day in many an old-fashioned\ngarden one finds the exquisite moss rose.\n\n\n\n\n                             A YELLOW PANSY\n\n\n                To the wall of the old green garden\n                  A butterfly, quivering, came;\n                His wings in the somber lichens\n                  Played like a yellow flame.\n\n                He looked at the grey geraniums,\n                  And the sleepy four-o'clocks;\n                He looked at the low lanes bordered\n                  With the glossy-growing box.\n\n                He longed for the peace and the silence,\n                  And the shadows that lengthened there,\n                And his wee wild heart was weary\n                  Of skimming the endless air.\n\n                And now in the old green garden,\u2014\n                  I know not how it came,\u2014\n                A single pansy is blooming,\n                  Bright as a yellow flame.\n\n                And whenever a gay gust passes,\n                  It quivers as if with pain,\n                For the butterfly-soul that is in it\n                  Longs for the winds again!\n\n                                                        HELEN GRAY CONE.\n\n\n\n\n                               MIGNONETTE\n\n\nThere was once a queen who was so fond of flowers that she wished to\nmake her garden the most beautiful one in the world. Messengers from her\ncourt were sent into strange lands, and commanded to bring her majesty\nrare and wonderful flowering plants to fill her garden with a wealth of\nbloom.\n\n\"It must be a garden fit for a queen,\" she said to those who were sent\nat her bidding.\n\nSo great was this queen's love of flowers that she ordered her servants\nto keep a bouquet in every room of the palace during the flower season.\nAnd every morning her handmaidens gathered the choicest blossoms and\nplaced them upon a table in the queen's own room.\n\nNow it chanced one day that while the handmaidens were picking the\nflowers for their queen, one of them looked over the garden wall to the\nblue hills that lay beyond. To her great surprise, she discovered that a\nfield alight with wonderful colors\u2014yellow, blue, and crimson\u2014stretched\nbefore her. It reached out toward a bank of white daisies which bordered\nthe distant hills.\n\n\"Come, come!\" she called to the others. \"See, is this not a fair sight?\"\n\nThe handmaidens came at the call and were lost in wonder at the beauty\nof the scene.\n\n\"Let us gather her majesty's bouquet this morning from the flowers\nhere,\" suggested one. \"I am sure our queen does not know how much beauty\nlies so close to her own garden.\"\n\nThe others were well pleased with the plan. Together they climbed the\nstone wall, ran into the field, and gathered a wealth of blossoms. In a\nlittle while these field flowers graced the royal table.\n\nNow the queen who, as you know, loved her flowers more than any other\none thing in the world, never failed each morning to look at her bouquet\nand examine with loving care each blossom in it. And it was with no\nsmall surprise that she discovered the strange flowers placed that\nmorning upon her table.\n\n\"These blossoms are rare, indeed,\" said she. \"Is it possible that my\ngarden contains so many plants that are strangers to me? I have seen\nblossoms more beautiful than some of these, but never before have I\nenjoyed a perfume so delicious. To which one of them does it belong, I\nwonder?\" And the queen bent close to the bouquet to see if she could\ndetect the flower with the sweet odor.\n\n\"I shall want the same kind of bouquet for many days,\" she said,\nsmiling.\n\nSo it happened that each morning the handmaidens ran to the fields\nbeyond the palace garden, and gathered some of the flowers which had won\nher majesty's heart.\n\nOne morning the queen called her handmaidens to her and said, \"The\nflower with the delicious odor is missing. Do you know which one was not\ngathered to-day?\"\n\n\"We do not know,\" said the maidens; \"each day we have tried to bring the\nsame kind of flowers. We will search for it.\"\n\nBut day after day the queen was disappointed, because she missed from\nher flowers the one whose perfume was the sweetest she had ever enjoyed.\n\nOnce or twice she thought the handmaidens had found the blossom, but in\na little while she knew the scent was not the one she was hoping to\nfind.\n\nOne morning she said, \"I'll go with you to gather the blossoms, my\nhandmaidens. I shall find the flower by its rare odor.\"\n\nThen the maidens told the queen about the meadow outside the royal park,\nand together they went to the beautiful field, whose blossoms delighted\nher majesty's heart. Many times while they were all searching for the\ntreasure, they saw the queen stoop over a bright flower and linger for a\nmoment or two. Then she would shake her head and say, \"No, that is not\nthe perfume I am searching.\"\n\n\"It must be in this meadow somewhere,\" said one of the maidens, \"for\nmany days we have gathered flowers nowhere but here.\"\n\n\"We'll search until we find it, then,\" said the queen.\n\nAs she spoke a light breeze began to stir the flowers, and a delicate\nperfume filled the air.\n\n\"I smell the rare odor now,\" called out her majesty. \"Come, stand near\nfor a moment, and enjoy it. Surely the flower is not far away.\"\n\nThe handmaidens gathered round their queen. Suddenly one of them said,\n\"Can it be that this odor comes from the little plant under your\nmajesty's foot?\" asked one of the maidens.\n\n\"Surely not,\" answered another; \"those flowers are so small and\ncolorless.\"\n\nThe queen stooped down and took a spray from the humble little plant\nwhich had sent forth an exquisite perfume when a careless foot had\ncrushed its blossoms.\n\n\"It is! It is!\" cried the queen in delight. \"I have found it at last. It\nshall be brought into the royal gardens, and shall be my special\ntreasure. What a modest little plant it is, and what rare delight it\ngives.\"\n\n\"Shall you give your treasure a name?\" asked the handmaidens.\n\nThe queen looked for a moment at the spray she held. Then she said, \"I\nshall call it Mignonette, which means 'little darling.'\"\n\nAccordingly, the mignonette was taken from its wild life in the meadows\nand brought into the gardens, where it still gives forth the sweetest of\nall perfumes.\n\n\n\n\n                                FLOWERS\n\n\n         Her garden was her pleasure and her care;\n         Morning and evening one could find her there\n         Working and wondering. Every scent and hue\n         Filled her with joy, with beauty pierced her through.\n\n         For as her flowers opened to the sun\n         Each seemed a radiant world her soul had won,\n         This paradise of perfume her own hand\n         Had made, this glowing tapestry she planned.\n         From walls that kept marauding winds shut  out,\n         A fountain splashed, a brook wound slow about\n         Field of spiced-candy-tuft, hedged with trim box,\n         Dark blue verbenas, larkspur, snow-white phlox,\n         And beds of heliotrope that in the night\n         Offered rare incense for the stars' delight.\n         Robin and catbird sought her iris pool,\n         Fluttered and bathed them in its shallow cool,\n         Then poised one happy moment on the banks\n         To offer to the stream their lyric thanks.\n\n                                                      EDWARD BLISS REED.\n\n\n\n\n                           ON A MIDSUMMER DAY\n\n\n                 O, grown-ups cannot understand\n                   And grown-ups never will,\n                 How short's the way to fairy-land\n                   Across the purple hill:\n                 They smile: their smile is very bland,\n                   Their eyes are wise and chill;\n                 And yet\u2014at just a child's command\u2014\n                   The world's an Eden still.\n\n                                                           ALFRED NOYES.\n\n\n\n\n                       THE FRIENDLY COWSLIP BELLS\n\n\nOne midsummer day the bright sun shone from morning until evening; not\neven a wisp of white cloud floated across the blue, blue sky. The\nfairies were delighted, for that night they were going to have their\ngayest sport.\n\n\"We shall have a fine revel in cowslip meadow to-night,\" said a happy\nlittle creature to the fairy shoemaker who had been busy for many a day\nmaking shoes for the midsummer revel.\n\nThe little wrinkled old man was fastening a diamond buckle on the\nqueen's dancing slippers and he did not like to be bothered when he was\nbusy, so he merely shook his head and sang:\n\n                       \"Red sky at night\n                       Is the fairies' delight;\n                       Red sky in the morning\n                       Is the fairies' warning.\"\n\n\"But there hasn't been a cloud as big as my thumb nail in the sky all\nday long,\" said the merry little fairy. \"How can there be rain without\nclouds?\"\n\nThe shoemaker nodded his head, went on with his work, and sang again:\n\n                          \"The clear blue sky\n                          Means rain is nigh.\"\n\nOne hour before midnight when the big round moon lit up the fields and\ndells a rainbow troop of fairies in dainty gossamer robes and sparkling\nslippers came forth from their village in the hills for the midsummer\nnight merry-making.\n\nThe dancing in a ring was the greatest sport. First they formed a circle\nstanding very close together. Then, keeping time to the music of the\nfairy fiddler, who stood in the center, the little revellers danced\nround and round in a ring which grew larger and larger until the dancers\ncould scarcely touch one another's tiny fingers. Peals of silvery\nlaughter filled the air as they broke away from the ring and had a merry\ngame of hide and seek or catch, until the fairy fiddler's music lured\nthem back to the dancing ring.\n\nThree times they had danced in the ring; three times they had frolicked\namong the grass blades in the merry games of hide and seek and catch,\nwhen suddenly they noticed a dark shadow fall on the green dancing\nrings.\n\nWistfully they peered at the sky to see what was the matter. Soft clouds\nwere sailing right across the moon's face and the next moment a few\npattering raindrops began to fall, and the fairy shoemaker, who had\nbrought his work out into the fields (he never joined in the sport),\nsang out in a high, ringing voice:\n\n                          \"A clear blue sky\n                          Means rain is nigh.\"\n\nThe fairies all knew what he meant for he had sung the same little rhyme\nseveral times during the day when they had rejoiced about the promise of\na clear, moonlight night.\n\n\"What shall we do?\"\n\n\"Where shall we go?\" asked the tiny creatures, for the raindrops were\nbeginning to fall faster.\n\n\"See how the cowslip bells are bending. Perhaps they mean to shelter\nus,\" said the fairy queen.\n\nIn a twinkling groups of fairies fled to the stalks of cowslip tufts.\nOne after another each crept quickly into one of the hanging bells of\nthe flowers, and there they nestled softly, safe from the pattering\nraindrops, which fell faster and faster in a midnight summer shower. How\ncosy they were, cuddled up in the golden bells which swayed gently to\nand fro as light breezes touched them. So delighted they were with these\nlovely cradles that they sang one of their sweetest melodies when the\nclouds disappeared and the full moon again flooded the meadow with\nlight.\n\nThe fairies did not forget the service of the friendly cowslip bells.\nThey gave the flower a new name\u2014the fairy-cup\u2014and always in their\nmidsummer night's revel, at a sign from the fairy queen, they stop\ndancing for a few moments, creep into the bells of the cowslips, and\nsing their sweetest melody of Fairyland.\n\n\n\n\n                               FAIRY DAWN\n\n\n            'Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell:\n            The wood-tick has kept the minutes well;\n            He has counted them all with click and stroke,\n            Deep in the heart of the mountain oak,\n            And he has awakened the sentry elve\n              Who sleeps with him in the haunted tree,\n            To bid him ring the hour of twelve,\n              And call the fays to their revelry;\n            Twelve small strokes on his tinkling bell\u2014\n            ('Twas made of the white snail's pearly shell)\u2014\n              \"Midnight comes, and all is well!\n            Hither, hither, wing your way!\n              'Tis the dawn of the fairy-day.\"\n\n                                                    JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.\n\n\n\n\n                            ROBIN GOODFELLOW\n\n                              ERNEST RHYS\n\n\nOnce upon a time, a great while ago, when men did eat and drink less,\nand were more honest, and knew no knavery, there was wont to walk many\nharmless sprites called fairies, dancing in brave order in fairy rings\non green hills with sweet music. Sometimes they were invisible, and\nsometimes took divers shapes. Many mad pranks would they play, as\npinching of untidy damsels black and blue, and misplacing things in\nill-ordered houses; but lovingly would they use good girls, giving them\nsilver and other pretty toys, which they would leave for them, sometimes\nin their shoes, other times in their pockets, sometimes in bright basins\nand other clean vessels.\n\nNow it chanced that in those happy days, a babe was born in a house to\nwhich the fairies did like well to repair. This babe was a boy, and the\nfairies, to show their pleasure, brought many pretty things thither,\ncoverlets and delicate linen for his cradle; and capons, woodcock, and\nquail for the christening, at which there was so much good cheer that\nthe clerk had almost forgot to say the babe's name\u2014Robin Goodfellow. So\nmuch for the birth and christening of little Robin.\n\nWhen Robin was grown to six years of age, he was so knavish that all the\nneighbors did complain of him; for, no sooner was his mother's back\nturned, but he was in one knavish action or other, so that his mother\nwas constrained (to avoid the complaints) to take him with her to market\nor wheresoever she went or rode. But this helped little or nothing, for,\nif he rode before her, then would he make mouths and ill-favored faces\nat those he met: if he rode behind her, then would he clap his hand on\nthe tail; so that his mother was weary of the many complaints that came\nagainst him. Yet knew she not how to beat him justly for it, because she\nnever saw him do that which was worthy of blows. The complaints were\ndaily so renewed that his mother promised him a whipping. Robin did not\nlike that cheer, and, therefore, to avoid it, he ran away, and left his\nmother a-sorrowing for him.\n\nAfter Robin had travelled a good day's journey from his mother's house\nhe sat down, and, being weary, he fell asleep. No sooner had slumber\nclosed his eye-lids, but he thought he saw many goodly proper little\npersonages in antic measures tripping about him, and withal he heard\nsuch music, as he thought that Orpheus, that famous Greek fiddler (had\nhe been alive), compared to one of these had been but a poor musician.\nAs delights commonly last not long, so did those end sooner than Robin\nwould willingly they should have done; and for very grief he awaked, and\nfound by him lying a scroll wherein was written these lines following,\nin golden letters:\u2014\n\n              \"Robin, my only son and heir,\n              How to live take thou no care:\n              By nature thou hast cunning shifts,\n              Which I'll increase with other gifts.\n              Wish what thou wilt, thou shalt it have;\n              And for to fetch both fool and knave,\n              Thou hast the power to change thy shape,\n              To horse, to hog, to dog, to ape,\n              Transformed thus, by any means\n              See none thou harm'st but knaves and queans:\n              But love thou those that honest be,\n              And help them in necessity.\n              Do thus and all the world shall know\n              The pranks of Robin Goodfellow,\n              For by that name thou called shalt be\n              To age's last posterity;\n              And if thou keep my just command,\n              One day thou shalt see Fairy-land!\"\n\nRobin, having read this, was very joyful, yet longed he to know whether\nhe had the power or not, and to try it he wished for some meat.\nPresently a fine dish of roast veal was before him. Then wished he for\nplum-pudding; he straightway had it. This liked him well, and, because\nhe was weary, he wished himself a horse: no sooner was his wish ended,\nbut he was changed into as fine a nag as you need see, and leaped and\ncurveted as nimbly as if he had been in stable at rack and manger a full\nmonth. Then he wished himself a black dog, and he was so; then a green\ntree, and he was so. So from one thing to another, till he was quite\nsure that he could change himself to anything whatsoever he liked.\n\nThereupon, full of delight at his new powers, Robin Goodfellow set out,\neager to put them to the test.\n\nAs he was crossing a field, he met with a red-faced carter's clown and\ncalled to him to stop.\n\n\"Friend,\" quoth he, \"what is a clock?\"\n\n\"A thing,\" answered the clown, \"that shows the time of the day.\"\n\n\"Why, then,\" said Robin Goodfellow, \"be thou a clock and tell me what\ntime of the day it is.\"\n\n\"I owe thee not so much service,\" answered the clown again, \"but,\nbecause thou shalt think thyself beholden to me, know that it is the\nsame time of the day as it was yesterday at this time!\"\n\nThese shrewd answers vexed Robin Goodfellow, so that in himself he vowed\nto be revenged of the clown, which he did in this manner.\n\nRobin Goodfellow turned himself into a bird and followed this fellow,\nwho was going into a field a little from that place to catch a horse\nthat was at grass. The horse, being wild, ran over dyke and hedge, and\nthe fellow after, but to little purpose, for the horse was too swift for\nhim. Robin was glad of this occasion, for now or never was the time to\nhave his revenge.\n\nPresently Robin shaped himself exactly like the horse that the clown\nfollowed, and so stood right before him. Then the clown took hold of the\nhorse's mane and got on his back, but he had not ridden far when, with a\nstumble, Robin hurled his rider over his head, so that he almost broke\nhis neck. But then again he stood still and let the clown mount him once\nmore.\n\nBy the way which the clown now would ride was a great pond of water of a\ngood depth, which covered the road. No sooner did he ride into the very\nmiddle of the pond than Robin Goodfellow turned himself into a fish, and\nso left him with nothing but the pack-saddle on which he was riding\nbetwixt his legs. Meanwhile the fish swiftly swam to the bank. And then\nRobin, changed to a naughty boy again, ran away laughing, \"Ho, ho, hoh!\"\nleaving the poor clown half drowned and covered with mud.\n\nAs Robin took his way along a green hedge-side he fell to singing:\u2014\n\n               \"And can the doctor make sick men well?\n               And can the gipsy a fortune tell\n               Without lily, germander, and cockle-shell?\n                 With sweet-brier,\n                 And bon-fire\n                 And strawberry wine,\n                 And columbine.\"\n\nAnd when he had sung this over, he fell to wondering what he should next\nturn himself into. Then, as he saw the smoke rise from the chimneys of\nthe next town, he thought to himself it would be to him great sport to\nwalk the streets with a broom on his shoulder, and cry:\n\n\"Chimney sweep.\"\n\nBut when presently Robin did this, and one did call him, then did Robin\nrun away laughing, \"Ho, ho, hoh!\"\n\nNext he set about to counterfeit a lame beggar, begging very pitifully;\nbut when a stout chandler came out of his shop to give Robin an alms,\nagain he skipped off nimbly, laughing as his naughty manner was.\n\nThat same night, he did knock at many men's doors, and when the servants\ncame out he blew out their candle and straightway vanished in the dark\nstreet, with his \"Ho, ho, hoh!\"\n\nAll these mirthful tricks did Robin play, that day and night, and in\nthese humours of his he had many pretty songs, one of which I will sing\nas perfectly as I can. He sang it in his chimney-sweeper's humour, to\nthe tune of \"I have been a fiddler these fifteen years.\"\n\n                \"Black I am from head to foot,\n                And all doth come by chimney soot.\n                Then, maidens, come and cherish him\n                That makes your chimneys neat and trim.\"\n\nBut it befell that, on the very next night to his playing the\nchimney-sweep, Robin had a summons from the land where are no chimneys.\nFor King Oberon, seeing Robin Goodfellow do so many merry tricks, called\nhim out of his bed with these words, saying:\u2014\n\n              \"Robin, my son, come; quickly rise:\n              First stretch, then yawn, and rub your eyes;\n              For thou must go with me tonight,\n              And taste of Fairy-land's delight.\"\n\nRobin, hearing this, rose and went to him. There were with King Oberon\nmany fairies, all attired in green. All these, with King Oberon, did\nwelcome Robin Goodfellow into their company. Oberon took Robin by the\nhand and led him a fair dance: their musician had an excellent bag-pipe\nmade of a wren's quill and the skin of a Greenland fly. This pipe was so\nshrill and so sweet that a Scottish pipe, compared to it, would no more\ncome near it than a Jew's-harp doth to an Irish harp. After they had\ndanced, King Oberon said to Robin:\u2014\n\n                \"Whene'er you hear the piper blow,\n                Round and round the fairies go!\n                And nightly you must with us dance,\n                In meadows where the moonbeams glance,\n                And make the circle, hand in hand\u2014\n                That is the law of Fairy-land!\n                There thou shalt see what no man knows;\n                While sleep the eyes of men doth close!\"\n\nSo marched they, with their piper before, to the Fairy-land. There did\nKing Oberon show Robin Goodfellow many secrets, which he never did open\nto the world. And there, in Fairy-land, doth Robin Goodfellow abide now\nthis many a long year.\n\n\n\n\n                         A QUARREL IN FAIRYLAND\n\n                  (ARRANGED FROM \"A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S\n                                DREAM\")\n\n\n                      Time\u2014Midsummer Night.\n                      Place\u2014An enchanted grove.\n\n                      _Characters_\n                      OBERON\u2014_King of Fairyland_\n                      TITANIA\u2014_Queen of Fairyland_\n                      PUCK\u2014_Robin Goodfellow_\n                      BOTTOM\u2014_A clownish fellow_\n                      PEAS-BLOSSOM\n                      COBWEB\n                      MOTH         }\n                      MUSTARD SEED } _Fairies_\n                      ATTENDANT FAIRIES\n\n\n                                SCENE I\n\n(_Enter, from opposite sides, a_ FAIRY _and_ PUCK)\n\nPUCK.\n\nHow now, spirit! whither wander you?\n\nFAIRY.\n\n  Over hill, over dale,\n    Thorough bush, thorough brier,\n  Over park, over pale,\n    Thorough flood, thorough fire,\n  I do wander everywhere,\n  Swifter than the moon's sphere;\n  And I serve the Fairy Queen,\n  To dew her orbs upon the green.\n  The cowslips tall her pensioners be.\n  In their gold coats spots you see;\n  Those be rubies, Fairy favours,\n  In those freckles live their savours.\n  I must go seek some dewdrops here,\n  And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.\n  Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I'll be gone;\n  Our Queen and all her elves come here anon.\n\nPUCK.\n\n  The King doth keep his revels here to-night:\n  Take heed the Queen come not within his sight;\n  For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,\n  Because that she as her attendant hath\n  A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king.\n  She never had so sweet a changeling;\n  And jealous Oberon would have the child\n  Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild.\n  But she perforce withholds the lov\u00e8d boy,\n  Crowns him with flowers and makes him all her joy:\n  And now they never meet in grove or green,\n  By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen,\n  But they do square, that all their elves for fear\n  Creep into acorn-cups and hide them there.\n\nFAIRY.\n\n  Either I mistake your shape and making quite,\n  Or else you are that shrewd and knavish  sprite\n  Called Robin Goodfellow. Are not you he\n  That frights the maidens of the villagery;\n  Skims milk, and sometime labours in the quern,\n  And bootless makes the breathless housewife churn;\n  And sometime makes the drink to bear no barn;\n  Misleads night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?\n  Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck,\n  You do their work and they shall have good luck.\n  Are not you he?\n\nPUCK.\n\n    Thou speak'st aright;\n  I am that merry wanderer of the night.\n  I jest to Oberon, and make him smile,\n  When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,\n  Neighing in likeness of a filly foal;\n  And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl,\n  In very likeness of a roasted crab;\n  And when she drinks, against her lips I bob\n  And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale.\n  The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale,\n  Sometime for three-foot stool mistaketh me;\n  Then slip I from her, and down topples she,\n  And \"tailor\" cries, and falls into a cough;\n  And then the whole quire hold their hips and laugh,\n  And waxen in their mirth, and sneeze, and swear\n  A merrier hour was never wasted there.\n  But, room, fairy! here comes Oberon.\n\nFAIRY.\n\n  And here my mistress. Would that he were gone!\n\n           (_Enter, from one side_, OBERON _with his train_;\n           _from the other_, TITANIA _with hers_)\n\nOBERON.\n\n  Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania.\n\nTITANIA.\n\n  What, jealous Oberon! Fairy, skip hence.\n\nOBERON.\n\n  Tarry, rash wanton: am I not thy lord?\n\nTITANIA.\n\n  Then I must be thy lady.\n  And never, since the middle summer's spring,\n  Met we on hill, forest, or head,\n  By pav\u00e8d fountain or by rushy brook,\n  Or on the beached margent of the sea,\n  To dance our ringlet to the whistling wind,\n  But with thy brawls thou hast disturb'd our sport.\n\nOBERON.\n\n  Do you amend it, then; it lies in you:\n  Why should Titania cross her Oberon?\n  I do but beg a little changeling boy,\n  To be my henchman.\n\nTITANIA.\n\n      Set your heart at rest:\n    The Fairyland buys not the child of me.\n    If you will patiently dance in our round,\n    And see our moonlight revels, go with us;\n    If not, shun me, and I will spare your haunts.\n\nOBERON.\n\n    Give me that boy, and I will go with thee.\n\nTITANIA.\n\n      Not for thy Fairy kingdom. Fairies, away!\n    We shall chide downright, if I longer stay.\n\n                                      (_Exit_ TITANIA _with her train_.)\n\nOBERON.\n\n      Well, go thy way: thou shalt not from this grove\n    Till I torment thee for this injury.\u2014\n    My gentle Puck, come hither.\n    Fetch me that flower; the herb I show'd thee once.\n    The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid\n    Will make or man or woman madly dote\n    Upon the next live creature that it sees.\n    Fetch me this herb, and be thou here again.\n    Ere the leviathan can swim a league.\n\nPUCK.\n\n      I'll put a girdle round about the earth in forty minutes.\n\n                                                           (_Exit_ PUCK)\n\nOBERON.\n\n      Having once this juice,\n    I'll watch Titania when she is asleep,\n    And drop the liquour of it in her eyes.\n    The next thing then she, waking, looks upon,\n    Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull,\n    On meddling monkey, or on busy ape,\u2014\n    She shall pursue it with the soul of love;\n    And ere I take this charm from off her sight,\u2014\n    As I can take it with another herb,\u2014\n    I'll make her render up her page to me\n\n                           (_Re-enter_ PUCK)\n\n      Hast thou the flower there? Welcome, wanderer.\n\nPUCK.\n\n      Aye, here it is.\n\nOBERON.\n\n      I pray thee, give it me.\n    I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,\n    Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows;\n    Quite over-canopied with lush woodbine,\n    With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine.\n    There sleeps Titania sometime of the night,\n    Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight.\n    And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin,\n    Weed wide enough to wrap a fairy in;\n    And with the juice of this I'll streak her eyes,\n    And make her full of hateful fantasies.\n\n\n                                SCENE II\n\n                      (_Another part of the wood_)\n\n                  (_Enter_ Titania, _with her train_)\n\nTITANIA.\n\n      Come, now a roundel and a fairy song;\n    Then, for the third part of a minute, hence;\n    Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds;\n    Some war with rere-mice for their leathern wings,\n    To make my small elves' coats; and some keep back\n    The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders\n    At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep;\n    Then to your offices, and let me rest.\n\n                         (_The_ FAIRIES _sing_)\n\nFIRST FAIRY\n\n      You spotted snakes with double tongue,\n        Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;\n      Newt and blind-worms, do no wrong,\n        Come not near our fairy queen.\n\n_Chorus._\n\n                 Philomel, with melody,\n                 Sing in our sweet lullaby;\n             Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby.\n                 Never harm, nor spell, nor charm,\n                 Come our lovely lady nigh;\n                 So, good night, with lullaby.\n\nSECOND FAIRY.\n\n      Weaving spiders, come here;\n        Hence, you long-legged spinners, hence!\n      Beetles black, approach not near;\n        Worm nor snail, do no offense.\n\n_Chorus._\n\n                 Philomel, with melody,\n                 Sing in our sweet lullaby;\n             Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby.\n                   Never harm,\n                   Nor spell, nor charm,\n                 Come our lovely lady nigh;\n                 So, good night, with lullaby.\n\nFIRST FAIRY.\n\n      Hence, away! now all is well;\n      One aloof stand sentinel.\n\n                                   (_Exeunt_ FAIRIES. TITANIA _sleeps_.)\n\n              _Enter_ OBERON, _and squeezes the flower on_\n                          TITANIA'S _eyelids_.\n\nOBERON.\n\n      What thou seest when thou dost wake,\n    Do it for thy true-love take;\n    Love and languish for his sake:\n    Be it ounce, or cat, or bear,\n    Pard, or boar with bristled hair,\n    In thy eye that shall appear\n    When thou wak'st, it is thy dear:\n    Wake when some vile thing is near.\n\n                                                         [_Exit_ OBERON]\n\n(The mischievous little PUCK, wandering in the forest, meets a clownish\nfellow named BOTTOM. Very slyly PUCK slips an ass's head over BOTTOM'S\nhairy pate; and in this strange disguise the clown walks very near the\nflowery bank where TITANIA lies sleeping. He sings in a harsh voice and\nawakens the Fairy Queen. The charm makes her fall in love with BOTTOM,\nsince he is the first creature she sees upon waking.)\n\nBOTTOM (_sings_).\n\n      The ousel cock so black of hue,\n        With orange-tawny bill,\n      The throstle with his note so true,\n        The wren with little quill,\u2014\n\nTitania (awakening).\n\n      What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?\n\nBottom (sings).\n\n      The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,\n        The plain-song cuckoo grey,\n      Whose note full many a man doth mark\u2014\n        And dares not answer nay;\u2014\n      for, indeed, who would set his wit to so\n      foolish a bird? Who would give a bird the\n      lie, though he cry \"cuckoo\" never so?\n\nTITANIA.\n\n      I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again:\n    Mine ear is much enamor'd of thy note;\n    So is mine eye enthrall\u00e8d to thy shape,\n    And thy fair virtue's force perforce doth move me\n    On the first view to say, to swear, I love thee.\n\nBOTTOM.\n\n      Methinks, mistress, you should have little\n    reason for that: and yet, to say the truth,\n    reason and love keep little company together\n    now-a-days; the more the pity, that\n    some honest neighbours will not make them\n    friends. Nay, I can gleek upon occasion.\n\nTITANIA.\n\n      Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.\n\nBOTTOM.\n\n      Not so, neither: but if I had wit enough\n    to get out of this wood, I have enough to\n    serve mine own turn.\n\nTITANIA.\n\n      Out of this wood do not desire to go:\n    Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no.\n    I am a spirit of no common rate,\u2014\n    The Summer still doth tend upon my state;\n    And I do love thee. Therefore, go with me.\n    I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee;\n    And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,\n    And sing, while thou on press\u00e8d flowers dost sleep:\n    And I will purge thy mortal grossness so.\n    That thou shalt like airy spirit go.\n    Peaseblossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!\n\n               (_Enter_ PEASEBLOSSOM, COBWEB, MOTH, _and_\n                              MUSTARDSEED)\n\nPEASEBLOSSOM. Ready.\n\nCOBWEB. And I.\n\nMOTH. And I.\n\nMUSTARDSEED. And I.\n\nALL. Where shall we go?\n\nTITANIA.\n\n      Be kind and courteous to this gentleman;\n    Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes;\n    Feed him with apricots and dewberries.\n    With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries:\n    The honey-bags steal from the humble bees,\n    And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs,\n    And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes,\n    To have my love to bed and to arise;\n    And pluck the wings from painted butterflies\n    To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.\n    Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.\n\nPEASEBLOSSOM. Hail, mortal!\n\nCOBWEB. Hail!\n\nMOTH. Hail!\n\nMUSTARDSEED. Hail!\n\nTITANIA.\n\n    Come, wait upon him; lead him to my bower.\n\n\n                               SCENE III\n\n(_Enter_ TITANIA _and_ BOTTOM; PEASEBLOSSOM, COBWEB, MOTH, MUSTARDSEED,\n_and other_ FAIRIES _attending_; OBERON _behind, unseen_.)\n\nTITANIA.\n\n      Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,\n    While I thy amiable cheeks do coy\n    And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head.\n\nBOTTOM. Where's Peaseblossom?\n\nPEASEBLOSSOM. Ready.\n\nBOTTOM.\n\n      Scratch my head, Peaseblossom.\u2014Where's\n    Monsieur Cobweb?\n\nCOBWEB. Ready.\n\nBOTTOM.\n\n      Monsieur Cobweb, good monsieur,\n    get your weapons in your hand, and kill me\n    a red-hipped humble-bee on the top of a\n    thistle; and, good monsieur, bring me the\n    honey-bag. Do not fret yourself too much\n    in the action, monsieur; and, good monsieur,\n    have a care the honey-bag break not; I\n    would be loath to have you overflown with\n    a honey-bag, signior. Where's Monsieur\n    Mustardseed?\n\nMUSTARDSEED (_bowing_). Ready.\n\nBOTTOM.\n\n      Give me your neaf, Monsieur\n    Mustardseed. Pray you, leave your courtesy,\n    good monsieur.\n\nMUSTARDSEED. What's your will?\n\nBOTTOM.\n\n      Nothing, good monsieur, but to\n    help Cavalery Cobweb to scratch. I must\n    to the barber's, monsieur, for methinks I\n    am marvellous hairy about the face; and I\n    am such a tender ass, if my hair do but\n    tickle me I must scratch.\n\nTITANIA.\n\n      What, wilt thou hear some music, my sweet\n    love?\n\nBOTTOM.\n\n      I have a reasonable good ear in\n    music. Let's have the tongs and the bones.\n\n(_Rough music is played_)\n\nTITANIA.\n\n      Or say, sweet love, what thou desir'st to eat.\n\nBOTTOM.\n\n      Truly, a peck of provender; I\n    could munch your good dry oats. Methinks\n    I have a great desire to a bottle of\n    hay: good hay, sweet hay, hath no fellow.\n\nTITANIA.\n\n      I have a venturous fairy that shall\n    seek the squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee\n    thence new nuts.\n\nBOTTOM.\n\n      I had rather have a handful or two\n    of dried peas. But, I pray you, let none of\n    your people stir me. I have an exposition\n    of sleep come upon me.\n\nTITANIA.\n\n      Sleep thou:\n    Fairies, be gone, and be all ways away.\n\n                                                      (_Exeunt_ FAIRIES)\n\n                             (_Enter_ PUCK)\n\nOBERON (_advancing_).\n\n      Welcome, good Robin. See'st thou this sweet sight?\n    Her dotage now I do begin to pity;\n    For, meeting her of late behind the wood,\n    Seeking sweet favours for this hateful fool,\n    I did upbraid her and fall out with her:\n    For she his hairy temples then had rounded\n    With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers;\n    And that same dew, which sometime on the buds\n    Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls,\n    Stood now within the pretty flowerets' eyes\n    Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail.\n    When I had at my pleasure taunted her\n    And she in mild terms begg'd my patience,\n    I then did ask of her her changeling child,\n    Which straight she gave me, and her fairies sent\n    To bear him to my bower in Fairyland.\n    And now I have the boy, I will undo\n    This hateful imperfection of her eyes:\n    And, gentle Puck, take this transformed scalp\n    From off the head of this Athenian swain;\n    That, he awaking ...\n    May to Athens back again repair\n    And think no more of this night's accidents\n    But as the fierce vexation of a dream.\n    But first I will release the Fairy Queen.\n\n               (OBERON _touches the queen's eyes with an\n                      herb which lifts the charm_)\n\n      Be as thou wast wont to be,\n    See as thou wast wont to see:\n    Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower\n    Hath such force and blessed power.\n    Now, my Titania; wake you, my sweet Queen!\n\nTITANIA.\n\n      My Oberon! what visions have I seen!\n    Methought I was enamour'd of an ass.\n\nOBERON.\n\n      Sound music! Come, my Queen, take hands with me....\n\nPUCK.\n\n      Fairy King, attend and mark:\n    I do hear the morning lark.\n\nOBERON.\n\n      Then, my Queen, in silence sad,\n    Trip we after the night shade:\n    We the globe can compass soon\n    Swifter than the wand'ring moon.\n\nTITANIA.\n\n      Come, my lord.\n\n                                 (_Exeunt_ OBERON, TITANIA, _and train_)\n\nPUCK.\n\n      If we shadows have offended,\n    Think but this, and all is mended,\n    That you have but slumber\u00e9d here\n    While these visions did appear.\n    So, good-night unto you all;\n    Give me your hands if we be friends,\n    And Robin shall restore amends.\n\n                                                    WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.\n\n\n\n\n                       IN THE COOL OF THE EVENING\n\n\n In the cool of the evening, when the low sweet whispers waken,\n   When the labourers turn them homeward, and the weary have their will,\n When the censers of the roses o'er the forest-aisles are shaken,\n   Is it but the wind that cometh o'er the far green hill?\n\n For they say 'tis but the sunset winds that wander through the heather,\n   Rustle all the meadow-grass and bend the dewy fern;\n They say 'tis but the winds that bow the reeds in prayer together,\n   And fill the shaken pools with fire along the shadowy burn.\n\n\n In the beauty of the twilight, in the Garden that He loveth,\n   They have veiled His lovely vesture with the darkness of a name!\n Thro' His Garden, thro' His Garden it is but the wind that moveth,\n   No more; but O the miracle, the miracle is the same!\n\n In the cool of the evening, when the sky is an old story\n   Slowly dying, but remembered, ay, and loved with passion still,\n Hush! ... the fringes of His garment, in the fading golden glory,\n   Softly rustling as He cometh o'er the far green hill.\n\n                                                           ALFRED NOYES.\n\n\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n                               FOOTNOTES:\n\n\n\n\n                           Transcriber's Note\n\nThe original spelling and punctuation has been retained.\n\nVariations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.\n\nItalicized words and phrases in the text version are presented by\nsurrounding the text with underscores.","title":"The Turquoise Story Book: Stories and Legends of Summer and Nature","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":63828}