{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_64307/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_64307","id":"gutenberg_64307","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64307","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Children's stories","Easter stories","Nature stories","Spring -- Folklore"],"text":"Transcriber\u2019s Note: This ebook was created in honour of Distributed\nProofreaders\u2019 20th Anniversary.\n\n\n\n\nTHE EMERALD STORY BOOK\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: THE SPRING\n\nDrawn by Maxfield Parrish]\n\n\n\n\n THE EMERALD\n STORY BOOK\n\n _Stories and Legends of\n Spring, Nature and Easter_\n\n COMPILED BY\n ADA M. SKINNER\n AND\n ELEANOR L. SKINNER\n\n [Illustration]\n\n NEW YORK\n DUFFIELD & COMPANY\n 1915\n\n Copyright, 1915\n BY DUFFIELD & COMPANY\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nThere is no richer theme for children\u2019s stories than the miracle of\nSpring. The selections in \u201cThe Emerald Story Book\u201d aim to serve the\nyoung reader\u2019s interest in three ways. Some of the myths and legends are\ninteresting or amusing because flowers, insects, or birds are presented\nas personalities and emphasise human qualities or feelings. Some of\nthe stories and poems contribute to the child\u2019s store of knowledge by\nattracting his attention to some fact, beauty, or blessing in nature\nwhich may have escaped his notice. Still others make an appeal by\nsuggesting or affirming the abiding hope symbolised in the thought, \u201cSee\nthe land her Easter keeping.\u201d\n\nThe child\u2019s heart is filled with the joy of spring,\u2014with the rapture\nexpressed in the thrush\u2019s song which Mrs. Ewing describes. \u201cFresh water\nand green woods, ambrosial sunshine and sun-flecked shade, chattering\nbrooks and rustling leaves, glade and sward and dell. Lichens and cool\nmosses, feathered ferns and flowers. Green leaves! Green leaves! Joy!\nJoy!\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe editors\u2019 thanks are due to Mrs. Katherine Tynan-Hinckson for\npermission to use her poem, \u201cSheep and Lambs\u201d; Miss Lucy Wheelock for her\nstory, \u201cA Little Acorn\u201d; to Mr. Bliss Carman for \u201cA Lyric of Joy\u201d; Mr.\nClinton Scollard for \u201cThe Little Brown Wren\u201d; Mr. James Whitcomb Riley\nfor the quotation from \u201cMister Hop-Toad\u201d; Mrs. Agnes McClelland Daulton\nand Rand, McNally & Co., for two stories, \u201cA Great Family\u201d and \u201cJolly\nLittle Tars\u201d; Mr. Warren J. Brier for \u201cMr. Pine and Mr. Maple\u201d; Mrs.\nMargaret Deland for her poem, \u201cJonquils\u201d; Miss Helen Keller for \u201cEdith\nand the Bees\u201d; Mrs. Annie Trumbull Slosson for \u201cA Child\u2019s Easter\u201d; and\nMr. Alfred Noyes for his poem \u201cLittle Boy Blue\u201d; and to the following\npublishers who have granted permission to reprint selections in this\ncollection from works bearing their copyright: to G. P. Putnam\u2019s Sons\nfor \u201cThe Selfish Giant,\u201d by Oscar Wilde; to Houghton Mifflin Co.,\nfor the poem, \u201cTalking in Their Sleep,\u201d by Edith M. Thomas; to the\n_Atlantic Monthly_ and Silver Burdette Company for \u201cThe Maple Seed\u201d;\nto A. Flanagan and Co., of Chicago, for \u201cThe Promised Plant,\u201d from\n\u201cChild\u2019s Christ-Tales,\u201d by Andrea Hofer Proudfoot, and \u201cPussy Willow,\u201d\nfrom \u201cLittle People\u2019s Doings and Misdoings\u201d by Kate Louise Brown; to\nDoubleday, Page & Co., for \u201cThe House Wren,\u201d from \u201cBirds Every Child\nShould Know,\u201d by Neltje Blanchan, and \u201cBriar Rose\u201d from \u201cThe Fairy Ring,\u201d\nedited by Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora Archibald Smith; to Grace Duffield\nGodwin for \u201cAn Eastern Legend,\u201d from Houjon Songs, published by Sherman,\nFrench & Co.; to Henry Holt & Co., for the selection, \u201cBuz and Hum,\u201d by\nMaurice No\u00ebl; _The Churchman_ for \u201cIn the Garden: An Easter Prelude\u201d;\nFleming H. Revell Co., for \u201cWhen Thou Comest Unto Thy Kingdom\u201d; to\n_The Sunday School Times_ for the \u201cStory of Blue-Wings\u201d and \u201cThe Wind,\na Helper\u201d; to _The Youth\u2019s Companion_ and Miss Helen Keller for the\nselection, \u201cThe Spirit of Easter\u201d; to Messrs. Dodd, Mead and Co., and Mr.\nPaul R. Reynolds, for the selection from \u201cThe Children\u2019s Bluebird,\u201d by\nMaurice Maeterlinck.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n PAGE\n\n SPRING STORIES AND LEGENDS\n\n APRIL 2\n _Robert Browning_\n\n THE SPRING-MAIDEN AND THE FROST GIANTS (Norse Legend) 3\n _Eleanor L. Skinner_\n\n HOW THE BLUEBIRD WAS CHOSEN HERALD 14\n _Jay T. Stocking_\n\n THE SPRINGTIME 32\n _Eugene Field_\n\n THE SELFISH GIANT 41\n _Oscar Wilde_\n\n THE PROMISED PLANT 50\n _Andrea Hofer Proudfoot_\n\n BRIER ROSE 54\n _Kate Douglas Wiggin and Nora Archibald Smith_\n\n PICCIOLA (Adapted) 61\n _St. Saintine_\n\n ST. FRANCIS, THE LITTLE BEDESMAN OF CHRIST 67\n _William Canton_\n\n PROSERPINA AND KING PLUTO (Greek Myth) 71\n _Eleanor L. Skinner_\n\n THE WONDER\u2014A PARABLE (From \u201cParables\u201d) 82\n _Friedrich Adolph Krummacher_\n\n NATURE STORIES AND LEGENDS\n\n GREEN THINGS GROWING (Poem) 86\n _Dinah Mulock Craik_\n\n THE STORY OF A LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT 87\n _May Byron_\n\n THE LITTLE ACORN 100\n _Lucy Wheelock_\n\n THE STORY OF TWO LITTLE SEEDS 104\n _George MacDonald_\n\n HOW THE FLOWERS CAME (Selected) 107\n _Jay T. Stocking_\n\n THE LEGEND OF TRAILING ARBUTUS (Indian Legend) 115\n _Eleanor L. Skinner_\n\n THE FAIRY FLOWER (Adapted from \u201cNorwood\u201d) 120\n _Henry Ward Beecher_\n\n THE SNOWDROP 127\n _Hans Christian Andersen_\n\n WHAT THE DANDELION TOLD 131\n _Clara Maetzel_\n\n VERSE 137\n _James Russell Lowell_\n\n A GREAT FAMILY 138\n _Agnes McClelland Daulton_\n\n THE BIRTH OF THE VIOLET (Legend) 142\n _Ada M. Skinner_\n\n A LYRIC OF JOY (Poem) 148\n _Bliss Carman_\n\n AMONG THE TREE-TOPS\n\n ROBIN\u2019S CAROL (From \u201cAngler\u2019s Reveille\u201d) 150\n _Henry van Dyke_\n\n HOW THE BIRDS CAME (Indian Legend) 151\n _Ada M. Skinner_\n\n HOW THE BIRDS LEARNED TO BUILD NESTS 154\n _James Baldwin_\n\n OUT OF THE NEST 158\n _Maud Lindsay_\n\n THE STORY OF BLUE-WINGS 164\n _Mary Stewart_\n\n AN EASTERN LEGEND (Poem) 170\n _Grace Duffield Goodwin_\n\n THE HOUSE WREN 171\n _Neltje Blanchan_\n\n THE LITTLE BROWN WREN 173\n _Clinton Scollard_\n\n THE CHILDREN OF WIND AND THE CLAN OF PEACE (A\n Christ-Legend) (Adapted) 176\n _Fiona MacLeod_\n\n IN MEADOW AND POND\n\n A SPRING LILT (Poem) 182\n _Unknown_\n\n HOW BUTTERFLIES CAME 183\n _Hans Christian Andersen_\n\n WHITE BUTTERFLIES (Poem) 184\n _Algernon Charles Swinburne_\n\n THE BUTTERFLY 185\n _Mrs. Alfred Gatty_\n\n THE WIND, A HELPER 196\n _Mary Stewart_\n\n THE SPRINGING TREE: WILLOWS 203\n _Mrs. Dyson_\n\n PUSSY WILLOW 210\n _Kate Louise Brown_\n\n THE DRAGON FLY 212\n _Mrs. Alfred Gatty_\n\n THE CICADA\u2019S STORY (Selected) 220\n _Agnes McClelland Daulton_\n\n EDITH AND THE BEES 226\n _Helen Keller_\n\n THE LITTLE TADPOLES (From Stories in \u201cProse and Verse\u201d) 230\n _Katharine Pyle_\n\n MISTER HOP-TOAD (Poem) 237\n _James Whitcomb Riley_\n\n BUZ AND HUM 238\n _Maurice No\u00ebl_\n\n THE STORY WITHOUT AN END. 1. In the Green Meadow.\n 2. The Story of a Drop of Water 246\n Translated by _Sarah Austin_ from the German of\n _A. Carove_\n\n LEGEND OF THE FORGET-ME-NOT 253\n _Ada M. Skinner_\n\n FOUR-LEAF CLOVER (Poem) 256\n _Ella Higginson_\n\n JOLLY LITTLE TARS 257\n _Agnes McClelland Daulton_\n\n MR. MAPLE AND MR. PINE 275\n _Warren Judson Brier_\n\n A GARDEN OF EASTER STORIES\n\n OLD ENGLISH VERSE 286\n\n THE EASTER RABBIT (German Legend) 287\n _Eleanor L. Skinner_\n\n THE BOY WHO DISCOVERED THE SPRING 295\n _Raymond MacDonald Alden_\n\n SHEEP AND LAMBS (Poem) 308\n _Katharine Tynan_\n\n ROBIN REDBREAST\u2014A CHRIST-LEGEND (Adapted) (From\n Christ-Legends) 309\n _Selma Lagerl\u00f6f_\n\n THE MAPLE SEED 318\n From _The Atlantic Monthly_\n\n WHY THE IVY IS ALWAYS GREEN 322\n _Madge Bingham_\n\n JONQUILS (Poem) 329\n _Margaret Deland_\n\n WHEN THOU COMEST INTO THY KINGDOM 330\n _Mary Stewart_\n\n THE LEGEND OF THE EASTER LILY 345\n _Ada M. Skinner_\n\n SONG 346\n _Henry Neville Maughan_\n\n IN THE GARDEN: AN EASTER PRELUDE 347\n _W. M. L. Jay_\n\n \u201cSPIRIT\u201d AND \u201cLIFE\u201d 352\n _Margaret Emma Ditto_\n\n A CHILD\u2019S EASTER (Poem) 359\n _Annie Trumbull Slosson_\n\n THE SPIRIT OF EASTER 363\n _Helen Keller_\n\n THERE ARE NO DEAD 365\n _Maurice Maeterlinck_, adapted from \u201cThe Bluebird\u201d\n by Madame Maeterlinck.\n\n LITTLE BOY BLUE (Poem) 370\n _Alfred Noyes_\n\n\n\n\nTHE EMERALD STORY BOOK\n\n\n\n\nSPRING STORIES AND LEGENDS\n\n\n\n\nAPRIL\n\n\n The year\u2019s at the spring\n And day\u2019s at the morn;\n Morning\u2019s at seven;\n The hillside\u2019s dew-pearled;\n The lark\u2019s on the wing;\n The snail\u2019s on the thorn:\n God\u2019s in his heaven\u2014\n All\u2019s right with the world!\n\n And after April, when May follows\n And the whitethroat builds and all the swallows!\n Hark! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge\n Leans to the field and scatters on the clover\n Blossoms and dewdrops\u2014at the bent spray\u2019s edge\u2014\n That\u2019s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,\n Lest you should think he never could recapture\n The first fine careless rapture!\n And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,\n All will be gay when noontide wakes anew\n The buttercups, the little children\u2019s dower\u2014\n \u2014Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!\n\n _Robert Browning._\n\n\n\n\nTHE SPRING-MAIDEN AND THE FROST GIANTS\n\n\nIn their glittering palace of icebergs the Frost Giants were planning to\ncapture Iduna, the fair Spring-Maiden, and the rare treasure which she\nguarded. Hoar-Frost, North-Wind, Sleet, Hail, and Blizzard were growing\nrestless, locked in their frozen waste-land of the North. They longed to\nenter the valley of Spring and bring desolation to the fruitful fields.\n\n\u201cWe are helpless unless we seize the Spring-Maiden and take from her the\ncasket of golden apples,\u201d said Giant Hoar-Frost. \u201cSo long as she guards\nthis life-giving fruit all nature will rejoice; the birds will sing their\nfoolish jubilees; gay blossoms will flaunt in the meadows; robes of green\nwill bedeck the trees, and the people will enjoy everlasting youth and\nvigour.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat you say is true,\u201d said Giant North-Wind. \u201cIf once I could enter\nthe groves of the Spring-Maiden\u2019s valley I\u2019d howl so long and loud that\nthose tiresome birds would stop their endless singing.\u201d\n\n\u201cHa! ha! ha!\u201d laughed Giant Blizzard. \u201cYou would need my help, I believe.\nOne of my early morning calls would turn the trembling dew-drops into\nicicles, and change the smiling faces of the brooks and rills into frozen\nimages!\u201d\n\n\u201cEspecially if I went with you,\u201d added Giant Sleet slyly.\n\n\u201cOh, I should expect to be accompanied by you and your twin brother\nHail,\u201d nodded Blizzard. \u201cI know how easily you can lock the grass and\nflowers in a casement of ice which they couldn\u2019t break, and Hail has a\nvery clever, quick way of cutting off all the leaves. But the question\nnow is how shall we capture the Spring-Maiden whose apples keep the\nvalley fresh and fair and the people forever young!\u201d\n\nFor a few moments the Frost Giants were silent. Many times they had tried\nto entrap the fair Iduna and her treasure, but they had always failed.\n\n\u201cI have it,\u201d said Hoar-Frost. \u201cWe must secure the help of Loki, the\nPrince of Mischief. He lives in Asgard near the Spring-Maiden\u2019s groves,\nand people say he often visits Iduna in order to refresh himself with one\nof her life-giving apples. Let us capture him first and then compel him\nto help us. We giants are fast growing old! The magic apples would renew\nour strength for years to come!\u201d\n\n\u201cAgreed!\u201d said North-Wind, Blizzard, Sleet, and Hail in one voice. \u201cLoki\nfirst and then Iduna!\u201d\n\nAfter much discussion it was decided that Blizzard should undertake to\ncapture Loki.\n\nA short time after the council of the Frost-Giants, Loki, the Prince of\nMischief, was amusing himself with a great fire which he had built on one\nof the hills just beyond the city of Asgard. Several times he stopped and\npeered into the sky to see what caused the huge shadow which seemed to\nhover near him. He could see nothing but a gigantic eagle whirling around\nthe summit of the hill. Loki left his fire to gather another bundle of\nfaggots. Suddenly the great bird swooped down very near him. He quickly\nseized a long stake and struck the intruder across the back. To Loki\u2019s\namazement one end of the stake stuck fast to the eagle\u2019s plumage and the\nPrince of Mischief could not loosen his hands from the end which he held.\nThe eagle spread its huge dark wings and flew away over rocks and hills\nfar to the North.\n\n\u201cHelp! help!\u201d screamed the terrified Loki, but although he struggled with\nall his might he could not escape from his captor.\n\nWhen they reached a very lonely spot the eagle alighted on a mountain\npeak and from the black plumage stepped the Storm Giant, Blizzard, who\nsaid:\n\n\u201cLoki, you are in my power and you shall not escape until you promise to\nhelp the Frost Giants in a very difficult undertaking!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is that?\u201d gasped the bruised and terrified Loki.\n\n\u201cYou must help us to capture Iduna, the Spring-Maiden, and the treasure\nwhich she guards. We cannot enter the valley of Spring until Iduna is\nmade our captive.\u201d\n\n\u201cHelp you to capture the treasure which gives life and youth to all who\npartake of it!\u201d said Loki. \u201cImpossible!\u201d\n\n\u201cThen away to the North we will go,\u201d declared the Storm Giant, putting on\nhis eagle plumage again.\n\n\u201cStop! Stop!\u201d cried Loki in terror. \u201cLet me think a moment!\u201d\n\nAfter a short consideration Loki took an oath that he would betray Iduna\nand her treasure into the hands of the Frost Giants. Then the Prince of\nMischief was freed, and back to the North sped Blizzard.\n\nThe next day late in the afternoon, Iduna, robed in a trailing garment of\ngreen and crowned with a coronet of blossoms, was walking through one of\nher loveliest groves. The leaves were dancing to the music of a gentle\nbreeze. A delicious fragrance of hyacinths and roses scented the valley.\nShe sat down near a cool fountain and placed her treasure-casket of\napples on the marble basin.\n\nPresently a long shadow darkened the path near her, and looking up\nquickly the Spring-Maiden saw Loki standing near.\n\n\u201cI have come for the refreshing gift of one of your apples, Iduna,\u201d said\nhe. \u201cA long journey has wearied my limbs and broken my spirit.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are very welcome to one of them,\u201d said Iduna, opening her box. \u201cIt\nhas been some time since you tasted a golden apple.\u201d\n\nLoki began to eat the precious gift, and Iduna watched him closely. She\nwas very proud of her refreshing fruit.\n\nIn a little while he put the half-eaten apple on the basin of the\nfountain and said, \u201cI am going to tell you a secret, Iduna. Not far away\nfrom here I discovered a grove where a marvellous tree grows. It bears\nfruit shaped like yours but larger and of a deep golden colour.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d laughed the Spring-Maiden, \u201cthe fruit may be larger and more\nbeautiful than mine, but I\u2019m sure it has not the power to put youth and\nlife into those who partake of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am afraid you are mistaken,\u201d said the wily Loki. \u201cPeople who have\neaten the fruit of this tree say that its refreshing power is wonderful.\nIf you wish, I will gladly guide you to the grove\u2014it is not far away\u2014and\nthen you can compare this fruit, which is attracting much attention, with\nyours. Will you go?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I will indeed,\u201d said Iduna, who could not believe that any other\napples were comparable with hers.\n\nLoki led the way and Iduna, carrying her treasure, followed him eagerly.\nShe was a little surprised to find the grove Loki described so far away\nfrom Asgard, but her desire to find fruit more wonderful than the magic\napples urged her on. Finally they reached a meadow bordered by a dense\nforest.\n\n\u201cLook,\u201d said Loki, pointing forward, \u201cwe shall soon reach the place.\u201d\n\nSuddenly a dark shadow fell across Iduna\u2019s path. The Storm Giant,\ndisguised in eagle\u2019s plumage, swooped down, caught the Spring-Maiden and\nher golden apples in his talons, and sped away to the frozen North. There\nthe Frost Giants imprisoned the captive in one of their ice-palaces.\n\nIt was not long before the joyous valley of Spring felt the absence of\nIduna. The flowers drooped and faded; the grass became parched and\nbrown, and the tender green foliage turned to burnt orange, crimson, and\nrusset.\n\n\u201cWhat has become of Iduna?\u201d cried the people. \u201cSee how the valley is\nchanging!\u201d\n\nSlowly but surely the Frost Giants were working their way toward the\nvalley of Spring. One night Hoar-Frost stalked along the outskirts of the\ngroves and withered the leaves and flowers with his icy breath. The next\nmorning the people heard the dismal howl of North-Wind. \u201cWe must find the\nSpring-Maiden or we shall die,\u201d they cried in alarm.\n\nIn their distress they begged Odin, the wise hero who governed Asgard, to\ncall a special council in order to determine how the secret of Iduna\u2019s\ndisappearance could be discovered.\n\nOdin called together his hero council and after earnest thought they\ndecided to question Loki, the Prince of Mischief. He had seldom been seen\nin Asgard since the Spring-Maiden had left the valley. One of the heroes\ndeclared that the last time he saw Iduna she was walking with Loki.\n\nThe Prince of Mischief was accordingly summoned to appear in the council\nof heroes. His answers to the questions they asked him aroused suspicion.\n\n\u201cTell us the truth about this matter,\u201d said the hero Thor, in a voice\nwhich shook like the roar of distant thunder.\n\nThen the cowardly Loki confessed the plot which robbed the valley of the\nSpring-Maiden and her magic apples.\n\n\u201cLoki,\u201d said Odin sternly, \u201cI command you to bring back Iduna. Let there\nbe no delay, for even the heroes of Asgard are suffering in her absence!\u201d\n\nLoki knew he dared not disobey this final command. He disguised himself\nin falcon\u2019s plumage and sped away to the desolate North where a dull\nleaden sky overhung all the land. In circling about the icebergs he spied\nthe Storm-Giant, fishing from the top of a large rock. Loki descended\nquickly, flew into one of the openings of the Giant\u2019s ice-palace, and\nmade his way to the place where Iduna lay sleeping on a rough couch.\nThe Prince of Mischief stepped out of his disguise and awakened the\nSpring-Maiden.\n\n\u201cFalse Loki,\u201d she cried. \u201cHave you come to do more mischief?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have been sent by Odin to rescue you,\u201d said he. \u201cYou can escape only\nby the help of my magic.\u201d\n\nThen he transformed Iduna and the precious casket of apples, placed them\nin a magic nutshell, put on his falcon plumage, and flew away toward\nAsgard.\n\nAs he sped across the dull sky the Storm-Giant looked up and saw him.\n\n\u201cIt is Loki disguised as a falcon,\u201d he said. \u201cHe is taking the\nSpring-Maiden back to Asgard. But he shall not escape me!\u201d Instantly the\nStorm-Giant put on his eagle plumage and flew after Loki.\n\nHow anxiously the people of Asgard watched for the return of Loki with\nIduna. They heaped great piles of chips around the walls of Asgard and\nheld torches ready to light the fires in case the Frost Giants came near.\n\nOn the third day after Loki\u2019s departure from Asgard, the people saw two\ngreat birds flying with lightning speed toward the city.\n\n\u201cIt is the Storm Giant following Loki,\u201d they cried. \u201cWhat a furious\npursuit! See! See! The eagle is gaining on the falcon! Light the fires as\nsoon as Loki passes over! Ready! The fires!\u201d Another moment of breathless\nsuspense! The falcon swept over the walls of Asgard. Instantly a blaze\nburst forth all around the city. The falcon had won the mighty race. The\neagle whirled far above the flames and looked down into the city. He\ndared not descend. With a cry of despair he sped back to the ice-bound\nNorthland.\n\n\u201cThe joyous Spring-Maiden is ours again,\u201d cried the happy people as they\ngathered around Iduna. \u201cHer presence fills us with life and hope. See,\nthe casket of golden apples is safe in her hands! Soon all nature will be\nfair and beautiful. The Spring-Maiden is our joy.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE BLUEBIRD WAS CHOSEN HERALD[1]\n\nJAY T. STOCKING\n\n\nQuery Queer was the boy who loved the woods and asked so many questions.\nThe Wise-and-Wonder-Man was the spirit of the woods whom Query met one\nday and who answered Query\u2019s questions. Of course, as Query often went\nto the woods it was quite certain that he should sometime meet the\nspirit again. And so he did. It happened one day just as the snow was\ndisappearing and the sun was growing warm. Query had been taking his\nfirst spring walk, and, as he was a bit tired, he sat down on the sunny\nslope of a knoll. He was scarcely seated when down out of the green\nboughs of a hemlock tree in front of him slid the Wise-and-Wonder-Man,\ndressed in his light blue suit with every button a silver bell, and his\npointed cap to match, with its fringe of silver bells. At every move\nhe made, the bells went _tinkle-tankle, tinkle-tankle_. Query was so\nsurprised that he almost forgot to breathe.\n\n\u201cGood morning, Query,\u201d said the Wise-and-Wonder-Man, \u201cwhat are you\nwondering about now?\u201d\n\n\u201cI was just wondering,\u201d said Query, nodding his head toward a bluebird\nnear by, \u201cwhy the bluebird is the first bird of spring.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, he is the herald, you know.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut how did he come to be the herald? Do you know?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have heard,\u201d said the Wise-and-Wonder-Man.\n\n\u201cWho told you?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy grandmother. She said her grandmother\u2019s grandmother\u2019s grandmother\ntold the story; and what her grandmother\u2019s grandmother\u2019s grandmother\nsaid, my grandmother says is so.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course,\u201d said Query. \u201cWould you tell me the story?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly; make yourself comfortable.\u201d\n\nQuery lay down on one elbow and the Wise-and-Wonder-Man sat on a fresh,\nclean chip, that the choppers had made, and talked.\n\n\u201cYou know there are four spirits of the year, Springtime, Summer, Autumn,\nand Winter. Some folks call them seasons, but they are _really_ spirits.\nOf all four spirits, Springtime is the favourite. He had been coming to\nthe earth every year for a great many years, year after year, when he\ngot it into his head that it would be a fine thing and quite becoming\nto his dignity to have a herald,\u2014some one to carry his colours and play\nthe fife. At first he thought of the fragrant flowers, they could bear\nhis colours. But he reflected that they could not play the fife. Then he\nthought of the buzzing bee; he might be taught to play the fife. But he\nremembered that he would not do, because he could not carry the colours.\nSo he decided that he must have a bird.\n\n\u201cSpringtime, being a very lively and practical spirit, called the birds\ntogether that very morning. He asked them all to meet him by the Great\nRock under the Great Tree by the Great Bend of the Big River. They all\ncame\u2014birds of every size and colour and description. He sat on the Great\nRock while the birds sat on the grass and listened with wide, round,\nblinking eyes and with heads cocked to one side.\n\n\u201cHe made a speech to them of some length. He told them that he desired a\nherald to carry his colours and to play the fife. Of course, the bird to\nbe chosen should be handsome and musical. But he must be more than all\nthat. He wanted a bird of exceptionally good character, in fact, the very\nbest bird that could be found. He did not expect to find a perfect bird,\nhe said, but he desired a bird as nearly perfect as he could obtain. He\nconcluded his speech by saying that his herald should be:\n\n \u201c\u2018Both handsome and happy, gifted and good,\n And as modest as modest can be.\n The very best bird that flies in the wood,\n I would that my herald be he.\u2019\n\nThe choice, he said, he would leave to the birds as they knew each other\nthoroughly.\n\n\u201cThe birds put their heads together and talked in at least forty\ndifferent languages. Finally, their spokesman told Springtime that they\nwere content to leave the selection to a committee of six whom he might\nname. As Springtime wanted to be on good terms with all the birds, he\nthought it not best that he should appoint the committee. He pulled a\nhandful of grass and held it tightly between his hands just so that the\nends would stick out, and then he asked the birds to come up, one by one,\nand pull out a blade. The six who should draw out the shortest blades of\ngrass were to be the committee.\n\n\u201cThey walked up one by one, and drew. Mr. Crow drew the shortest blade\nand so was the chairman. Mr. Parrot came next, then Mr. Blue Jay, Mr.\nRobin, Mr. English Sparrow, and Mr. Bluebird. It was a strange committee,\nto be sure, of all sizes and kinds of birds.\n\n\u201cThat very evening the six birds met in a corner of Mr. Farmer\u2019s orchard\nupon a dead branch of an old apple tree. They talked and talked and\ntalked. They discussed all the birds that they knew, spoke of their good\nqualities and their bad ones.\n\n\u201cAt last, as it grew late, very late, almost eight o\u2019clock, and they had\ncome to no conclusion, Mr. Bluebird proposed that they should vote, and\nall agreed. But how should they vote? That was the next question. Mr.\nBluebird suggested that each one, as his name was called, should stand up\nand say which bird he thought was best fitted to be the herald. Mr. Crow\ncleared his throat and said that he did not think this was the wisest\nway. He thought it better, he continued, that each one should write the\nname of his choice on the under side of a leaf. The other members of the\ncommittee agreed with Mr. Crow. Each bird, therefore, took a leaf, and\nwrote a name upon it, and Mr. Bluebird counted the votes. There was one\nvote for Mr. Crow, one vote for Mr. Parrot, one for Mr. Blue Jay, one\nfor Mr. Robin, one for Mr. English Sparrow, and one for\u2014I don\u2019t remember\nwhether it was for Mr. Song Sparrow or Mr. Bobolink. Would you believe\nit?\u2014every bird except the bluebird had voted for himself. The bluebird\nknew, because he knew the foot-writing of all the birds. He had seen it\nin the soft sand by the water.\n\n\u201cIt was certain that they were not going to be able to decide among\nthemselves who should be chosen, so Mr. Bluebird made another suggestion.\n\n\u201c\u2018I recommend,\u2019 he said, \u2018that we go and consult the old Wizard, Mr.\nOwl, who holds court every night by the light of the moon in the hollow\nof a great grey tree over the ridge. He is the wisest of birds and knows\neverything. I have heard, too, that whenever there is a star with a\ntail in the sky he can read your fortunes and your character. Now it so\nhappens that at this very time there is in the sky a star with a tail,\nfor I saw it this morning. Little Bluey, my eldest child, woke up very\nearly and I had to fly out to get him a worm to keep him quiet. Just as\nI was starting, long before sunrise, I saw the comet. I propose that we\ngo at once and consult the Wizard and let him decide for us who should be\nthe herald.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018It seems to me,\u2019 said the crow, \u2018that this is a most excellent\nsuggestion. The Wizard is certainly a very wise bird. I have heard of him\nand doubtless he has heard of me. By all means, let us go.\u2019\n\n\u201cIt was decided then and there that they should go that very night, just\nas soon as the comet rose. Mr. Bluebird was to give the signal because he\nknew where to look for the comet.\n\n\u201cAt the proper moment Mr. Bluebird shook them all by the wing and woke\nthem up, and they started, Mr. Crow going first, then Mr. Parrot, Mr.\nBlue Jay, Mr. Robin, Mr. English Sparrow, and Mr. Bluebird.\n\n\u201cThey flew and they flew and they flew, for it was a long way and a hard\nway to find, and not one of the six had ever been out so late in his\nlife. When they reached the wood they were obliged to fly very carefully,\nso that they should not bump their heads against the trees, and so that\nthey might be able to read the signs along the way. At length they spied\na great grey tree, with a dimly lighted window in it, far up the trunk.\nMr. Crow read the name on the door-plate and announced that they had\nreached the right house. There was no door-bell so Mr. Crow scratched\nthree times,\u2014scratch, scratch, scratch.\n\n\u201c\u2018Who-who?\u2019 came from within.\n\n\u201c\u2018Friends,\u2019 said the crow, \u2018six friends come to consult the Wizard.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe latch was promptly lifted and the six birds walked solemnly in and\nup the stairs.\n\n\u201cThey found themselves in a little dark round room with seats against\nthe sides. Mr. Owl sat over on one side, his great fluffy coat turned\nup at the neck and his fluffy hood pulled down to meet it. He had his\nspectacles on and was reading by the light of his lamp,\u2014that is, it\nlooked like a lamp, but Mr. Owl explained later that it was not a lamp\nbut the comet\u2019s light which he caught through a knot-hole.\n\n\u201cThe Wizard received them pleasantly and motioned to them to be seated.\nMr. Crow sat down in front of the Wizard at his right, then the others in\norder, Mr. Bluebird sitting at the left.\n\n\u201c\u2018It is very late,\u2019 observed the owl. \u2018It must be most important business\nthat brings you to me at this hour of the night.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018It is,\u2019 replied the crow, \u2018exceedingly important business, indeed.\u2019\n\n\u201cThen in plain and emphatic words he told the Wizard what their errand\nwas. He repeated as nearly as he could the speech of Springtime,\nespecially the last words:\n\n \u201c\u2018Both handsome and happy, gifted and good,\n And as modest as modest can be.\n The very best bird that flies in the wood,\n I would that my herald be he.\u2019\n\n\u201cHe told the Wizard of their inability to decide who should be chosen and\nof their conclusion to leave the choice to him. This was the reason of\ntheir visit.\n\n\u201cThen the owl looked grave as a judge and remarked, \u2018It seems to me in\nthis situation that the first thing to be done is to secure the opinion\nof each of you as to who is the fittest bird to be chosen. Mr. Crow, will\nyou be so good as to give us your opinion?\u2019\n\n\u201cMr. Crow stood up, cleared his throat, and said, \u2018To speak quite\nfrankly, it seems to me that I, myself, should be chosen. It is scarcely\npossible to find a better bird.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018What makes you think so?\u2019 asked the owl dryly.\n\n\u201c\u2018My wife,\u2019 said the crow. \u2018Only to-day Mrs. Crow said to me, \u201cMr. Crow,\nmy dear husband, you are a perfect man, unless\u2014\u201d\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Unless what?\u2019 inquired the Wizard, raising his eyebrows.\n\n\u201c\u2018I don\u2019t recollect,\u2019 replied the crow, \u2018in fact, I didn\u2019t hear\ndistinctly, but I am sure it was something unimportant,\u2019 and he sat down.\n\n\u201c\u2018Mr. Parrot,\u2019 said the Wizard, \u2018your opinion, if you please.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018It is my opinion,\u2019 said Mr. Parrot, \u2018that I am the bird who should be\nchosen. I have heard myself talk on many an occasion, and I am sure that\nI speak both wisdom and wit. In modesty, I forbear to say more.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Mr. Blue Jay!\u2019 called the Wizard.\n\n\u201c\u2018Since you ask me, Mr. Wizard, for my honest opinion I am bound to\nsay that I feel that I am the only bird for this position. I have been\nlooking in the glass to-day; in fact, I see myself in the glass very\noften, and I have never yet observed a single fault in myself. There is\nno bird who can say more.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Mr. Robin, if you please.\u2019\n\n\u201cMr. Robin arose with his fingers in his armholes: \u2018I am quite\nconvinced, Mr. Wizard, from much observation, that I should be made the\nherald. I am handsome and gifted, if I do say it myself. Besides, I live\nin the best of society; I dwell in the Bishop\u2019s orchard. This very day I\nheard the Bishop say, \u201cThat robin is a fine, handsome bird,\u2014as fine and\nhandsome as a Bishop.\u201d I am sure that recommendation is enough.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Mr. English Sparrow.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018I am sure, Mr. Wizard,\u2019 said the sparrow, speaking very rapidly and\nexcitedly, \u2018that while I am not so big as some of these who have spoken,\nI have a better claim than any of them to this high office. For I have\nlong made it a practice to study carefully the faults and weaknesses of\nall the other birds, and I know that I have none of these failings.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Mr. Bluebird,\u2019 said the Wizard, \u2018what have you to say?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Nothing, Mr. Wizard. I have not made up my mind. I leave the matter\nentirely to your eminent wisdom and judgment.\u2019 And he sat down.\n\n\u201c\u2018Well,\u2019 said the owl, after a moment\u2019s deliberation, \u2018the next thing to\ndo under these circumstances seems to be to read your fortunes, that is,\nyour characters, in the light of the comet. I shall ask you, one by one,\nto step up on this judgment-seat at my left, where the light of the comet\ncan fall on you and where I can see you plainly. Mr. Crow, will you be\nthe first?\u2019\n\n\u201cMr. Crow stepped up to the judgment-seat very confidently, while the\nWizard put on his spectacles and turned the lamp so that the light fell\nfull upon the glossy feathers of the large black bird. It was a revolving\nseat, which the Wizard turned round and round slowly so that he could\nsee all sides of the bird. \u2018A fine bird,\u2019 he said, very deliberately, as\nif thinking aloud, \u2018a perfect bird, unless\u2014unless what?\u2014let me see\u2014ah, a\nslant in the left eye\u2014in _both_ eyes\u2014a _very decided_ slant\u2014very sly\u2014very\ncunning\u2014inclined to steal\u2014very _much_ inclined to steal\u2014a thief, in fact;\nsteals Mr. Farmer\u2019s corn and peas\u2014especially in the early morning when\nnobody is around\u2014a _very bad_ fault\u2014one of the worst. I am quite sure,\nMr. Crow, that Springtime would not choose you for his herald\u2014he could\nnot trust you. That will do. Mr. Parrot!\u2019\n\n\u201cMr. Parrot walked up very sedately and took his place on the\njudgment-seat. The Wizard gazed at him gravely and stroked his back.\n\u2018Fine feathers\u2014green, red\u2014yellow\u2014fine feathers\u2014rather small head\u2014large\ntongue\u2014large tongue, small head\u2014talks more than he thinks\u2014talks _very\nmuch_ more than he thinks\u2014talks often _without_ thinking\u2014says what he\nhears others say. Tongue rather harsh, too\u2014and blisters at the end\u2014bad\nwords! bad words! I am sorry to say, Mr. Parrot, that I cannot recommend\nyou as herald. People would not be glad to see you year after year. That\nwill do. Mr. Blue Jay!\u2019\n\n\u201cThe blue jay stepped up very jauntily and took the seat.\n\n\u201cThe Wizard looked at him admiringly, for he was clad in a beautiful\ntailor-made suit that fitted him to perfection. \u2018A handsome bird,\u2019 he\nsaid, \u2018a handsome bird,\u2014that is, handsome clothes. Eye very good, too\u2014a\nlittle slant, a little slant\u2014but on the whole a good eye. Let me see,\nwhat is this on the back of the head? these long feathers?\u2014oh, a crest!\nI see. Just for decoration. A vain bird, vain as a peacock\u2014and like all\nvain people, hard to get along with\u2014and very unfriendly\u2014likes to flock\nalone\u2014other folks not quite good enough. I regret to inform you, Mr. Blue\nJay, that Springtime would not desire you as his herald. That will do.\nMr. Robin!\u2019\n\n\u201cThe robin hopped up on the seat in his fine dress suit and red\nshirt-front, his chest inflated and his eyes shining. The Wizard\nlooked at him intently for some time, then he began, \u2018You are the\nBishop\u2019s friend, you say. Let me see\u2014a bright red spot on your bill\u2014the\nBishop\u2019s cherries, I should say\u2014but we\u2019ll let that pass. Eye very\nsuspicious\u2014_very_ suspicious\u2014always looking even among your best friends,\nto see if somebody isn\u2019t going to harm you\u2014cannot pull a worm out of the\nBishop\u2019s garden without looking around suspiciously all the time. A very\nunhappy frame of mind to be in\u2014unhappy for you\u2014unhappy for others. You\nwould hardly do for the herald. That will do. Mr. English Sparrow!\u2019\n\n\u201cThe English sparrow fluttered up noisily and took his place. \u2018You say,\u2019\nbegan the Wizard, \u2018that you have not the faults of the other birds.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Yes,\u2019 said the sparrow, talking very fast, \u2018I am not as mean as the\ncrow, and I don\u2019t talk such nonsense as old Polly, and I\u2019m not so stuck\nup as the jay, and I am not suspicious as the Bishop\u2019s friend is. I\nhaven\u2019t any of the faults of the other birds.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe Wizard pushed his spectacles up on his brow, turned the light away,\nand looked at him, \u2018I see,\u2019 he said, \u2018I do not need the comet light at\nall. I could see you in the dark. Sharp bill\u2014sharp tongue\u2014sharp claws,\nin a continual state of bad temper\u2014very quarrelsome\u2014very unpleasant\nneighbour; in fact, a common nuisance. That will do, Mr. Bluebird!\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018I am sure, Mr. Owl,\u2019 said the bluebird, rising, \u2018that I need not take\nyour time. I am not the bird to be chosen, for I know that I am far from\nbeing a perfect bird. I have many faults. There are many nobler birds\nthan I from whom Springtime may choose his herald.\u2019\n\n\u201cBut the Wizard was quite insistent that the bluebird should come forward\nwhere he could read his fortune.\n\n\u201c\u2018You say that you have many faults,\u2019 remarked the Owl. \u2018That may be, but\nI see by the light of the comet that they are small, very faint indeed.\nBesides, the ability to see one\u2019s faults and the desire to correct them\nis the greatest of virtues. There may be better birds, but I am frank\nto say that I am not acquainted with them. I have no hesitation, Mr.\nBluebird, in saying that it is my judgment that you should be the herald\nof the Spring, for, if you will permit me to say it, it seems that you are\n\n \u201c\u2018Both handsome and happy, gifted and good,\n And as modest as modest can be,\u2019\n\nwhereat Mr. Bluebird blushed painfully, while in his heart he was very\nhappy.\n\n\u201cSpringtime agreed with Mr. Owl, and posted notices on every tree by the\nwater\u2019s edge that Mr. Bluebird should henceforth be his herald, the\nfirst bird of the spring.\n\n\u201cThere is one now on the branch of that old tree,\u201d said the\nWise-and-Wonder-Man. \u201cHe is carrying the colours and playing the fife.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is he saying?\u201d asked Query.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said the Wise-and-Wonder-Man, \u201cit always sounds to me as if he\nwere saying, \u2018Pur-i-ty, pur-i-ty,\u2019 but I asked him one day and he said it\nwas only, \u2018Spring-is-here, spring-is-here.\u2019\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE SPRINGTIME[2]\n\nEUGENE FIELD\n\n\nA child once said to his grandsire: \u201cGran\u2019pa, what do the flowers mean\nwhen they talk to the old oak-tree about death? I hear them talking every\nday, but I cannot understand; it is all very strange.\u201d\n\nThe grandsire bade the child think no more of these things; the flowers\nwere foolish prattlers,\u2014what right had they to put such notions into a\nchild\u2019s head? But the child did not do his grandsire\u2019s bidding; he loved\nthe flowers and the trees, and he went each day to hear them talk.\n\nIt seems that the little vine down by the stone wall had overheard the\nSouth Wind say to the rosebush: \u201cYou are a proud, imperious beauty now,\nand will not listen to my suit; but wait till my boisterous brother comes\nfrom the North,\u2014then you will droop and wither and die, all because you\nwould not listen to me and fly with me to my home by the Southern sea.\u201d\n\nThese words set the little vine to thinking; and when she had thought for\na long time she spoke to the daisy about it, and the daisy called in the\nviolet, and the three little ones had a very serious conference; but,\nhaving talked it all over, they came to the conclusion that it was as\nmuch of a mystery as ever. The old oak-tree saw them.\n\n\u201cYou little folks seem very much puzzled about something,\u201d said the\noak-tree.\n\n\u201cI heard the South Wind tell the rosebush that she would die,\u201d exclaimed\nthe vine, \u201cand we do not understand what it is. Can you tell us what it\nis to die?\u201d\n\nThe old oak-tree smiled sadly.\n\n\u201cI do not call it death,\u201d said the old oak-tree; \u201cI call it sleep,\u2014a\nlong, restful, refreshing sleep.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow does it feel,\u201d inquired the daisy, looking very full of astonishment\nand anxiety.\n\n\u201cYou must know,\u201d said the oak-tree, \u201cthat after many, many days we all\nhave had such merry times and have bloomed so long and drunk so heartily\nof the dew and sunshine and eaten so much of the goodness of the earth\nthat we feel very weary and we long for repose. Then a great wind comes\nout of the North, and we shiver in its icy blast. The sunshine goes away,\nand there is no dew for us nor any nourishment in the earth, and we are\nglad to go to sleep.\u201d\n\n\u201cMercy on me!\u201d cried the vine, \u201cI shall not like that at all! What, leave\nthis smiling meadow and all the pleasant grass and singing bees and\nfrolicsome butterflies? No, old oak-tree, I would never go to sleep; I\nmuch prefer sporting with the winds and playing with my little friends,\nthe daisy and the violet.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I,\u201d said the violet, \u201cI think it would be dreadful to go to sleep.\nWhat if we never should wake up again!\u201d\n\nThe suggestion struck the others dumb with terror,\u2014all but the oak-tree.\n\n\u201cHave no fear of that,\u201d said the old oak-tree, \u201cfor you are sure to\nawaken again, and when you have awakened the new life will be sweeter\nand happier than the old.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat nonsense!\u201d cried the thistle. \u201cYou children shouldn\u2019t believe a\nword of it. When you go to sleep you die, and when you die there\u2019s the\nlast of you!\u201d\n\nThe old oak-tree reproved the thistle; but the thistle maintained his\nabominable heresy so stoutly that the little vine and the daisy and the\nviolet were quite at a loss to know which of the two to believe,\u2014the old\noak-tree or the thistle.\n\nThe child heard it all and was sorely puzzled. What was this death, this\nmysterious sleep? Would it come upon him, the child? And after he had\nslept awhile would he awaken? His grandsire would not tell him of these\nthings; perhaps his grandsire did not know.\n\nIt was a long, long summer, full of sunshine and bird-music, and the\nmeadow was like a garden, and the old oak-tree looked down upon the grass\nand flowers and saw that no evil befell them. A long, long play-day it\nwas to the little vine, the daisy, and the violet. The crickets and the\ngrasshoppers and the bumblebees joined in the sport, and romped and made\nmusic till it seemed like an endless carnival. Only every now and then\nthe vine and her little flower friends talked with the old oak-tree about\nthat strange sleep and the promised awakening, and the thistle scoffed at\nthe old oak-tree\u2019s cheering words. The child was there and heard it all.\n\nOne day the great wind came out of the North. Hurry-scurry! back to\ntheir warm homes in the earth and under the old stone-wall scampered\nthe crickets and bumblebees to go to sleep. Whirr, whirr! Oh, but how\npiercing the great wind was; how different from his amiable brother who\nhad travelled all the way from the Southern sea to kiss the flowers and\nwoo the rose!\n\n\u201cWell, this is the last of us!\u201d exclaimed the thistle; \u201cwe\u2019re going to\ndie, and that\u2019s the end of it all!\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no,\u201d cried the old oak-tree; \u201cwe shall not die; we are going to\nsleep. Here, take my leaves, little flowers, and you shall sleep warm\nunder them. Then, when you awaken, you shall see how much sweeter and\nhappier the new life is.\u201d\n\nThe little ones were very weary indeed. The promised sleep came very\ngratefully.\n\n\u201cWe would not be so willing to go to sleep if we thought we should not\nawaken,\u201d said the violet.\n\nSo the little ones went to sleep. The little vine was the last of all to\nsink to her slumbers; she nodded in the wind and tried to keep awake till\nshe saw the old oak-tree close his eyes, but her efforts were vain; she\nnodded and nodded, and bowed her slender form against the old stone wall,\ntill finally she, too, had sunk into repose. And then the old oak-tree\nstretched his weary limbs and gave a last look at the sullen sky and at\nthe slumbering little ones at his feet; and with that, the old oak-tree\nfell asleep too.\n\nThe child saw all these things, and he wanted to ask his grandsire about\nthem, but his grandsire would not tell him of them; perhaps his grandsire\ndid not know.\n\nThe child saw the Storm King come down from the hills and ride furiously\nover the meadows and over the forest and over the town. The snow fell\neverywhere, and the North Wind played solemn music in the chimneys. The\nStorm King put the brook to bed, and threw a great mantle of snow over\nhim; and the brook that had romped and prattled all the summer and told\npretty tales to the grass and flowers,\u2014the brook went to sleep too. With\nall his fierceness and bluster, the Storm King was very kind; he did not\nawaken the old oak-tree and the slumbering flowers. The little vine lay\nunder the fleecy snow against the old stone-wall and slept peacefully,\nand so did the violet and the daisy. Only the wicked old thistle thrashed\nabout in his sleep as if he dreamt bad dreams, which, all will allow, was\nno more than he deserved.\n\nAll through that winter\u2014and it seemed very long\u2014the child thought of the\nflowers and the vine and the old oak-tree, and wondered whether in the\nspringtime they would awaken from their sleep; and he wished for the\nspringtime to come. And at last the springtime came. One day the sunbeams\nfluttered down from the sky and danced all over the meadow.\n\n\u201cWake up, little friends!\u201d cried the sunbeams,\u2014\u201cwake up, for it is\nspringtime!\u201d\n\nThe brook was the first to respond. So eager, so fresh, so exuberant was\nhe after his long winter sleep, that he leaped from his bed and frolicked\nall over the meadow and played all sorts of curious antics. Then a little\nbluebird was seen in the hedge one morning. He was calling to the violet.\n\n\u201cWake up, little violet,\u201d called the bluebird. \u201cHave I come all this\ndistance to find you sleeping? Wake up, it is the springtime!\u201d\n\nThat pretty little voice awakened the violet.\n\n\u201cOh, how sweetly I have slept!\u201d cried the violet; \u201chow happy this new\nlife is! Welcome, dear friends!\u201d\n\nAnd presently the daisy awakened, fresh and beautiful, and then the\nlittle vine, and, last of all, the old oak-tree. The meadow was green,\nand all around were the music, the fragrance, the new, sweet life of the\nspringtime.\n\n\u201cI slept horribly,\u201d growled the thistle. \u201cI had bad dreams. It was sleep,\nafter all, but it ought to have been death.\u201d\n\nThe thistle never complained again; for just then a four-footed monster\nstalked through the meadow and plucked and ate the thistle and then\nstalked gloomily away; which was the last of the sceptical thistle,\u2014truly\na most miserable end!\n\n\u201cYou said the truth, dear old oak-tree!\u201d cried the little vine. \u201cIt was\nnot death,\u2014it was only a sleep, a sweet, refreshing sleep, and this\nawakening is very beautiful.\u201d\n\nThey all said so,\u2014the daisy, the violet, the oak-tree, the crickets, the\nbees, and all the things and creatures of the field and forest that had\nawakened from their long sleep to swell the beauty and the glory of the\nspringtime. And they talked with the child, and the child heard them. And\nalthough the grandsire never spoke to the child about these things, the\nchild learned from the flowers and trees a lesson of the springtime which\nperhaps the grandsire never knew.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SELFISH GIANT\n\nOSCAR WILDE\n\n\nEvery afternoon, as they were coming from school, the children used to go\nand play in the Giant\u2019s garden.\n\nIt was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass. Here and there over\nthe grass stood beautiful flowers like stars, and there were twelve peach\ntrees that in the spring time broke out into delicate blossoms of pink\nand pearl, and in the autumn bore rich fruit. The birds sat on the trees\nand sang so sweetly that the children used to stop their games in order\nto listen to them. \u201cHow happy we are here!\u201d they cried to each other.\n\nOne day the Giant came back. He had been to visit his friend the Cornish\nogre, and had stayed with him for seven years. After the seven years\nwere over he had said all that he had to say, for his conversation was\nlimited, and he determined to return to his own castle. When he arrived\nhe saw the children playing in the garden.\n\n\u201cWhat are you doing there?\u201d he cried in a very gruff voice, and the\nchildren ran away.\n\n\u201cMy own garden is my own garden,\u201d said the Giant; \u201cany one can understand\nthat, and I will allow nobody to play in it but myself.\u201d So he built a\nhigh wall all round it, and put up a notice-board\u2014\n\n +-----------------+\n | TRESPASSERS |\n | WILL BE |\n | PROSECUTED |\n +-----------------+\n\nHe was a very selfish giant.\n\nThe poor children had nowhere to play. They tried to play on the road,\nbut the road was very dusty and full of hard stones, and they did not\nlike it. They used to wander round the high wall when their lessons were\nover, and talk about the beautiful garden inside.\n\n\u201cHow happy we were there,\u201d they said to each other.\n\nThen the Spring came, and all over the country there were little blossoms\nand little birds. Only in the garden of the Selfish Giant it was still\nwinter. The birds did not care to sing in it, as there were no children,\nand the trees forgot to blossom. Once a beautiful flower put its head\nout from the grass, and when it saw the notice-board it was so sorry for\nthe children that it slipped back into the ground again, and went off\nto sleep. The only people who were pleased were the Snow and the Frost.\n\u201cSpring has forgotten this garden,\u201d they cried, \u201cso we will live here\nall the year around.\u201d The Snow covered up the grass with her great white\ncloak, and the Frost painted all the trees silver. Then they invited the\nNorth Wind to stay with them, and he came. He was wrapped in furs, and he\nroared all day about the garden, and blew the chimney-pots down. \u201cThis is\na delightful spot,\u201d he said; \u201cwe must ask the Hail on a visit.\u201d So the\nHail came. Every day for three hours he rattled on the roof of the castle\ntill he broke most of the slates, and then he ran round and round the\ngarden as fast as he could go. He was dressed in grey, and his breath\nwas like ice.\n\n\u201cI cannot understand why the Spring is so late in coming,\u201d said the\nSelfish Giant, as he sat at the window and looked out at his cold white\ngarden; \u201cI hope there will be a change in the weather.\u201d\n\nBut the Spring never came, nor the Summer. The Autumn gave golden fruit\nto every garden, but to the Giant\u2019s garden she gave none. \u201cHe is too\nselfish,\u201d she said. So it was always Winter there, and the North Wind,\nand the Hail, and the Frost, and the Snow danced about through the trees.\n\nOne morning the Giant was lying awake in bed when he heard some lovely\nmusic. It sounded so sweet to his ears that he thought it must be the\nKing\u2019s musicians passing by. It was really only a little linnet singing\noutside his window, but it was so long since he had heard a bird sing in\nhis garden that it seemed to him to be the most beautiful music in the\nworld. Then the Hail stopped dancing over his head, and the North Wind\nceased roaring, and a delicious perfume came to him through the open\ncasement. \u201cI believe the Spring has come at last,\u201d said the Giant, and he\njumped out of bed and looked out.\n\nWhat did he see?\n\nHe saw a most wonderful sight. Through a little hole in the wall the\nchildren had crept in, and they were sitting in the branches of the\ntrees. In every tree that he could see there was a little child. And\nthe trees were so glad to have the children back again that they had\ncovered themselves with blossoms, and were waving their arms gently\nabove the children\u2019s heads. The birds were flying about and twittering\nwith delight, and the flowers were looking up through the green grass\nand laughing. It was a lovely scene, only in one corner it was still\nwinter. It was the farthest corner of the garden, and in it was standing\na little boy. He was so small that he could not reach up to the branches\nof the tree, and he was wandering all round it, crying bitterly. The poor\ntree was still quite covered with frost and snow, and the North Wind was\nblowing and roaring above it. \u201cClimb up! little boy,\u201d said the Tree, and\nit bent its branches down as low as it could; but the boy was too tiny.\n\nAnd the Giant\u2019s heart melted as he looked out. \u201cHow selfish I have been!\u201d\nhe said; \u201cnow I know why the Spring would not come here. I will put\nthat poor little boy on the top of the tree, and then I will knock down\nthe wall, and my garden shall be the children\u2019s playground for ever and\never.\u201d He was really very sorry for what he had done.\n\nSo he crept down-stairs and opened the front door quite softly, and\nwent out into the garden. But when the children saw him they were so\nfrightened that they all ran away, and the garden became winter again.\nOnly the little boy did not run, for his eyes were so full of tears that\nhe did not see the Giant coming. And the Giant strode up behind him and\ntook him gently in his hand, and put him up into the tree. And the tree\nbroke at once into blossom, and the birds came and sang on it, and the\nlittle boy stretched out his two arms and flung them round the Giant\u2019s\nneck, and kissed him. And the other children, when they saw that the\nGiant was not wicked any longer, came running back, and with them came\nthe Spring. \u201cIt is your garden now, little children,\u201d said the Giant, and\nhe took a great axe and knocked down the wall. And when the people were\ngoing to market at twelve o\u2019clock they found the Giant playing with the\nchildren in the most beautiful garden they had ever seen.\n\nAll day long they played, and in the evening they came to the Giant to\nbid him good-bye.\n\n\u201cBut where is your little companion?\u201d he said; \u201cthe boy I put into the\ntree.\u201d The Giant loved him the best because he had kissed him.\n\n\u201cWe don\u2019t know,\u201d answered the children. \u201cHe has gone away.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou must tell him to be sure and come here to-morrow,\u201d said the Giant.\nBut the children said that they did not know where he lived, and had\nnever seen him before; and the Giant felt very sad.\n\nEvery afternoon, when school was over, the children came and played with\nthe Giant. But the little boy whom the Giant loved was never seen again.\nThe Giant was very kind to all the children, yet he longed for his first\nlittle friend, and often spoke of him. \u201cHow I would like to see him!\u201d he\nused to say.\n\nYears went over, and the Giant grew very old and feeble. He could not\nplay about any more, so he sat in a huge armchair, and watched the\nchildren at their games, and admired his garden. \u201cI have many beautiful\nflowers,\u201d he said; \u201cbut the children are the most beautiful flowers of\nall.\u201d\n\nOne winter morning he looked out of his window as he was dressing. He did\nnot hate the Winter now, for he knew that it was merely Spring asleep,\nand that the flowers were resting.\n\nSuddenly he rubbed his eyes in wonder, and looked and looked. It\ncertainly was a marvellous sight. In the farthest corner of the garden\nwas a tree quite covered with lovely white blossoms. Its branches were\nall golden, and silver fruit hung down from them, and underneath it stood\nthe little boy he had loved.\n\nDown-stairs ran the Giant in great joy, and out into the garden. He\nhastened across, and came near to the child. And when he came quite\nclose his face grew red with anger, and he said, \u201cWho hath dared to wound\nthee?\u201d For on the palms of the child\u2019s hands were the prints of two\nnails, and the prints of two nails were on the little feet.\n\n\u201cWho hath dared to wound thee?\u201d cried the Giant; \u201ctell me, that I may\ntake my big sword and slay him.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay!\u201d answered the child; \u201cbut these are the wounds of Love.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho art thou?\u201d said the Giant, and a strange awe fell on him, and he\nknelt before the little child.\n\nAnd the child smiled on the Giant, and said to him, \u201cYou let me play once\nin your garden; to-day you shall come with me to my garden, which is\nParadise.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE PROMISED PLANT\n\nANDREA HOFER PROUDFOOT\n\n\nThere was once a promise made to all the people of the world, and every\none was waiting and had been waiting long for it to be kept.\n\nNo one could remember who had made the promise, but the little children\nwere told that it was made by a great King who knew everything that had\never happened, and all things that would ever be.\n\nAnd this was the promise:\n\nA wonderful flower was to grow in a certain garden that would bring to\nthe one who owned the garden all the good things in the world.\n\nEvery one waited and waited for the flower to come. Years and years they\nhad waited\u2014summer after summer; each new little boy and girl that came\ninto the world was told of the great promise, and among the very first\nthings they did was to go about seeking the flower and asking questions\nabout it.\n\nBut no one could tell them anything except to repeat the promise that\na beautiful gift-plant would some day grow upon the earth, which only\npeople with loving hearts could see, and they should be greatly blessed.\n\nEvery one in the whole world went about looking for this flower; even\nthough they did a great deal of work, and thought of other things, yet\nthey never quite forgot the wonderful promise.\n\nMany of them prepared the soil and made beautiful gardens to receive it.\nSome sought far and wide for rare seeds and bulbs which they planted and\nwatered, but only such plants grew as every one had seen before, and so\nthey still waited and searched.\n\nMany others wished and wished, and some prayed and prayed, but the\nprecious seed did not come.\n\nThe rich men of the land had great parks laid out; the ground was tilled\nand everything kept ready for the plant to find root. Many gardeners and\nwatchers were hired to stay there and watch for this wondrous flower and\nguard it\u2014but it did not come.\n\nYet no one ever doubted the promise, for every one wished very much to\nhave all the good things which were to come with this flower.\n\nAmong all these people there was one very kind woman, who did many good\ndeeds. She loved and cared for little children who had no one to help\nthem. One night when she came home from her work what did she see in a\nlittle broken flower-pot that stood in her window?\n\nA tiny plant which she had never noticed before! She watered it and it\ngrew and grew, and she learned to love it.\n\nOne day while she was looking at the tiny plant she remembered the\npromise, and said quietly to herself: \u201cCan it be that this is the\nbeautiful flower the whole world is waiting for! I think it is, for it\nhas made me so happy.\u201d\n\nAnd it was the flower.\n\nShe knew the promise had come because it made her so happy.\n\nEvery one, far and near, came to see it; and they begged pieces and seeds\nto plant. And though the good woman gave of her plant, it grew larger\nand larger, and she became happier and happier.\n\nOne day it blossomed wide and beautiful.\n\nThe rich men who had made great parks and gardens for the flower would\nnot believe the woman had received the real promised plant. They shook\ntheir heads and laughed at it all, and went on seeking after other seeds\nand plants.\n\nBut the people who believed because they saw how happy it made the woman\nto whom the flower came, brought rich gifts to her and begged for the\nseed, and they took it home and planted it everywhere, that the whole\nworld might be filled with joy and peace.\n\n\n\n\nBRIER ROSE\n\nKATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN AND NORA ARCHIBALD SMITH\n\n\nA long time ago there lived a king and a queen, who said every day, \u201cIf\nonly we had a child\u201d; but for a long time they had none.\n\nIt fell out once, as the Queen was bathing, that a frog crept out of the\nwater on to the land and said to her: \u201cYour wish shall be fulfilled;\nbefore a year has passed you shall bring a daughter into the world.\u201d\n\nThe frog\u2019s words came true. The Queen had a little girl who was\nso beautiful that the King could not contain himself for joy, and\nprepared a great feast. He invited not only his relations, friends and\nacquaintances, but the fairies, in order that they might be favourably\nand kindly disposed toward the child. There were thirteen of them in the\nkingdom, but as the King had only twelve golden plates for them to eat\noff, one of the fairies had to stay at home.\n\nThe feast was held with all splendour, and when it came to an end the\nfairies all presented the child with magic gifts. One gave her virtue,\nanother beauty, a third riches, and so on, with everything in the world\nthat she could wish for.\n\nWhen eleven of the fairies had said their say, the thirteenth suddenly\nappeared. She wanted to revenge herself for not having been invited.\nWithout greeting any one, or even glancing at the company, she called out\nin a loud voice, \u201cThe Princess shall prick herself with a distaff in her\nfifteenth year and shall fall dead\u201d; and without another word she turned\nand left the hall.\n\nEvery one was terror-stricken, but the twelfth fairy, whose wish was\nstill unspoken, stepped forward. She could not cancel the curse, but\ncould only soften it, so she said: \u201cIt shall not be death, but a deep\nsleep lasting a hundred years, into which your daughter shall fall.\u201d\n\nThe King was so anxious to guard his dear child from the misfortune that\nhe sent out a command that all the distaffs in the whole kingdom should\nbe burned.\n\nAll the promises of the fairies came true.\n\nThe Princess grew up so beautiful, modest, kind, and clever that every\none who saw her could not but love her. Now it happened that on the very\nday when she was fifteen years old the King and Queen were away from\nhome, and the Princess was left alone in the castle. She wandered about\nover the whole place, looking at rooms and halls as she pleased, and at\nlast she came to an old tower. She ascended a narrow winding staircase\nand reached a little door. A rusty key was sticking in the lock, and when\nshe turned it the door flew open. In a little room sat an old woman with\na spindle busily spinning her flax.\n\n\u201cGood day, Granny,\u201d said the Princess; \u201cwhat are you doing?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am spinning,\u201d said the old woman, and nodded her head. \u201cWhat is the\nthing that whirls round so merrily?\u201d asked the Princess; and she took the\nspindle and tried to spin too.\n\nBut she had scarcely touched it before the curse was fulfilled, and she\npricked her finger with the spindle. The instant she felt the prick she\nfell upon the bed which was standing near, and lay still in a deep sleep\nwhich spread over the whole castle.\n\nThe King and Queen, who had just come home and had stepped into the hall,\nwent to sleep, and all their courtiers with them. The horses went to\nsleep in the stable, the dogs in the yard, the doves on the roof, the\nflies on the wall; yes, even the fire flickering on the hearth grew still\nand went to sleep, and the roast meat stopped crackling; and the cook,\nwho was pulling the scullion\u2019s hair because he had made some mistake, let\nhim go and went to sleep. And the wind dropped, and on the trees in front\nof the castle not a leaf stirred.\n\nBut round the castle a hedge of brier roses began to grow up; every year\nit grew higher, till at last it surrounded the whole castle so that\nnothing could be seen of it, not even the flags on the roof.\n\nBut there was a legend in the land about the lovely sleeping Brier Rose,\nas the King\u2019s daughter was called, and from time to time princes came\nand tried to force a way through the hedge into the castle. But they\nfound it impossible, for the thorns, as though they had hands, held them\nfast, and the princes remained caught in them without being able to free\nthemselves.\n\nAfter many, many years a prince came again to the country and heard an\nold man tell of the castle which stood behind the brier hedge, in which\na most beautiful maiden called Brier Rose had been asleep for the last\nhundred years, and with her slept the King, Queen, and all her courtiers.\nHe knew also, from his grandfather, that many princes had already come\nand sought to pierce through the brier hedge, and had remained caught in\nit and died a sad death.\n\nThen the young Prince said: \u201cI am not afraid; I am determined to go and\nlook upon the lovely Brier Rose.\u201d\n\nThe good old man did all in his power to dissuade him, but the Prince\nwould not listen to his words.\n\nNow, however, the hundred years were just ended, and the day had come\nwhen Brier Rose was to wake up again. When the Prince approached the\nbrier hedge it was in blossom, and was covered with beautiful large\nflowers which made way for him of their own accord and let him pass\nunharmed, and then closed up again into a hedge behind him.\n\nIn the courtyard he saw the horses and dappled hounds lying asleep, on\nthe roof sat the doves with their heads under their wings, and when he\nwent into the house the flies were asleep on the walls, and near the\nthrone lay the King and Queen; in the kitchen was the cook, with his hand\nraised as though about to strike the scullion, and the maid sat with the\nblack fowl before her which she was about to pluck.\n\nHe went on farther, and all was so still that he could hear his own\nbreathing. At last he reached the tower, and opened the door into the\nlittle room where Brier Rose was asleep. There she lay, looking so\nbeautiful that he could not take his eyes off her; he bent down and gave\nher a kiss. As he touched her, Brier Rose opened her eyes and looked\nquite sweetly at him. Then they went down together; and the King and\nQueen and all the courtiers woke up, and looked at each other with\nastonished eyes. The horses in the stable stood up and shook themselves,\nthe hounds leaped about and wagged their tails, the doves on the roof\nlifted their heads from under their wings, looked around and flew into\nthe fields; the flies on the walls began to crawl again, the fire in\nthe kitchen roused itself and blazed up and cooked the food, the meat\nbegan to crackle, and the cook boxed the scullion\u2019s ears so soundly that\nhe screamed aloud, while the maid finished plucking the fowl. Then the\nwedding of the Prince and Brier Rose was celebrated with all splendour,\nand they lived happily till they died.\n\n\n\n\nPICCIOLA\n\nADAPTED FROM ST. SAINTINE\n\n\nMany years ago a good man, who lived in France, was thrown into prison\nbecause the King suspected him of having plotted against the government.\n\nWithin four grey stone walls, with only one small window through which\nthe little stream of sunshine came, the poor man was kept captive for\nmonths and years. He was not allowed to speak to a living soul except\nhis jailer who at best was but a cross old fellow. He had no work to do.\nThere were no books to read, and his only source of amusement during many\nlong tedious hours was drawing pictures with a bit of charcoal on the\nbare stone walls of his prison cell.\n\nFortunately, however, the poor captive was permitted to leave his cell\nfor one hour each morning and go up a narrow winding stairway which led\nhim into a small courtyard on all sides of which rose high, strong\nprison walls. There was no roof overhead. Here the prisoner could breathe\nthe fresh air and feel the warm sun and by looking up he could see a bit\nof the blue sky above.\n\nDay after day the prison life went on in the same round without any\nchange or hope of change. The bitterness and loneliness of the poor\nman\u2019s lot grew upon him as months and years passed without a word from\nhis family or friends and without hope of ever seeing one of them again.\nAnd by and by a time came when he could no longer even find amusement in\nsketching upon the walls of his cell, for not one vacant spot was left\nin all that space where he could draw a picture. He was a very unhappy\nman indeed, and it is hard to say how it might have ended. But one day a\nnew interest came into his life\u2014an interest which changed the poor fellow\nfrom an unhappy bitter man who had come to hate everybody and everything,\ninto one who forgot all wrong and who learned to see only the good and\nthe beautiful in all around him. And this interest came about through the\ngrowing up of a tiny stray seed which had been blown into the courtyard\nby the wind and had taken root between two of the great stones with which\nthe courtyard was paved.\n\nIt happened that one day as the prisoner was taking his daily walk his\neyes caught sight of the bright green of the little seedling just in time\nto save it from being crushed beneath his foot. He stopped and looked\ncloser. Then he saw how a little plant had sent down its rootlets into\nthe crevice between the stones and had struggled to push its head up\nwhere its green leaves might catch what they could of the scant sunshine.\nHe thought how wonderful it was that the little seed had found courage\nto take root and struggle for life in the dark and gloomy courtyard of\nthe prison. \u201cBrave little plant,\u201d he said. \u201cYou deserve to live. I shall\nwatch over you and guard you, for the wind and the hail are hard enemies.\u201d\n\nDay by day he noticed how bravely it grew higher and higher and unfolded\none leaf after another to the dull sunshine. He became more and more\ninterested in the little nursling which in time was like a dear friend\nand companion to him. He called it Picciola, which means, \u201clittle one,\u201d\nand before many days had passed, it had taken root and grown in his own\nheart so that there was no longer room for bitterness or memory of any\nwrongs.\n\nAt one time when a great hailstorm sent its cruel hail into the\ncourtyard, the prisoner bent over Picciola to protect it and the driving\nhailstones fell upon his own head until the storm was over.\n\n\u201cMy poor little Picciola,\u201d he said, \u201cI shall not always be here to guard\nyou from harm. Much can happen to my little plant when I am in my cell. I\nwill build a little fence around you, then the wind cannot blow you down\nnor the hail cut you with sharp stones.\u201d\n\nThe cross jailer, too, took an interest in Picciola when he saw how happy\nthe prisoner had become and he was glad to help take care of the little\nplant. Somehow, the jailer did not seem to be such a cross fellow as\nbefore; indeed he seemed to be quite a gentle and kind hearted man.\n\nNow the prisoner was very happy and the days were no longer weary and\nwithout interest for Picciola was always waiting for him in the courtyard\nand he was sure to see something new about the little plant each morning\nhe visited it. And Picciola grew and grew and in time put forth two\nbeautiful blossoms and sent perfume to make glad the heart of her friend.\n\nBut one morning alas! when the prisoner went to look at Picciola he\nfound that, in spite of all his care, she had begun to droop and wither.\nWhat could be the matter? In a moment he was on the ground examining\nthe little plant to find out what was causing all the trouble. He soon\ndiscovered that Picciola had grown so large that there was no longer room\nenough for it to grow in the crevice between the stones. The sharp edges\nof the stones cut into the delicate stem and the poor prisoner could see\nthat his little companion would die unless the stones could be lifted.\n\nHe was in great distress. He tried with all the strength he had to lift\nthe stones himself; but he could not move them. He begged the jailer to\nhelp him.\n\n\u201cI can do nothing for you,\u201d said the jailer. \u201cYou must ask the King; he\nalone has the power to say that the stones should be lifted.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut the King is far away,\u201d said the prisoner. \u201cThere is but one way to\nreach him\u2014I must write.\u201d\n\nThe poor fellow in despair sent a letter to the King begging him to save\nthe life of his little friend, Picciola. The letter was written on a\nwhite handkerchief with a bit of charcoal. He begged the King, not for\nhis own freedom and life, but for the life of Picciola. As soon as the\nKing finished reading the prisoner\u2019s letter he said:\n\n\u201cThis man is not really wicked at heart or he could not care so much\nfor a little plant. The stones shall be raised that the little plant\nmay live, and I will pardon this prisoner because of his great love and\nsacrifice for so helpless a thing as Picciola.\u201d So the prisoner was\nreleased and when he left his lonely prison cell he took Picciola with\nhim, for she had been the beginning for him of a new happiness.\n\n\n\n\nST. FRANCIS, THE LITTLE BEDESMAN OF CHRIST[3]\n\nWILLIAM CANTON\n\n\nTo all living things on earth and air and water St. Francis was most\ngracious and loving. They were all his little brothers and sisters, and\nhe forgot them not, still less scorned or slighted them, but spoke to\nthem often and blessed them, and in return they showed him great love\nand sought to be of his fellowship. He bade his companions keep plots\nof ground for their little sisters the flowers, and to these lovely and\nspeechless creatures he spoke, with no great fear that they would not\nunderstand his words. And all this was a marvellous thing in a cruel\ntime, when human life was accounted of slight worth by fierce barons and\nruffling marauders.\n\nFor the bees he set honey and wine in the winter, lest they should feel\nthe nip of the cold too keenly; and bread for the birds, that they all,\nbut especially \u201cmy brother Lark,\u201d should have joy of Christmastide; and\nwhen a youth gave St. Francis the turtle-doves he had snared, the Saint\nhad nests made for them, and there they laid their eggs and hatched them,\nand fed from the hands of the brethren.\n\nOut of affection a fisherman once gave him a great tench, but he put it\nback into the clear water of the lake, bidding it love God; and the fish\nplayed about the boat till St. Francis blessed it and bade it go.\n\n\u201cWhy dost thou torment my little brothers the Lambs,\u201d he asked of a\nshepherd, \u201ccarrying them bound thus and hanging from a staff, so that\nthey cry piteously?\u201d And in exchange for the lambs he gave the shepherd\nhis cloak. And at another time seeing amid a flock of goats one white\nlamb feeding, he was concerned that he had nothing but his brown robe to\noffer for it; but a merchant came up and paid for it and gave it him, and\nhe took it with him to the city and preached about it so that the hearts\nof those hearing him were melted.\n\nFain would I tell of the coneys that took refuge in the folds of his\nhabit, and of the swifts which flew screaming in their glee while he was\npreaching; but now it is time to speak of the sermon which he preached\nto a great multitude of birds in a field by the roadside. Down from the\ntrees flew the birds to hear him, and they nestled in the grassy bosom\nof the field, and listened till he had done. And these were the words he\nspoke to them:\n\n\u201cLittle birds, little sisters mine, much are you holden to God your\nCreator; and at all times and in every place you ought to praise Him.\nFreedom He has given you to fly everywhere; and raiment He has given you,\ndouble and threefold. More than this, He preserved your kind in the Ark,\nso that your race might not come to an end. Still more do you owe Him for\nthe element of air, which He has made your portion. Over and above, you\nsow not, neither do you reap; but God feeds you, and gives you streams\nand springs for your thirst; the mountains He gives you, and the valleys\nfor your refuge, and the tall trees wherein to build your nests. And\nbecause you cannot sew or spin God takes thought to clothe you, you and\nyour little ones. It must be, then, that your Creator loves you much,\nsince He has granted you so many benefits. Be on your guard then against\nthe sin of ingratitude, and strive always to give God praise.\u201d\n\nAnd when the Saint ceased speaking, the birds made such signs as they\nmight, by spreading their wings and opening their beaks, to show their\nlove and pleasure; and when he had blessed them, they sprang up, and\nsinging songs of unspeakable sweetness, away they streamed in a great\ncross to the four quarters of heaven.\n\n\n\n\nPROSERPINA AND KING PLUTO\n\n\nLittle Proserpina and Mother Ceres lived in the beautiful valley of Enna\nwhere the warm sun shone all the year round. Mother Ceres had plenty\nof work to do. Each day she made a journey to the meadows, orchards,\nand fields all over the earth. Indeed it was through her watchful care\nthat the grass grew, and flowers bloomed, that the fruit ripened, and\nthe precious crops of barley, wheat, and rye brought forth a bountiful\nharvest.\n\nOne day at dawn a shining car and a pair of restless winged dragons\nstood waiting to take Mother Ceres on her daily journey. The dragons\nwere impatient to start, for they knew how much work had to be done each\nday. Very soon Ceres glided forth and mounted her splendid car. She was\nclothed in flowing robes of the softest grey and on her head she wore a\ncrown of scarlet poppies and golden wheat.\n\n\u201cFarewell, little daughter,\u201d she called. \u201cI shall come back before the\ndew falls. Do not venture out of the valley to-day. Farewell!\u201d Off sped\nthe winged dragons with Mother Ceres. Little Proserpina did not mind\nbeing left in the valley for she found a good deal of amusement there.\nHer friends the naiads\u2014beautiful water nymphs\u2014sported about in the cool\nfountains. Proserpina loved to spend a quiet hour with these gentle\nmaidens. She often played a merry game with Echo, a nymph who lived on a\nfar-off wooded hillside; sometimes she danced in the sunshine with her\nlittle playmates.\n\nMother Ceres\u2019 shining car soon disappeared and little Proserpina ran to\nsome of her companions and said, \u201cCome, come! I hear Pan, the shepherd\nboy, playing the sweetest music on his reed-pipes! Let us dance in the\nsunshine! Come!\u201d\n\nIn her gayest mood she led the dance to the very edge of a deep wood\nwhich bordered the valley. Then the train of little maidens stopped\nsuddenly and listened. Peals of boisterous laughter broke the silence. In\nthe depths of the forest the queerest youths were rollicking about. They\nhad snub noses, hairy ears, and tiny sprouting horns; their hips were\ncovered with shaggy hair and their feet were exactly like a goat\u2019s.\n\n\u201cHush,\u201d whispered Proserpina, \u201cthe madcap satyrs are dancing too. Let us\nhasten away.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe will gather flowers and make garlands,\u201d said one of the maidens.\n\nThey slipped quietly away from the noisy wood and ran about in all\ndirections to search for fragrant blossoms,\u2014lilies and violets, hyacinth\nbells and pinks. The little maidens soon filled their arms with flowers\nand sat down on a mossy bank to weave garlands.\n\nIn her eagerness to find the loveliest blossoms Proserpina had sauntered\noff a long way from her companions. She could hear the faint echo of\ntheir merry voices in the distance.\n\n\u201cOh, I have wandered out of the valley,\u201d she thought. \u201cI must hasten back\nwith these lovely flowers. What beauties I have found!\u201d\n\nShe turned to run toward the bank where her companions were sitting, when\nshe heard a queer rumbling noise. What could it be! It sounded exactly\nlike distant thunder, yet there was not a cloud in the blue sky overhead.\nThere was another rumbling. Was it coming nearer? The earth beneath her\nfeet quivered! Then in breathless fear she saw a great crack in the\nfield! She was too frightened to move or speak. The flowers she had\ngathered dropped from her trembling hands. Out of the great cavity which\nseemed to widen every moment Proserpina saw dashing toward her four jet\nblack horses with flashing eyes and quivering nostrils. At their heels\nwhirled a wonderful golden chariot with jewelled wheels. Standing in this\nsplendid car was a dark-browed man whose iron-crown was studded with\nprecious stones of many colours. In one hand he lightly held the reins\nand guided the fiery steeds; in the other, he held a two-pronged fork.\n\n\u201cKing Pluto!\u201d gasped Proserpina. In a twinkling the King of the\nUnderworld leaped from his chariot, seized Proserpina in his arms,\nmounted his chariot again and sped away over the hills.\n\nProserpina\u2019s low cry of \u201cHelp! help! Mother! Mother Ceres!\u201d was too faint\nto reach the ears of the merry companions who were very busy with their\nflowers.\n\n\u201cWhat has become of Proserpina?\u201d cried one of them when she had finished\nher garland.\n\nThey looked in the direction where but a moment ago Proserpina was\ngathering flowers, but they could not see her.\n\n\u201cI wonder where she has gone,\u201d said another. \u201cSurely she has not wandered\nout of the valley!\u201d\n\n\u201cProserpina! Proserpina!\u201d called the little companions becoming alarmed.\n\nBut no answer could come from the captured maiden who was whirling along\nbeyond the distant hills. In vain did the dark-browed King try to calm\nhis captive by declaring that no harm should come to her. In vain did he\npromise that she should share his throne and his riches.\n\n\u201cI want to go home to Mother Ceres,\u201d sobbed Proserpina.\n\nBut King Pluto was deaf to her pleading; he urged his horses to go faster\nand faster until finally they came to the River Cyane whose waters began\nto seethe and foam in a very threatening manner. Little Proserpina knew\nthe waters of this river were angry because she was made a captive.\nQuickly she loosened her girdle and flung it into the raging flood. Now\nKing Pluto was afraid to risk his fiery steeds in the angry stream, so\nhe determined to plunge at once into the depths of his kingdom. With his\ntwo-pronged fork he struck a mighty blow on the earth. Instantly a great\ncrevice opened and gave him passage to the Underworld.\n\nPh\u0153bus Apollo had almost finished his day\u2019s journey and was driving his\nbeautiful sun-car down the steep slope of the western sky. Mother Ceres\u2019\nwinged dragons were hastening to the valley of Enna. Proserpina always\nbounded forth with a cry of welcome, so when Mother Ceres missed her\nlittle daughter\u2019s joyous words she called, \u201cProserpina! Proserpina!\u201d\nThere was no answer. What could be the matter! Mother Ceres\u2019 heart beat\nfast! She sought the little maidens of the valley who were her daughter\u2019s\nplaymates and listened in trembling fear to the story they told about\nProserpina\u2019s sudden disappearance. Ceres lighted a torch and continued\nher search all night. At dawn the distracted mother was in despair, for\nshe could find no trace of her lost child. She questioned the Naiads, the\nNymphs, Pan, the shepherd boy, and Echo, but not one of them could give\nher tidings of Proserpina. For a long time the poor mother continued her\nwanderings from dawn until eventide all the world over.\n\nOne day she happened to wander near the River Cyane and there floating\nnear the water\u2019s edge she saw Proserpina\u2019s girdle. Eagerly she grasped\nit in her hands and stood in breathless silence. A low murmuring sound\nreached her ears. Did it come from a nearby fountain? Ceres listened very\ncarefully. \u201cProserpina! King Pluto!\u201d whispered a voice from the cool\ndepths of the clear water. In a moment Mother Ceres knew the truth about\nher little daughter\u2019s disappearance. She had been captured by the King\nof the Underworld! Ceres could take no comfort in this knowledge for she\nknew King Pluto would do all in his power to keep his captive. In despair\nthe poor mother withdrew to a dark cave to nurse her grief.\n\n\u201cUntil Proserpina is returned to me no vegetation shall grow on the\nearth,\u201d vowed Mother Ceres.\n\nThe gentle rain no longer refreshed the grass and drooping flowers; the\nwithered leaves dropped from the trees; the fruit became parched and dry,\nand the precious grain failed to ripen! Alas! Famine spread throughout\nthe land!\n\n\u201cMother Ceres,\u201d cried the people, \u201cwe implore you to give us your aid.\nBring back the flowers and the fruit, and the grain. We shall starve\nwithout your help.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot until my child is returned to me,\u201d answered Ceres.\n\nFinally Jupiter\u2019s heart was touched by the distress of the people. He\nsent for Mother Ceres and said, \u201cIf your daughter Proserpina has refused\nto eat any of King Pluto\u2019s pomegranate seeds during her stay in the\nunderworld she shall return to the earth and never again disappear. My\nswift-footed messenger Mercury shall go at once to Pluto\u2019s palace and\nstate my will in this matter.\u201d\n\nMercury put on his wonderful cap and winged sandals and sped away to\ndeliver Jupiter\u2019s message. At first King Pluto was angry when he heard\nthat his merry little companion was to be taken from him, but of course\nhe could not disregard Jupiter\u2019s command, so Proserpina was led back into\nthe sunlight.\n\nHow happy Mother Ceres was! She could not keep back tears of joy.\n\n\u201cNow the fields shall be covered with verdure; the soft showers shall\nfall and earth shall bring forth a bountiful harvest!\u201d she declared.\n\u201cProserpina, my child, you shall never again leave me. King Pluto cannot\ndemand your return unless you have eaten some of his pomegranate seeds.\u201d\n\nThen little Proserpina looked up into her mother\u2019s face and said, \u201cMother\ndear, I must tell you the truth. A little while before Mercury came with\nhis message I ate six of King Pluto\u2019s pomegranate seeds. I was very, very\nhungry, mother.\u201d\n\n\u201cAlas! Alas!\u201d cried Ceres, feeling alarmed again. She hastened to Jupiter\nand asked him what could be done. Jupiter looked very serious, and\nfinally decreed that for each pomegranate seed which Proserpina had eaten\nshe should spend one month of each year in King Pluto\u2019s Kingdom.\n\n\u201cSix months of each year my child must spend in that dark underworld! It\nis dreadful!\u201d declared Ceres.\n\n\u201cDo not grieve, mother,\u201d said Proserpina cheerily. \u201cAt first the\ndark-browed King frightened me very much but I soon found that he is kind\nand gracious. Let us be happy because I am to spend six months of each\nyear here with you. During my stay with King Pluto you shall take a long\nrest from your hard work in the fields.\u201d\n\nSo it happened that Proserpina spent half of each year in the dark\nunderworld. But every springtime when the warm sun gladdened the earth,\nMercury was sent to bring Proserpina back to Mother Ceres. And at the\ncoming of the joyous little maiden the grass leaped forth in the brown\nfields, flowers gay brightened the meadows and from the tops of the\nbudding trees the birds carolled songs of welcome.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WONDER\u2014A PARABLE\n\nFRIEDRICH ADOLPH KRUMMACHER\n\n\nOne day in the springtime, a youth was sitting under the palm trees in\nthe garden of his father, the King. He was deep in thought. There came to\nhim Nathan, the Prophet, saying, \u201cPrince, why musest thou so earnestly\nunder the palm trees?\u201d\n\nThe Prince lifted his head and answered, \u201cNathan, I would see a wonder.\u201d\n\nThe Prophet smiled and answered: \u201cThe same wish had I also in the days of\nmy youth.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd was it fulfilled?\u201d asked the King\u2019s son, hastily.\n\n\u201cA Man of God came to me,\u201d said Nathan, \u201chaving a pomegranate seed in\nhis hand. Behold,\u2019 he said, \u2018what will come from this seed.\u2019 Then with\nhis finger he made a hole in the earth, planted the seed and covered it.\nWhen he withdrew his hands the clods parted one from another and I saw\ntwo small leaves coming forth. But scarcely had I beheld them, when they\njoined together and became a round stem wrapped in bark, and the stem\nincreased before my eyes and grew higher and thicker. Then the Man of\nGod said to me, \u2018Give heed!\u2019 And as I looked, I saw many branches spread\nforth from the stem like great arms. I marvelled but the Man of God\nmotioned me to keep silence. \u2018Give heed,\u2019 he said, \u2018new creations begin.\u2019\n\n\u201cThen he took water in the hollow of his hand from the rivulet by the\nwayside, and sprinkled the branches three times, and, lo, the branches\nwere covered with green leaves, so that a cool shade spread over us and\nsweet odours filled the air.\n\n\u201c\u2018From whence comes this perfume and this reviving shade?\u2019 cried I.\n\n\u201c\u2018Dost thou not see,\u2019 said the Man of God, \u2018these crimson flowers\nbursting from among the green leaves and hanging in clusters?\u2019 I was\nabout to speak but a gentle breeze moved the leaves, scattering the\nflowers among us, as when snow descendeth from the clouds. Scarcely had\nthe falling flowers reached the ground when I saw the ruddy pomegranates\nhanging between the leaves like the almonds on Aaron\u2019s rod. Then the Man\nof God left me lost in wonder.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is the name of this Man of God? Is he yet alive?\u201d\n\n\u201cSon of David,\u201d answered the Prophet, \u201cI have spoken to thee of a vision.\u201d\n\nWhen the Prince heard these words he was grieved in his heart.\n\n\u201cHow couldst thou deceive me thus?\u201d he asked.\n\nBut the Prophet replied, \u201cI have not deceived thee. Behold in thy\nfather\u2019s garden thou mayest see in reality what I have told thee. Dost\nnot this same wonder happen to the pomegranate trees and all the other\ntrees in the garden?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d answered the Prince, \u201cbut you cannot see it, and it comes to pass\nthrough a long time.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs it less wonderful because it cometh to pass in silence and unheeded?\nLearn to know nature and her workings, then wilt thou long no more for a\nwonder performed by the hand of man.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nNATURE STORIES AND LEGENDS\n\n\n\n\nGREEN THINGS GROWING\n\n\n Oh, the green things growing, the green things growing,\n The faint sweet smell of the green things growing!\n I should love to live, whether I smile or grieve,\n Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing.\n\n Oh, the fluttering and the pattering of those green things growing,\n How they talk to each other, when none of us are knowing.\n In the wonderful white by the weird moonlight,\n Of the dim dreamy dawn when the cocks are crowing.\n\n I love them so\u2014my green things growing,\n And I think they love me without any knowing;\n For by many a tender touch, they comfort me so much,\n With the soft mute comfort of green things growing.\n\n _Dinah Mulock Craik._\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF A LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT[4]\n\nMAY BRYON\n\n\nOnce upon a time there was a little grain of Wheat. It was a tiny brown\nthing, quite hard and dry. It looked like somebody who had wrapped\nhimself up in a cloak and gone to sleep, with his head and feet and all\ncovered up. That was really what had happened. The grain of Wheat was\nfast asleep.\n\nIt lay outside a farm-yard gate, and a little black ant came along and\nsaw it. \u201cDear me!\u201d said the little black ant, \u201cthat will do nicely for\nmy dinner.\u201d He was carrying it off\u2014which was hard work, because it was\nnearly as big as he was\u2014when another little black ant came along.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll help you to carry that if you\u2019ll give me half,\u201d said the second\nant. \u201cShan\u2019t!\u201d said the first. Then, I am sorry to say, they fought\nabout it.\n\nWhile they were biting and kicking, and the grain of Wheat was rolling\nabout between them, a third person came along.\n\nThe third person was a little Elf-man. He was looking about for winter\nlodgings: and he had just found a capital place in a hollow tree at the\nedge of a field.\n\n\u201cShocking! shocking!\u201d said he to the two fighting ants. \u201cDo stop, for\ngoodness\u2019 sake!\u201d But they did not take the least notice of him.\n\nThen the little Elf-man thought, \u201cIf I take that grain of Wheat away,\nthey won\u2019t have anything left to quarrel about!\u201d And so he did.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe little Elf-man took the grain of Wheat very carefully home to his\nhollow tree. But when he arrived, it was all dark, because his tame\nglow-worm, that he kept for a candle, had felt lonely and gone out for a\nwalk. He bumped his head trying to find things in the dark, and dropped\nthe grain of Wheat; and it rolled out of the tree and down into a tiny\nchink of the earth.\n\nThe little Elf-man was dreadfully sorry at losing it, and scolded the\nglow-worm when it came home. He spent many hours searching for the grain\nnext morning.\n\n\u201cWhat are you looking for?\u201d said his friend the Dormouse. The Dormouse\nlived in a hole in the hedge-bank.\n\n\u201cFor a grain I\u2019ve lost,\u201d said the Elf.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a Barley grain under that loose sod,\u201d remarked the Dormouse.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s not it, thank you,\u201d said the Elf-man. And he went on hunting; but\nhe had no success. It was ever so deep down.\n\nA good many days went by, and several things happened,\u2014rain, and wind,\nand sunshine, and more rain, and snow, and frost, and rain again.\n\nThey all came down to where the little grain lay underground; and its\nnice brown cloak did not remain smooth and dry. It became damp and sodden\nand dirty. Its appearance was certainly not improved.\n\nNow, if you got all wet and cold while you were asleep, supposing the\nwind and rain blew in on you, it would wake you up, most likely. So it\nfell out to the little grain of Wheat.\n\nIt woke up one day, inside its wet ragged cloak, and thrust out its small\nwhite feet. They were not like your feet, they were more like little\nroots\u2014but they did very well for the Wheat. Its legs grew longer, week by\nweek, and it grew more and more awake every day.\n\nThe more it waked, the less it liked being down there in the dark and\ncold. It thought, \u201cReally, I can\u2019t stay here all my life! There\u2019s nothing\nto look at!\u201d\n\nBut whenever it wanted to poke its head up and peep out, the wind made\nit shiver and feel miserable. So it stayed where it was, and tried to be\ncontented. One can always _try_, anyhow.\n\nMeanwhile the little Barley-corn under the loose sod was getting on\nrather badly. You see, it had not been tucked cosily into the soil like\nthe Wheat. It was like a poor little vagrant with no proper place to\nsleep in. It grew, but very slowly.\n\n\u201cHullo! is that you?\u201d said the Dormouse, peeping in one day under the\nsod; \u201care you awake?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t think I\u2019ve been properly to sleep,\u201d said the Barley-corn.\n\n\u201cMake haste and grow a little faster, and come out of that,\u201d said the\nDormouse. \u201cI should be rather fond of you if I thought you were taking\ntrouble to get on.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think if any one were fond of me,\u201d whispered the Barley-corn, \u201cI\n_should grow_.\u201d\n\nBut the Dormouse was not listening.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAt last a sunbeam came along the field\u2014several sunbeams, in fact. They\nwere quite bright and warm, and the little Elf-man, who had kept close\nindoors all the bad weather, opened his door and sat on the threshold\nbasking. Then the sunbeams burrowed right down into the earth, and said:\n\u201cHurry up! Is anybody here for out-of-doors?\u201d\n\nYou could not have heard them; their voices were not like ours. But the\ngrain of Wheat heard them. At once it threw off the last rags of its\ntattered old cloak; and it was as clean and white as possible underneath.\nThen it pushed up its little green head, with a two-horned peaked cap on,\nand looked out curiously upon the world.\n\nEverything was clear, and warm, and sunny, and perfectly delightful. And\nthere was the little Elf-man sitting on his threshold, in a _one_-horned\npeaky green cap.\n\n\u201cWell, I never!\u201d said the Elf-man. \u201cWho\u2019s this?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy name\u2019s Wheat,\u201d said the little green head.\n\n\u201cThen you\u2019ve changed very much, let me tell you,\u201d said the Elf-man; \u201cyou\nare not a bit like what you were; but ever so much better.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hope I shall go on improving,\u201d said the Wheat politely. And that is\njust what it actually did.\n\nBut the poor Barley-corn was only beginning to push through under the\nloose sod by the time the Wheat was six inches high. It was thin and\nstunted, just as you would be if you had no proper food, and nobody to\nbe fond of you.\n\nThe Wheat took no notice of it. But the Dormouse came now and then and\nsaid, \u201cHow slow you are!\u201d The little Elf-man was rather sorry for it, but\nit did not occur to him to say so.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe little Elf-man came out every day, and talked to the Wheat while it\ngrew. Very soon it was much bigger than he was; but this did not make him\nconceited.\n\n\u201cDid you have nice dreams while you were down below there?\u201d he asked it.\n\n\u201cI only had one dream,\u201d said the Wheat, \u201cbut that went on all the time. I\ndreamed I was very tall and golden-yellow, and lived along with a crowd\nof brothers and sisters.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, but you didn\u2019t,\u201d said the Elf-man; \u201cI found you all by yourself. You\nwere a poor little lonely brown thing.\u201d\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t help it,\u201d said the Wheat: \u201cthat was my dream. And I have it now,\nsometimes, if I shut my eyes.\u201d\n\nThe little Elf-man was greatly puzzled: but the Wheat was now so tall\nthat he did not like to contradict.\n\nAs for the little Barley-corn, nobody took the least interest in _his_\ndreams. He had very delightful ones, too. But they were the kind that\nnever come true.\n\nThe summer went on, and all sorts of friends came and talked to the\nWheat\u2014birds, bees, and butterflies. He enjoyed himself more and more. The\ntaller he grew, the better view he had of the rest of the world.\n\nHe had very pretty green clothes, which grew bigger as he did. This was\na really useful arrangement: he never required to be measured for a new\nsuit.\n\nOne day he said to the little Elf-man, \u201cDo your clothes change colour?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d replied the Elf-man, \u201cI always wear green. Even in the winter I can\nfind some blades of grass to weave together, or a few leaves to stitch up\ninto a coat.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t understand me,\u201d said the Wheat. \u201cI mean, do they turn to a\ndifferent colour while you\u2019re wearing them?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot that I know of,\u201d said the Elf-man.\n\n\u201cWell, mine do,\u201d said the Wheat. \u201cJust look!\u201d\n\nSure enough, his green clothes were turning yellow, and he was changing\ncolour all over, too. He was very much altered altogether. It was most\nsurprising.\n\n\u201cGoodness me!\u201d said the little Elf-man.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s exactly what I think,\u201d said the Wheat.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAbout a month after this, the Elf-man was getting his breakfast ready,\u2014an\nacorn-cup full of dew, and a drop of wild honey,\u2014when he heard a loud,\neager voice calling him. It was the Wheat, very much excited.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve had that dream several times lately,\u201d said the Wheat, rocking to\nand fro, \u201cand now it has come true!\u201d\n\n\u201cHow do you mean?\u201d asked the Elf-man.\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t you see?\u201d said the Wheat. \u201cI\u2019ve turned golden-yellow from head to\nfoot. And I have a whole family of children. They\u2019re not _my_ brothers\nand sisters, of course, but they\u2019re each other\u2019s,\u2014so it comes to the\nsame thing. Dear, dear, how happy I do feel!\u201d And it rocked more than\never.\n\n\u201cHow many are there?\u201d asked the Elf.\n\n\u201cAbout twenty, I should think,\u201d answered the Wheat, \u201cbut I can\u2019t count\nthem without cricking my neck.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, well!\u201d said the little Elf. \u201cIt\u2019s a large family to look after. It\nreminds me of a little rhyme I once heard, about an old woman who lived\nin a shoe.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe more the merrier,\u201d said the Wheat. \u201cHush, children! Don\u2019t all talk\nat once!\u201d But the little grains would not stop talking all at once; and\nalthough _you_ could not have heard them\u2014their voices were too tinkly and\ntiny\u2014it was perfectly deafening to any one who could.\n\nThe Elf-man went back into his house and shut the door. Presently he had\nto put some cotton-willow-wool in his ears. The Wheat tried to sing its\nchildren to sleep with lullabies; but it did not know any.\n\n\u201cI shall never have a merry family like that, I\u2019m afraid,\u201d said the\nBarley-corn to the Dormouse. The Barley-corn had hardly grown two inches\nsince the spring. In fact, he was so little, you would hardly have known\nhe was there.\n\n\u201cNever mind,\u201d said the Dormouse. \u201cYou have me to talk to you, haven\u2019t\nyou?\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\nBy and by the Wheat got very tired. Just think, if your mother had more\nthan twenty children, who never stopped talking all day and all night!\nAnyhow, the Wheat could endure it no longer. So it called to the little\nElf-man, and said, \u201cKindly fetch me the Dormouse. I can see him now, on\nthe bank at the end of the field. He\u2019s beginning to get sleepy, too, so\nplease make haste.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you want me for?\u201d said the Dormouse, when he was fetched. He\nand the Elf stood staring up at the tall Wheat. The little grains were\nquieter now. They had said nearly all they had to say.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s like this,\u201d said the Wheat in weary tones. \u201cI can\u2019t rock these\nchildren to sleep up here. It\u2019s too light, and too draughty. They must\nbe put to bed in the earth, as I was. I\u2019m sure it\u2019s the proper place\nfor them.\u201d As the Wheat spoke, all the little grains fell suddenly fast\nasleep.\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019m not a nurse,\u201d said the Dormouse, rather grumpily, because he\nhad been disturbed. \u201cAnd I can\u2019t climb your stalk and fetch them down,\neither.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou must bite my stalk right through,\u201d said the Wheat, \u201cso that we can\nall lie down together.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, that will hurt you dreadfully!\u201d cried the little Elf-man.\n\n\u201cThen it will have to hurt, that\u2019s all,\u201d said the Wheat. \u201cIt\u2019s the only\nthing to do. Be quick!\u201d\n\nThe little Elf-man threw his arms round the Wheat\u2019s yellow-stalk, and\nwept. But the Dormouse, with his sharp little teeth, bit through the\nstalk, just where it came out of the ground. The Wheat gave one great\nrock\u2014and one sigh\u2014and SNAP!\u2014down it came. All the little grains tumbled\nout of their cradles, and rolled into chinks of the soil.\n\nThe tall Wheat, as it lay in the earth, said \u201cThank you!\u201d in a husky\nvoice to the Dormouse, and \u201cGood-bye!\u201d to the little Elf-man. The wind\nblew it away that night, and nobody ever saw it again.\n\n\u201cWhere\u2019s the Barley?\u201d asked the Dormouse next day. But the poor Barley\nwas quite shrivelled up.\n\nThe little Elf-man was sad for nearly a week. But when all the little\ngrains woke up the following spring, he had a jollier time than ever.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE ACORN\n\nLUCY WHEELOCK\n\n\nIt was a little acorn that hung on the bough of a tree. It had a tender\ngreen cup and a beautifully carved saucer to hold it. The mother oak fed\nit with sweet sap every day, the birds sang good-night songs above it,\nand the wind rocked it gently to and fro. The oak leaves made a soft\ngreen shade above it, so the sun could not shine too warm on its green\ncover, and it was as happy as an acorn could be.\n\nThere were many other acorns on the tree, and I am sure the mother often\nwhispered loving words to all her babies.\n\nThe summer days were so bright and pleasant that the acorn never thought\nof anything but sunshine and an occasional shower to wash the dust off\nthe leaves.\n\nBut you know that summer ends and the autumn days come. The green cup of\nthe acorn turned to a brown cup, and it was well that it grew stiffer\nand harder, for the cold winds began to blow.\n\nThe leaves turned from green to golden brown, and some of them were\nwhisked away by the rough wind. The little acorn began to grow uneasy.\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t life all summer?\u201d it said.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d whispered the mother oak, \u201cthe cold days come and the leaves must\ngo and the acorns too. I must soon lose my babies.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! I could never leave this kind bough,\u201d said the frightened acorn. \u201cI\nshould be lost and forgotten if I were to fall.\u201d\n\nSo it tried to cling all the closer to its bough; but at last it was\nalone there. The leaves were blown away, and some of them had made a\nblanket for the brown acorns lying on the ground.\n\nOne night the tree whispered this message to the lonely acorn: \u201cThis tree\nis only your home for a time. This is not your true life. Your brown\nshell is only the cover for a living plant, which can never be set free\nuntil the hard shell drops away, and that can never happen until you are\nburied in the ground and wait for the spring to call you into life. So\nlet go, little acorn, and fall to the ground, and some day you will wake\nto a new and glorious life.\u201d\n\nThe acorn listened and believed, for was not the tree its sheltering\nmother? So it bade her farewell, and, loosing its hold, dropped to the\nground.\n\nThen, indeed, it seemed as if the acorn were lost. That night a high wind\nblew and covered it deep under a heap of oak leaves. The next day a cold\nrain washed the leaves closer together, and trickling streams from the\nhillside swept some earth over them. The acorn was buried. \u201cBut I shall\nwake again,\u201d it said, and so it fell asleep. It might have been cold; but\nthe frost fairies wove a soft, white snow blanket to cover it, and so it\nwas kept warm.\n\nIf you had walked through the woods that winter, you would have said the\nacorn was gone, but then you could not have seen the life slumbering\nwithin the brown cover. But spring came and called to all the sleeping\nthings underground to waken and come forth. The acorn heard and tried to\nmove, but the brown shell held it fast. Some raindrops trickled through\nthe ground to moisten the shell, and one day the pushing life within was\nset free. The brown shell was of no more use and was lost in the ground,\nbut the young plant was to live. It heard voices calling it upward. It\nmust arise. \u201cA new and glorious life,\u201d the mother oak had said.\n\n\u201cI must arise,\u201d the acorn said, and up the living plant came, up to the\nworld of sunshine and beauty. It looked around. There was the same green\nmoss in the woods, the same singing brook.\n\n\u201cAnd I shall live and grow,\u201d it said.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d called the mother oak, \u201cyou are now an oak tree. This is your real\nlife.\u201d\n\nAnd the tiny oak tree was glad and tried to stretch higher towards the\nsun.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF TWO LITTLE SEEDS\n\nGEORGE MACDONALD\n\n\nLong, long ago, two seeds lay beside each other in the earth, waiting. It\nwas cold, and rather wearisome and, to beguile the time, the one found\nmeans to speak to the other.\n\n\u201cWhat are you going to be?\u201d said the one.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d answered the other.\n\n\u201cFor me,\u201d rejoined the first, \u201cI mean to be a rose. There is nothing like\na splendid rose. Everybody will love me then.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s all right,\u201d whispered the second; and that was all he could say;\nfor somehow when he had said that, he felt as if all the words in the\nworld were used up. So they were silent again for a day or two.\n\n\u201cOh, dear!\u201d cried the first, \u201cI have had some water. I never knew till it\nwas inside me. I\u2019m growing! I\u2019m growing! Good-bye!\u201d\n\n\u201cGood-bye!\u201d repeated the other, and lay still; and waited more than ever.\n\nThe first grew and grew, pushing itself straight up, till at last it\nfelt that it was in the open air, for it could breathe. And what a\ndelicious breath that was! It was rather cold, but so refreshing. The\nflower could see nothing, for it was not quite a flower yet, only a\nplant; and they never see till their eyes come, that is, till they open\ntheir blossoms,\u2014then they are flowers quite. So it grew and grew, and\nkept its head up very steadily, meaning to see the sky the first thing,\nand leave the earth quite behind as well as beneath it. But somehow or\nother, though why it could not tell, it felt very much inclined to cry.\nAt length it opened its eye. It was morning, and the sky _was_ over its\nhead but, alas! itself was no rose,\u2014only a tiny white flower. It felt\nmore inclined to hang down its head and to cry but it still resisted, and\ntried hard to open its eye wide, and to hold its head upright, and to\nlook full at the sky.\n\n\u201cI will be a star of Bethlehem, at least!\u201d said the flower to itself.\n\nBut its head felt very heavy and a cold wind rushed over it, and bowed it\ndown towards the earth. And the flower saw that the time of the singing\nof birds was not come, that the snow covered the whole land, and that\nthere was not a single flower in sight but itself. And it half-closed\nits leaves. But that instant it remembered what the other flower used\nto say; and it said to itself, \u201cIt\u2019s all right; I will be what I can.\u201d\nAnd thereon it yielded to the wind, dropped its head to the earth, and\nlooked no more on the sky, but on the snow. And straightway the wind\nstopped, and the cold died away, and the snow sparkled like pearls, and\ndiamonds; and the flower knew that it was the holding of its head up that\nhad hurt it so; for that its body came of the snow, and that its name\nwas Snow-drop. And so it said once more, \u201cIt\u2019s all right!\u201d and waited\nin perfect peace. All the rest it needed was to hang its head after its\nnature.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE FLOWERS CAME[5]\n\nJAY T. STOCKING\n\n\nEver so many centuries ago the world was bare and grey as the street. The\nEarth King grew very tired of it, and covered the earth with a beautiful\ncarpet of green. We call it grass. For years and years there was nothing\nbut green, until the Earth King grew as tired of the green as he had\ngrown of the grey. He decided that he must have more colours. So one\nday he took his royal retinue and journeyed to a hillside where he knew\nthere grew the very finest grasses in all the kingdom. At a blast of\nthe King\u2019s bugler the grasses assembled, and the King addressed them in\nsimple words: \u201cMy faithful grasses. It is many years since I placed you\nhere. You have been faithful. You have kept true green. It now pleases\nme to announce to you that I am about to reward a certain number of you\nand make you to be lords and ladies of the field. To-morrow I shall come\nhither at this same hour. You are to assemble before me, and the fairest\nof your number and the most pleasing I will honour with great and lasting\nhonour. Farewell.\u201d\n\nThen what a whispering and putting of heads together there was among the\ngrasses, as the breeze crept up the hillside. They arose next morning\nbefore the sun, that they might wash their ribbons in the gleaming pearls\nof dew. What prinking and preening! What rustling of ruffles and sashes!\nWhat burnishing of armour and spears! At length the King\u2019s bugle rang out\nthat called them to the grand assembly. Full of excitement, they stood\nbefore the King, each hoping that he might be chosen for one of the great\nhonours.\n\nThe King greeted them as on the previous day, and told them again of the\nhigh honour that he was about to bestow. \u201cBut,\u201d said he, \u201cin this Court\nof Judgment I must have willing servants to assist me. First, I must have\na keeper of the gate so that no outsider may enter. Which one of this\nhost will be keeper of the gate?\u201d\n\nNot a man-grass stirred in his tracks, for each feared that if he became\na servant of the King, he would lose his chance to be made a lord.\n\n\u201cWhich one?\u201d asked the King again; \u201cwhich one will volunteer to keep the\ngate for me?\u201d\n\nAt this moment a sturdy grass was seen coming down the hillside. He was\nnot handsome, but he was strong, his shoulders were broad, and his chest\nwas deep, and he was armed to the teeth. Spear points stuck from every\npocket, arrows filled his belt, and in each hand he carried a lance sharp\nas lightning. \u201cLet these wait for their honours,\u201d thought he, as he said,\n\u201c_I_ will serve the King.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo be it,\u201d said the King; \u201ctake your station at the gate. And now,\u201d\ncontinued the King, \u201cI must have a herald to announce my awards and my\ncommands. Who will be my herald?\u201d\n\nAgain there was silence among the man-grasses, till at last one of them\nwas seen to advance. He was short and round and smiling, as happy a\ngrass as grew on the hill. He came before the King as fast as his short\nlegs could carry him. \u201cSo it please the King, I\u2019ll be his royal herald.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo be it,\u201d replied the King. \u201cStand here at my feet.\u201d\n\n\u201cTwo torch-bearers I need,\u201d said the King; \u201ctwo torch-bearers, tall\nand comely, to hold the lights on high. Who will serve the King as\ntorch-bearers?\u201d\n\nAnd now there was silence and stiffness among the lady-grasses, as each,\nfearing to lose her chance to be made a lady, waited for the others. At\nlength two slender maidens advanced with glowing faces and hesitant step.\nThey were not as beautiful, it must be said, as some of their sisters.\nTheir ribbons were few and some of them frayed. They scarcely knew\nwhether the King would accept them, but they meekly offered themselves.\n\u201cWe, O King, will be your torch-bearers.\u201d\n\nThe King looked pleased enough as he replied, \u201cSo be it, indeed. Stand\nhere on either hand.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd now,\u201d continued the King, \u201cI must have an incense bearer, to swing\nmy censer over the meadows. Who will be my incense bearer?\u201d\n\nFor a moment there was silence again among the lady-grasses, but only a\nmoment, for out stepped one of the daintiest of them all. She tripped\nquickly and quietly down the hill to the King, saying modestly as she\napproached, \u201cI will be your incense bearer.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet it be so,\u201d said the King. \u201cAwait my commands.\u201d\n\n\u201cYet one more willing servant,\u201d said the King; \u201cone more. Who will ring\nthe chimes? Man or maid, who among all these loyal subjects will ring the\nchimes?\u201d\n\nScarcely had the King\u2019s words left his lips, when one of the noblest\ngrasses of all, her broad green ribbons rustling as she moved, left the\ncrowded ranks of the ladies and eagerly advanced before the King. \u201cIf it\nplease Your Majesty, I will ring the chimes.\u201d\n\nThen the King looked around satisfied upon his eager and expectant\naudience, and spoke a few brief words to them. He had come, he said,\nfearing that the task was almost too great even for a king\u2014to choose\namong so many and so beautiful subjects. But they had chosen for\nthemselves, and he had now only to award the honours.\n\n\u201cKeeper of the gate,\u201d he commanded, \u201cstand before the King!\u201d\n\nThe keeper of the gate came awkwardly forward, pricking all who brushed\nagainst him as he passed.\n\n\u201cBecause you have been willing to serve the King,\u201d said the monarch, \u201cI\nreward you with distinguished honour.\u201d Then, taking from the hand of a\npage a great velvet cap of purplish red, he placed it upon the head of\nthe Gate-Keeper, saying as he did so, \u201cI dub you: My Lord, the Thistle.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet the King\u2019s herald stand forth!\u201d\n\nThe little round happy herald obeyed and knelt before the King. The King\ntook a great golden coronet from the hand of a page and placed it upon\nhis head, saying as he did so, \u201cBecause of your readiness to serve your\nKing, I create you a noble of the field, and dub you: My Lord, the\nDandelion. And I give you this trumpet on which to blow.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet the torch-bearers stand forth!\u201d\n\nThen the two shy maidens from either side of the King bowed before him.\nOn the head of each the King placed a shining crown, one all gold, and\none gold rimmed with white, that they might not be confused, and he said\nto them, \u201cBecause of your generous deed I dub you: Lady Buttercup and\nLady Daisy.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy incense bearer!\u201d\n\nThe dainty maiden courtesied at his feet and, blushing, bowed her head.\n\nThe King beckoned to a page, who brought him a tiny hood of most becoming\nblue. This the King placed upon her head, saying the while: \u201cThe King is\ngrateful for your service. I dub you: Lady Violet.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe ringer of the royal chimes, let her appear.\u201d\n\nThe beautiful grass with the broad, shining ribbons stood proudly before\nhim, and bowed her head in salute. The King took a silver bell and gave\nit to her, saying as he did so, \u201cThis shall be the sign of your royal\noffice. I dub you: Lady Lily-of-the-Field.\u201d\n\nThe King then charged his new-made lords and ladies that they should be\nfaithful to their offices and never cease, year by year, to beautify the\nearth. Then the assembly was dissolved, but not until the whole host of\ngrasses on the hillside had applauded what the King had done. They were\ndisappointed and grieved, it is true, but they were not too jealous to\nknow that the bravest and truest and most beautiful had been crowned with\nhonour due.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LEGEND OF TRAILING ARBUTUS\n\n\nThe bleak wind swept across the great lakes and piled snow-drifts all\naround a wigwam which stood at the edge of a pine forest. An Indian\npulled aside a curtain of wolf-skin and stood listening in the doorway\nof his rude house. His dark eyes were fixed on the richly-tinted western\nsky. Long hair white as the frost fell about his bent shoulders and\nframed a thin dark face deeply lined with wrinkles.\n\n\u201cI thought I heard footsteps,\u201d he muttered in a weak voice. He drew a\ndeerskin mantle close about his shoulders, turned from the doorway and\nsat down on a mat of beaver fur which lay before a few dying embers. A\nshiver ran through his gaunt figure. He stirred the smouldering ashes and\nthrew some dried sticks into the small flame.\n\n\u201cHow weak and weary I am to-night,\u201d he thought. \u201cWhat has become of the\nhunter\u2019s game? I could find none in the forest to-day.\u201d His head drooped\nforward and he fell asleep.\n\nAt sunrise he was aroused by a flood of light in the wigwam. He looked\nup and saw standing in the doorway a beautiful maiden, clad in a robe\nof sweet-grass and ferns. Her moccasins were made of velvet mosses, and\nthe fairest blossoms were entwined in her long dark hair. She carried an\narmful of budding twigs.\n\n\u201cWho art thou?\u201d cried the old man.\n\n\u201cI am the Spring Manito,\u201d she answered, merrily.\n\n\u201cThen thou wilt perish here,\u201d said the old man, \u201cfor alas! I have no\ncheer to offer thee!\u201d\n\n\u201cArt thou the great Winter Manito?\u201d asked the maiden.\n\n\u201cI am the great Winter Manito! Thou hast no doubt heard of my power. At\nmy command the North Wind rushes madly through the forest and the giant\ntrees bow before him as he twists and tears their branches.\u201d\n\n\u201cCruel Manito,\u201d sighed the maiden, but the old man did not hear her.\n\n\u201cI cover the pine-trees with sleet and drive the birds southward. With my\nsceptre of ice I silence the brooks and rivers. My breath turns the dew\ninto frost. I shake my locks and a face-cloth of snow covers the withered\nleaves and blossoms. Mighty is the Winter Manito!\u201d\n\n\u201cMighty is the Winter Manito,\u201d repeated the Maiden, sadly. \u201cBut my power\nis greater than his!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat meanest thou?\u201d asked the old man quickly.\n\n\u201cAt my call the soft breezes from the South caress the trees and heal the\nwounds the Winter Manito has made. My warm breath turns the frost into\ndew; my golden wand melts the frozen streams and their waters flow again\ntoward the sea. I shake my tresses and the gentle rain falls; then the\nvelvet buds burst forth and the birds hasten back to build their nests\nand to sing in the leafy branches. Where I walk in the fields and meadows\nthe grass and blossoms spring forth to greet me. The children of the red\nmen rejoice in the beauty which I bring to gladden the earth. The Winter\nManito is mighty but his is the power of cruelty; the Spring Manito is\nstrong, and hers is the strength of kindness. The Winter Manito\u2019s sceptre\nis the biting frost; his rule brings pain and death; the Spring Manito\nbears the golden wand of sunshine and her hand-maidens bring joy and\nlife.\u201d\n\nAs she spoke the maiden noticed that the old man grew weaker and weaker\nuntil he finally sank down on the floor of his lodge. A flood of sunshine\nfilled the wigwam. The Winter Manito grew smaller and smaller until he\ndisappeared. Then the old man\u2019s tent faded away and left the maiden\nstanding under a tree. The sunshine had melted the snowdrifts, and a warm\nbreeze was blowing.\n\nThe maiden stooped down and brushed away the dried leaves which had lain\nall winter under the snow. Then she enamelled the brown earth about her\nfeet with star-like blossoms, pink and white, and shining green leaves.\n\n\u201cMy precious Arbutus,\u201d she whispered, bending low, \u201cthou art born to\nbring joy to the children of the red men and thou shalt trail after me\nthrough the pine-forest and over the distant hilltops.\u201d\n\nShe moved quickly through the woods and across the meadows. \u201cSpring has\ncome,\u201d whispered the trees and flowers. \u201cSpring has come,\u201d sang the\nbirds. Wherever she stepped the lovely Arbutus trailed after her on its\ndelicate rosy vine and scented the air with sweetest fragrance.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FAIRY FLOWER[6]\n\nHENRY WARD BEECHER\n\n\nOnce there was a little girl whose name was Clara. She had a very kind\nheart; but she was an only child and had been petted so much that she was\nbecoming very selfish. Too late the mother lamented that she had indulged\nher child, and strove to repair the mischief by trying to make Clara\nthink of other people\u2019s happiness, not solely of her own.\n\nOn some days, no one could be more charming than Clara. She was gentle\nand obliging. She sang all day long, and made every one who came near\nher happy. Then everybody admired her, and her mother and aunt were sure\nthat she was cured of her pettish disposition. But the very next day all\nher charming ways were changed. She wore a moody face. She was no longer\ncourteous, and every one who came near her felt the chill of her manner.\n\nOne summer\u2019s night, Clara went to her room. The moon was at its full,\nand was shining through the window so brightly that she needed no other\nlight. Clara sat at the window feeling very unhappy. She was thinking\nover her conduct through the day, and was trying to imagine how it could\nbe that on some days she was happy and on others so wretched.\n\nAs she mused, she laid her head back on the easy chair. No sooner had she\nshut her eyes than a strange thing happened. A feeble old man, carrying a\nbasket, came into the room. In his basket, which he seemed hardly able to\nbear, were a handful of flowers and two great stones.\n\n\u201cMy daughter,\u201d said the old man, \u201cwill you help me for I am too old to\ncarry this load; please lighten it.\u201d Clara looked at him, pouting, and\nexclaimed, \u201cGo away!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I am weak and suffering,\u201d he said; \u201cwill you not lighten my load?\u201d\nAt last Clara took the flowers out of his basket. They were very\nbeautiful and she laid them in her lap.\n\n\u201cMy daughter,\u201d said the old man, \u201cyou have not lightened my basket; you\nhave taken only the pleasant things out of it, and have left the heavy\nstones. Please lift one of them out of the basket.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo away!\u201d exclaimed Clara angrily. \u201cI will not touch those dirty stones!\u201d\n\nNo sooner had she said this than the old man began to change before\nher and to become so bright and white that he looked like a column of\ncrystal. He took one of the stones and cast it out of the window, and\nit flew and flew, and fell on the eastern side of a grove where the sun\nshone first every morning.\n\nThen the crystal old man took the flowers out of Clara\u2019s lap. They were\nwet with dew, and he shook them over her head and exclaimed, \u201cChange into\na flower! Go and stand by the stone till your shadow shall be marked upon\nit.\u201d\n\nIn a second, Clara was growing by the side of the wide, flat stone, and\nthe moon cast upon it her shadow,\u2014the shadow of a beautiful flower with\na long and slender stem. All night she was very wretched. In the morning,\nshe could not help looking at herself in a brook which came close up to\nthe stone; then she recognised the beautiful flower and knew that her\nname was now Columbine.\n\nAll day her shadow fell upon the stone, but when the sun went away, the\nshadow, too, went away. At night her faint shadow lay upon the stone but\nwhen the moon went away, her shadow, also, went away. And the stone lay\nstill all day and all night, and did not care for the flower nor feel its\nshadow.\n\nClara longed to be a little girl again. She asked the stone to tell her\nhow, but the hard stone would not answer. She asked the brook, but the\nbrook whispered, \u201cAsk the Bobolink!\u201d She asked the Bobolink, but he\nmerely alighted upon the flower and teetered up and down. She could not\nlearn from the Bobolink how to make her shadow stay upon the stone.\n\nThen she asked a spider and he spun a web from her bright blossoms,\nfastened it to the stone, bent her over, and tied her up, till she\nfeared she could never get loose. But all his nice films did her no good;\nher shadow would not stay upon the stone.\n\nShe asked the wind to help her. The wind swept away the spider\u2019s web, and\nblew so hard that the flower lay its whole length upon the stone; but\nwhen the wind left her and she rose up, there was no shadow marked upon\nthe stone.\n\n\u201cWhat is beauty worth,\u201d thought Clara, \u201cif it grows by the side of a\nstone that does not feel it, nor care for it?\u201d\n\nShe asked the dew to help her. And the dew said, \u201cHow can I help you! I\nlive contentedly in darkness, I put on my beauty only to please others. I\nlet the sun come through my drops, though I know it will consume me.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish I were dew,\u201d said Clara, \u201cfor then, I, too, could do some good.\nNow my beauty does no good, and I am wasting it every day upon a stone.\u201d\nWhen Clara breathed this kind wish, there were glad flutters and whispers\nall around.\n\nThe next day a beautiful child came that way. She was gathering ferns,\nand mosses, and flowers. Whenever she saw a tuft of moss, she would ask,\n\u201cPlease, dear moss, may I take you?\u201d And when she saw a beautiful branch\nwith scarlet leaves, she would ask, \u201cDear bush, may I take these leaves?\u201d\n\nWhen she saw the beautiful columbine growing by the side of a stone, she\nasked, \u201cOh, sweet Columbine, may I pluck you?\u201d And the fairy flower said,\ngently, \u201cI must not go till my shadow is fastened upon the stone.\u201d\n\nThen the girl took from her case a pencil and in a moment traced the\nshadow of the columbine upon the stone. When she had done this, she\nreached out her hand, took the stem low down, and broke it off.\n\nAt that moment Clara sprang up from her chair by the window, and there\nstood her mother saying, \u201cMy dear daughter, you should not fall asleep\nby an open window, not even in summer. How damp you are! Come, hasten to\nbed.\u201d\n\nIt was many days before Clara could persuade herself that she had only\ndreamed. It was months before she told the dream to her mother. And when\nshe told it, her mother said:\n\n\u201cAh, Clara, would that all little girls might dream, if only it made them\nas good as your dream has made you.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE SNOWDROP\n\nHANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN\n\n\nA deep snow covered the ground for it was winter time. The air was cold\nand the sharp wind blew, but in one tiny house all was snug and warm.\nThere under earth and snow in its bulb lay a little flower.\n\nOne day when the rain fell, little drops trickled through the snow\ncoverlet down into the earth and told the flower bulb about the light\nabove. And presently a sunbeam, pointed and slender, pierced its way\nthrough the ground and tapped on the little bulb.\n\n\u201cCome in,\u201d said the flower.\n\n\u201cI cannot,\u201d said the sunbeam. \u201cI am not strong enough to lift the latch.\nI shall be stronger when spring comes.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen will it be spring?\u201d asked the flower.\n\nSoon many other little sunbeams tapped on the door of the brown house and\nthe flower asked each of them,\n\n\u201cWhen will it be spring?\u201d\n\nBut the ground was covered with snow and every night there was ice on the\nwater. Spring seemed so far away that the little flower sighed and said\nimpatiently:\n\n\u201cHow long it is! How long it is! I feel quite cribbed and cramped. I\n_must_ stretch out a little. I _must_ rise up; lift the latch and look\nout. Then I shall say merrily to the spring, \u2018Good morning!\u2019\u201d\n\nNow the walls of the flower\u2019s house had been softened by the rain, warmed\nby the earth and snow and tapped upon by the sunbeams. So when the flower\nwithin pushed and pushed against the walls they gently gave way. Then up\nfrom under the earth shot the flower with a pale green bud on its tender\nstalk and long slender leaves that curled around it for a screen. The\nglittering snow was very cold but easier to push through than the solid\nbrown earth.\n\n\u201cWelcome, welcome!\u201d sang the evening sunbeam. \u201cWelcome, sweet little\nblossom.\u201d\n\nThe flower lifted its head above the snow into the world of light; the\nsunbeams cheered it with kisses until it unfolded itself white as the\nsnow and decked with green stripes.\n\n\u201cThou art a little too early,\u201d said the wind and the weather. \u201cWe still\nhold sway. It is entirely too cold for thee.\u201d\n\n\u201cBeautiful flower,\u201d sang the sunbeams, \u201chow lovely thou art in thy\nwhite purity. Thou art the herald of Spring,\u2014our first flower. Thy fair\nwhite bell shall ring the glad tidings of Spring over towns and fields.\nThe snow shall melt, the bitter wind shall be driven away. Now earth\nshall send forth all her lovely blossoms and thou shalt have beautiful\nfellowship. Welcome!\u201d\n\nThe words of the sunbeams gave deep delight to the flower. It bowed its\nhead in gladness and humility. The weather was cold enough to freeze it\nto pieces\u2014such a delicate little flower\u2014but it was stronger than any one\nknew. It was strong in its glad faith in the spring and the message of\nthe sunbeams. And so with patient hope it stood in its white dress in the\nwhite snow, bowing its head when the snow flakes fell and courageously\nlifting it again when the sunbeams scattered the clouds.\n\n\u201cA snowdrop,\u201d shouted the children who came running into the garden.\n\u201cThere it stands so pretty, so beautiful\u2014the first, the only one. It is\nspring\u2019s messenger.\n\n\u201cSpring\u2019s messenger,\u201d echoed from the keen morning air.\n\n\n\n\nWHAT THE DANDELION TOLD\n\nCLARA MAETZEL\n\n\nMother Earth and the little flower fairies had been very busy indeed\ngetting ready for their great Spring opening. For weeks and weeks they\nhad been preparing all the little flower children so that they would be\nready to respond to the call of the robin and to the caresses of the sun\nand the soft west wind.\n\nFirst of all, Snowdrop had been made ready because she was one of the\nvery first to venture out into the world. And she and her many little\nsisters, very prim and neat in their white starched frocks, sat quite\nnear the door. Sometimes Snowdrop would not wait for the robin and\nthe sun to call her, but she would slip out quietly at the first warm\nshower. Nearby sat a whole row of happy Crocuses, gay and pretty in their\nbell-shaped dresses of white and purple and gold. Violets, nestling in\ntheir soft green coats, were there, and \u201cDaffy-down-dilly dressed in a\ngreen petticoat and a new gown\u201d was quite ready to \u201ccome to town.\u201d Then\nthere was dainty Spring Beauty and the proud and flaming Tulip and all\nthe other dear, early flowers that make the world so beautiful after ice\nand snow are gone.\n\nYes,\u2014every one was very busy and very happy,\u2014every one,\u2014except one poor,\nforlorn, little flower that sat, or rather lay, all alone in one corner.\nHe did not look spick and span like the others, but his green coat hung\nabout him quite wilted and soiled and his golden head drooped. He seemed\nvery unhappy indeed.\n\n\u201cCome, come, Dandelion,\u2014do tell us what has happened; you look quite\ncrushed,\u201d exclaimed one of the fairies, stopping long enough in her task\nof mixing colours to notice the dejected little flower.\n\n\u201cYes, Dandelion, do tell us,\u201d cried Crocus who was all ready to push his\nlittle flower face out into the open air and who was waiting for the\nfirst opportunity to do so.\n\n\u201cDandelion will tell us what has happened,\u201d softly whispered Violet as\nshe came closer to what was left of poor Dandelion.\n\n\u201cWell,\u2014since all of you seem so interested I will tell you what happened.\nIt certainly took all the conceit out of me,\u2014I still feel weak and pale.\nYou know that we Dandelions are bold and venturesome folks and some of us\nmake our appearance in warm and sunny places long before any of the rest\nof you have the courage to come out. Indeed it has long been a matter of\npride with us to have some person find us even before Snowdrop makes her\nappearance.\u201d\n\nSnowdrop looked hurt at this, but said nothing and Dandelion continued:\n\n\u201cAnd so it happened that several of us slipped out and sprouted quietly\nand happily in Farmer Brown\u2019s front yard. It was such a nice place,\u2014the\nsun shone brightly and coaxed us to put our best blossoms\u2014they were so\nlarge and yellow that I am sure they must have looked almost as fine as\nChrysanthemum.\u201d\n\nSeveral of the flowers cast startled looks into the dark corner where the\nChrysanthemum brothers and sisters were sleeping. But their slumbers\nwere so sound, since they would not wake until autumn, that they did not\nhear Dandelion\u2019s boastful remark.\n\n\u201cWe made a beautiful spot of yellow on the lawn,\u201d continued Dandelion.\n\u201cWell, yesterday Farmer and Mrs. Brown were out in the garden and they\nsaw us.\n\n\u201c\u2018Oh, see the dandelions! How early they are this year. I shall have to\ncall the children.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cWith that Mrs. Brown went into the house to call her little boy and girl\nwho came out and greeted us joyfully.\n\n\u201c\u2018Let me see, Jack, if you like butter,\u2019 said Ruth, as she held one of\nmy blossoms under her brother\u2019s chin. It surely looked quite yellow by\nreflection and of course this was a sure sign that he liked butter.\n\n\u201c\u2018Come, Ruth, let\u2019s see if we can get enough stems to make a chain for\nyou,\u2019 cried Jack, and they found enough of my hollow stems to make a\nchain to go around Ruth\u2019s little white throat.\n\n\u201cBy this time I felt we were doing much to make the children happy and I\nlifted my head proudly and whispered to my companions that surely we were\nuseful as well as beautiful. Just then Mrs. Brown called the children\ninto the house and we were left alone in the garden.\n\n\u201cBut not for long\u2014Alas! Farmer Brown who had gone away while the children\nwere with us now returned with a strange, sharp and shining tool in his\nhand. He came straight to where we were growing so happily and said:\n\n\u201c\u2018Now we\u2019ll see whether this new weeding knife won\u2019t kill these pesky\ndandelions. Every year they spread more and more so that by and by\nthere\u2019ll not be any grass. Perhaps by starting in early to weed them out\nwe can get rid of the pests!\u2019 With that he dug the instrument deep into\nthe ground and pulled up all my lovely little brothers and sisters. I\nalone remained, but even I was badly bruised as you can see, and I have\ncome back to tell you how cruelly I have been treated. Wasn\u2019t it an\nunkind thing? I had always thought that people loved us,\u2014for we make the\nfields and meadows glow with the sun\u2019s own colour.\u201d And poor Dandelion\ndrooped his golden head and was as sad as it is possible for a golden\nheaded flower to be.\n\nAll the other flower children had looked very solemn and sympathetic\nduring Dandelion\u2019s story and when he had finished, they crowded about him.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s just a shame,\u201d murmured Crocus; \u201cI hope no one will treat me so\nrudely.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes indeed,\u201d whispered Snowdrop, \u201cit would certainly be a painful\nmisfortune to have one\u2019s roots cut to pieces by a patent weeder,\u201d and she\nshuddered so violently that her stiff little petticoats fairly shook.\n\nBut Mother Earth and the fairies only smiled and said nothing, for they\nknew quite well that it would take many, many farmers and more weeders\nthan they could ever hope to buy to get rid of Dandelion and his numerous\nbrothers and sisters.\n\nAnd the little fairy who was Dandelion\u2019s particular friend laid her tiny\nhand on his tousled golden head as she whispered, \u201cNever mind, Dandelion\ndear, you are the children\u2019s friend and companion and good old Mother\nEarth will never let you perish. She sends forth more of your kind than\nany other; she has made you so sturdy and strong that you can thrive\nalmost anywhere\u2014and I truly think that she loves you best.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n We may shut our eyes\n But we can\u2019t help knowing\n That skies are blue,\n And the grass is growing.\n\n _James Russell Lowell._\n\n\n\n\nA GREAT FAMILY\n\nAGNES MACLELLAN DAULTON\n\n\nIt was a lovely day in May, and the Dandelion family that lived near\nthe big gate were lifting their pretty golden heads to greet the sun.\nHere and there a grandfather or grandmother Dandelion stood crowned with\nsilver, and, let us whisper it softly, one or two were quite bald, for a\nplayful little breeze had sent their hair a-sailing, and he chuckled at\nhis joke, the naughty breeze.\n\nNow one grandmother stood upon a little knoll, and so was much taller\nthan the rest. Indeed, she was the chief grandmother of the family, and\nmuch respected for her wisdom. And she was very handsome and stately,\nholding her graceful silver head high above the others.\n\n\u201cA story, a story,\u201d coaxed her grandchildren, turning their eager faces\ntoward her. Some of them were tiny buds, but they all begged for a story.\n\n\u201cNo, children, no,\u201d she replied, in a sweet, grandmotherly tone. \u201cReally,\nmy dears, you have had far more stories than are good for you, and I must\nnot let you grow up uneducated. I think we will have a short lesson in\nfamily history.\u201d\n\nThe little Dandelions sighed.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d she went on, \u201chow many of you know why we are called Dandelions?\u201d\n\nAnd\u2014will you believe it?\u2014not one stupid little Dandelion could answer!\n\n\u201cThat is just what I expected,\u201d said grandmother, sternly, eyeing them\nover her glasses. \u201cMy, my! this is very sad!\u201d\n\nThen one little Dandelion, prompted by his mother, said he supposed it\nhad something to do with dandies, while another bright little thing\nlisped out that she guessed it was because they were as fierce as lions.\n\n\u201cNo, no!\u201d and grandmother shook her head so briskly a silver hair went\nflying.\n\n\u201cLook at your leaves,\u201d she said kindly, \u201cand observe the edges. Learn to\nnotice, florets; learn to notice.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe edges are pointed like sharp teeth, please, grandmother,\u201d half\nwhispered one bashful little fellow.\n\n\u201cExactly,\u201d said grandmother, proceeding learnedly; \u201cour name is from the\nLatin, _dens leonis_, meaning lion\u2019s tooth, but our botanical name is\nTaraxacum.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, my!\u201d sighed the little buds, for they didn\u2019t understand a word of it.\n\n\u201cOur roots have healing properties, and they are employed in making\nmedicine, while our leaves are used in the spring for food; so we are\nuseful as well as ornamental.\u201d And the grandmother beamed with pride.\n\n\u201cBut, children, you must also know that we belong to the great and noble\nfamily of _Composit\u00e6_.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, dear!\u201d gasped the little Dandelions.\n\n\u201cNow you know composite means made up of many parts; that is, each\nblossom is made up of many little florets. Study each other\u2019s heads and\nyou will understand my meaning. Now in this great family of _Composit\u00e6_\nthere are many, many flowers besides the Dandelions. In fact, my\nchildren, we have over nine thousand relatives. Sunflowers, marigolds,\nasters, goldenrod, boneset, tansy, lettuce, and the daisy\u2014all these\nbelong to our family. Not only are we many, but we have the famous and\nthe great among us\u2014the thistle, royal flower of Scotland; the cornflower\nof Germany; the chrysanthemum, the emblem of brave little Japan\u2014all these\nare composite flowers, our royal relatives.\u201d\n\nThe Dandelion family wildly applauded, and grandmother graciously bowed\nher acknowledgment.\n\n\u201cBut, my children,\u201d she went on, \u201cI would not have you forget we have\nalso black sheep in the family\u2014Spanish needles, ragweed, bitterweed, and\nbeggar ticks; these, too, we must own, even though we bow our heads in\nshame. But so it is in all great families.\u201d\n\nJust at this moment the gardener came whirring along with the lawn mower,\nand alas and alack, not a single Dandelion was left to tell the tale!\n\nBut the little winged seeds from grandmother\u2019s silver crown sailed away,\ncarrying wisdom, I doubt not, to many another Dandelion family.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BIRTH OF THE VIOLET\n\nA LEGEND\n\n\nThe raindrops were kept busy one morning in the garden of the fairies.\nThere were many flowers to be washed clean of the dust that had dulled\ntheir beautiful colours, and the green of the trees must be made bright\nonce more; and to leave without a gambol with the little waves of the\nbrook was not to be thought of. So the raindrops fell early in the\nmorning, but in the afternoon the sky became clear and there was promise\nin the beautiful rainbow that the raindrops\u2019 work was done, for that day\nat least.\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t our garden beautiful after a shower?\u201d said one fairy to another\nsitting beside her.\n\n\u201cYes, the dust covers the colours of the flowers almost as soon as we\nhave painted them. But see the gold of those daffodils! I like the reds\nand blues of the other flowers, too. They seem brighter than ever to-day.\nSometimes I sit all day and look at them.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! we have a rainbow this afternoon. It always looks to me like a great\ngarden of flowers stretched in bands across the sky. I like to think that\nits yellow and red and blue are made up of flowers like these in our\ngarden here.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you see that colour next to the green? I love it; it is so dark and\ndeep. Many times I have wished we might have a flower on earth just like\nit.\u201d\n\n\u201cSurely you, Fairy Artist, would have no trouble to make a colour like\nthat; at least, it would do no harm for you to try.\u201d\n\nThe fairy artist sat with her eyes turned toward the rainbow until it had\nfaded from sight, and long after the sun had sunk to rest, she sat alone\nunder the trees, thinking.\n\nOne morning she called all the fairies to her. \u201cDear fairies,\u201d she said,\n\u201cI am going to try to make a colour like that dark one in the rainbow.\nIt may take me a long, long while, but one cannot give the children a\ngreater joy than to add a new colour to the flowers on earth.\u201d\n\nNo one knew better than she that a great task lay before her. Many days\nand weeks she tried. Sometimes the mixture was lighter than the colour in\nthe rainbow, and sometimes it seemed too dark\u2014never quite what she wished\nit to be.\n\nOnce, as she stood before the large bowl, mixing and stirring\npatiently\u2014she stopped, and the fairies in the garden heard a shout of\njoy: \u201cI have it! the beautiful colour! the beautiful colour!\u201d\n\nThey hurried to the place where she always stood with her bowl and brush.\n\n\u201cSee, it is the colour, indeed,\u201d they said; but, as they looked into the\nbowl, the beautiful colour began to fade, and soon it was not at all like\nthe colour she had longed for.\n\n\u201cAh, I see,\u201d said the artist fairy, sadly, \u201cit is of no use to mix\ntogether these paints that I have been using. We must gather my material\nfrom all the colours of earth. My dear fairies, you must all help.\u201d Many\nwere sent far and wide to bring from the earth clays of every colour they\ncould find. The artist fairy worked on faithfully and patiently.\n\nOne day when she had worked harder and longer than usual, she heard one\nsay, \u201cSurely, Artist Fairy, you do not mean to work all the evening? See,\nthe sun is ready to sink.\u201d\n\n\u201cJust a little longer; I feel sure that the colour will come before\nsunset. Look, does it not begin even now to change?\u201d\n\nThe fairies looked into the bowl and all exclaimed at once, \u201cThe colour\nat last! It is indeed the deep colour of the rainbow!\u201d\n\n\u201cLet us carry the bowl to the top of the bank and at moonlight we will\nrejoice over the new joy that has come to us.\u201d\n\nIt was a small bank that overlooked a little brook. Flowers had never\ngrown there and sometimes the fairies felt sad when they looked upon that\nbare spot in their garden. Perhaps the great tree that spread out its\nbranches took more than its share of the sunshine, but the fairies loved\nthis bank. Moonbeams always seemed to lie so still there. \u201cIt\u2019s just the\nplace for our moonlight revel!\u201d said one.\n\nAll the creatures of the fairies\u2019 garden came to the rejoicing. The night\nwas glorious. The moon sent down her silvery beams earlier than usual,\nalthough the fireflies insisted that there was no need of her shining\nso brightly, and that she might throw all her beams to the waves in\nthe brook, for they looked so beautiful with a silver covering. Not a\ngrasshopper went to bed, and the frog made the music for the dance, at\nwhich the cricket felt sad, for she knew her voice could not be heard\nabove his. The flowers sang their sweetest songs about the new colour\nthat was to come among them. It was not late when the fairies joined\nhands and danced around the bowl. Perhaps this moonlight revel would have\nlasted many hours longer, but as the fairies were finishing the dance,\none of them touched the precious bowl and alas! the next moment they saw\nthe beautiful colour flow in tiny dark streams down the hillside. For a\nlittle while it glistened beneath the rays of the moon, and then it sank\ninto the dark earth. The fairies stood and watched it, helpless.\n\n\u201cIt is all lost. It is all gone in a moment,\u201d said the Artist Fairy, as\nshe turned for comfort to the rest.\n\n\u201cNo, no, my dear Fairy. What you have once done you can do again.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not remember how it was made. No, I cannot get it again. It is gone\nforever.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo not say that, I beg of you. Have you not heard it said that \u2018nothing\nis lost\u2019?\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\nOnce more the raindrops visited the garden, and the fairies worked all\nday long and all night long before everything was done.\n\n\u201cIt is so refreshing when the garden has been washed clean again of its\ndust.\u201d\n\n\u201cSee,\u201d cried one. \u201cSee our bank this morning.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is covered with a carpet of purple! Come, let us look closer,\u201d called\nanother.\n\n\u201cIt is the colour! It is the colour!\u201d said the Artist Fairy, as she\nhastened toward the bank. \u201cNothing is lost,\u201d she added, softly as she\nlooked closer. For purple violets had been born that morning while the\nraindrops fell.\n\n God does not send us strange flowers every year.\n When the spring winds blow o\u2019er the pleasant places,\n The same dear things lift up the same fair faces.\n The violet is here!\n\n It all comes back; the odour, grace and hue;\n Each sweet relation of its life repeated.\n No blank is left, no looking-for is cheated:\n It is the thing we knew.\n\n\n\n\nA LYRIC OF JOY\n\nBLISS CARMAN\n\n\n Over the shoulders and slopes of the dune,\n I saw the white daisies go down to the sea;\n A host in the sunshine, a snowdrift in June,\n The people God sends us to set our hearts free.\n\n The bob-o-links rallied them up from the dell,\n The orioles whistled them out of the wood;\n And all of their singing was, \u201cEarth, it is well,\u201d\n And all of their dancing was, \u201cLife, thou art good.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nAMONG THE TREE-TOPS\n\n\n\n\nROBIN\u2019S CAROL[7]\n\n\n This is the carol the Robin throws\n Over the edge of the valley;\n Listen how boldly it flows,\n Sally on sally:\n\n Tirra-lirra,\n Early morn,\n New born!\n Day is near,\n Clear, clear.\n Down the river\n All a-quiver,\n Fish are breaking;\n Time for waking.\n Tup, tup, tup!\n Do you know?\n All clear\u2014\n Wake up!\n\n _Henry van Dyke._\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE BIRDS CAME\n\nAN INDIAN LEGEND\n\n\n\u201cMany years ago,\u201d says the old Indian Grandmother, \u201cthe Great Spirit\nvisited the earth. As he walked over valley and hill he said, \u2018It is all\nbeautiful and good. But the Great Spirit loves the trees best. See how\nthey make the hills and valleys radiant with their green. Earth would be\nfairer still,\u2019 said the Great Spirit, \u2018if there were trees everywhere.\nI would have great forests cover the mountain sides. I would see trees\nas far as my eye can reach across the land. I would have a tree spring\nup wherever my foot touches the earth!\u2019 And it was as the Great Spirit\nwished. As he wandered up and down the mountains and valleys and across\nthe plains, little trees sprang up in his footsteps, until the whole\nearth, like the hills and valleys, was radiant in green. \u2018The Great\nSpirit loves the little trees best,\u2019 he said, when he looked upon them.\n\u2018Little trees, I will watch over you and guard you. I will send gentle\nrains that you may have water to drink. I will send my warm sun to shine\nupon you. And you must grow and grow and grow.\u2019 All summer long the Great\nSpirit cared for them, and when the first summer had passed and the\nwinter came, the little trees had grown until they spread their branches\nfar and wide.\n\n\u201cBut one autumn day a great change came over the radiant green. All the\nleaves on the trees turned to beautiful colours\u2014red, yellow, brown, gold.\n\u2018They are beautiful, beautiful,\u2019 said the Great Spirit. \u2018My trees have\nnever been so beautiful before.\u2019\n\n\u201cAs he spoke a gentle wind stirred the branches and the Great Spirit saw\nthe leaves drop from the trees, flutter through the air and fall to the\nground.\n\n\u201c\u2018See,\u2019 he exclaimed, \u2018the leaves of my trees fall to the earth where\nthey will wither and die. This shall not be. Behold, my leaves, I am the\nGreat Spirit. I will give you breath and strength. You shall not die\u2014you\nshall live forever.\u2019\n\n\u201cHe breathed softly upon the coloured leaves. In a moment hundreds of\nleaves moved, then fluttered, then flew away\u2014a flock, of beautiful birds.\nThe red-brown oak leaves became robins; all the yellow and gold leaves\nbecame yellow birds. The red-maple leaves flew away beautiful red birds,\nwhile the withered brown leaves scattered around, sprang up sparrows and\nlarks.\u201d\n\nThe Indian Grandmother says that is how we got our first birds, and that\nis why the birds love the trees and always live among them.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE BIRDS LEARNED TO BUILD NESTS[8]\n\nJAMES BALDWIN\n\n\nThere is an old story which says that the magpie was the first bird to\nbuild a nest.\n\nOne day all the birds came to her and said, \u201cMrs. Magpie, won\u2019t you teach\nus how to make pretty nests like your own?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yes,\u201d said the magpie, kindly. \u201cI will show you just how it is\ndone.\u201d Then she told them to sit around her, and she would build a nest\nwhile they were looking on. She said, \u201cYou have only to notice what I do.\u201d\n\nShe brought some mud from the side of the brook and made it into a kind\nof round cake. The birds sat very still, and watched her until the cake\nwas finished. Then the thrush cried out, \u201cOh, I see how the nest is\nbuilt! You first make a cake of mud and then pat it down in the middle.\u201d\nAnd she flew away to try for herself; and no thrush has learned anything\nabout nest-building since.\n\nThe magpie next took some twigs, and laid them round the cake of mud.\n\u201cSay no more!\u201d cried the blackbird. \u201cI understand it all.\u201d Away he flew\nto the green thickets by the river; and that is how blackbirds build\ntheir nests to this very day.\n\nThen the magpie put a thin layer of mud on the twigs, and smoothed it a\nlittle with her beak. \u201cOh, that is all that I need to know,\u201d said the\nwise owl. \u201cWho\u2014who\u2014who would have thought it so simple a thing?\u201d He flew\nto the top of a great oak tree, where he sat for a long time, looking at\nthe moon and saying, \u201cWho\u2014who\u2014who!\u201d\n\nThen the magpie took some long, slender twigs, and twined them round the\noutside. \u201cThat is just the thing!\u201d cried the song sparrow, and off he\nwent. And song sparrows still make their nests by twining twigs.\n\nAfter this, the magpie took some feathers and fine moss, and lined the\nnest until it was a very comfortable place indeed.\n\n\u201cThat suits me!\u201d said the starling, and off he flew. And everybody knows\nthat starlings have built well-lined nests ever since.\n\nThe magpie kept on working and working. But every bird, when he had\nlearned a little about nest-building, flew away without waiting to the\nend of the lesson. At last no one was left but the turtledove. It had\npaid no attention to what the magpie was doing, and so had not learned\nanything at all.\n\nIt sat on a branch above the magpie\u2019s nest, and kept saying over and over\nagain, \u201cTake two, two, two, two!\u201d But it was looking far away toward the\nblue mountains in the west, and its thoughts were all with its dear mate\nwhom a cruel hawk had lately snatched away.\n\n\u201cTake two, two, two, two,\u201d mourned the dove. The magpie heard this just\nas she was twining a slender twig around the top of her nest. So, without\nlooking up, she said, \u201cOne will be enough.\u201d\n\nBut the dove kept on saying, \u201cTake two, two, two, two.\u201d This made the\nmagpie angry, and she said, \u201cDon\u2019t I tell you that one will be enough?\u201d\n\n\u201cTake two, two, two, two!\u201d still cried the turtledove. At last the magpie\nlooked up and saw that no bird was near her but the silly dove.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll never give another lesson in nest building!\u201d she cried. And she\nflew away and left the dove alone in the tree.\n\nIt was no use, after that, for any bird to ask the magpie how to make a\nnest; and, from that day to this, no bird has learned anything new about\nits trade.\n\nAll the blackbirds, the thrushes, the owls, and the doves, still build\njust as they did a thousand years ago. None of them seem to want better\nnests; and I doubt if any could learn how to make them now, even though\nthe magpie should try to teach them again.\n\n\n\n\nOUT OF THE NEST.[9]\n\nMAUD LINDSAY\n\n\nOnce upon a time a mother bird and father bird built a nest in a tree. It\nwas made of straw and leaves and all sorts of wonderful things, and even\nhad lace trimmings on it.\n\nSoon after the nest was finished, the mother bird put two eggs in it,\nand then she and the father bird thought of nothing but keeping those\neggs safe and warm. Mother bird sat on them day and night; and even when\nfather bird would say, \u201cYou really must fly about a little and let me\ntake care of the eggs,\u201d she did not like to leave them.\n\nAfter a while two little birds came out of the shells, which was just\nwhat she had been hoping for all the time. The baby birds were both so\nweak and small that they could do nothing at all for themselves but open\ntheir mouths very wide and call, \u201cPeep, peep! mother, dear, peep!\u201d\nMother bird and father bird were busy all day getting them something to\neat. By and by they began to grow, and then they had soft feather clothes\nto wear, which are the best clothes in the world for baby birds.\n\nMother bird said to them one day, \u201cYou are almost ready to learn to fly\u201d;\nand then they felt very large. That same day mother bird and father bird\nflew away together to get something for dinner; and while they were gone\nthe little birds heard a very queer noise which seemed to come from a\npond near the tree. This is the way it sounded: \u201cKerchunk! Kerchunk!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! what can it be?\u201d said the sister bird. \u201cI\u2019ll peep over the side of\nthe nest and see,\u201d said her brother. But when he put his head out he\ncould see nothing although he heard the sound very plainly: \u201cKerchunk!\nKerchunk!\u201d Then he leaned out a little farther and a little farther, till\nhis head was dizzy. \u201cPeep, peep! You\u2019ll fall!\u201d cried the sister bird;\nand, sure enough, she had scarcely said it before he tumbled out of the\nnest, down, down to the ground! He was not hurt, but, oh, how frightened\nhe was! \u201cPeep, peep! mother, dear, peep!\u201d he cried. \u201cPeep!\u201d cried the\nsister bird up in the nest, but the mother and father were too far away\nto hear their calls.\n\nThe brother bird hopped about on the ground and looked around him. He was\nnear the pond now, and the sound was very loud: \u201cKerchunk! Kerchunk!\u201d\n\u201cPeep, peep, peep!\u201d called the birdie, and in a moment up hopped a big\nfrog. This was an old school-teacher frog, and he had been teaching all\nthe little frogs to sing. \u201cKerchunk! Kerchunk!\u201d said he. \u201cHow can I teach\nmy frogs to sing when you are making such a noise?\u201d\n\n\u201cPeep, peep! I want my mamma,\u201d said the baby bird. Then the frog saw how\nyoung the birdie was, and he was very sorry for him. \u201cCome with me,\u201d he\nsaid, \u201cand I will teach you to sing.\u201d But the baby bird cried louder than\never at this, and a mother dove, who was singing her babies to sleep in a\nneighbouring tree, flew down to see what could be the matter.\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t begin to get my children to sleep in all this fuss,\u201d she said to\nthe frog, but when she saw the little bird she was just as sorry as the\nfrog had been. \u201cPoor, dear baby,\u201d she cried. \u201cI will fly right off and\nfind your mamma for you.\u201d So she told her children to be good and quiet,\nand then away she flew. Before long she met the father and mother, and\nthey all came back in a great hurry. Then they tried to get the baby bird\ninto the nest again.\n\n\u201cHe is entirely too young to be out of the nest,\u201d cried his mother, \u201cand\nhe must get in again at once.\u201d \u201cSpread your wings and fly, as I do,\u201d said\nthe father bird. So the baby bird spread his wings and tried to fly; but,\ntry as he would, he could not reach the nest in the tree.\n\n\u201cPut him into my school, and I will teach him to swim,\u201d said the frog;\n\u201cthat is better than flying, and a great deal easier to learn, I am\nsure.\u201d This was so kind of the frog that the mother bird thanked him;\nbut she said she had to be very careful with her children, and that she\nwas afraid the water might give the little bird a cold. While they were\ntalking, they heard somebody coming along, whistling the jolliest tune!\n\n\u201cDear me! Dear me!\u201d cried the birds. \u201cThere comes a boy!\u201d \u201cHe\u2019s apt to\nhave stones in his pocket,\u201d said the frog. \u201cHe will carry my darling off\nand put him in a cage! Oh, fly! fly!\u201d begged the mother bird. But before\nthe baby bird even had time to say, \u201cPeep!\u201d the boy came in sight.\n\nThen the father bird flew over the boy\u2019s head and the mother bird down in\nfront of him. The frog croaked and the dove cooed, but none of them could\nhide the little bird from him. \u201cIf you hurt him, I\u2019ll peck your eyes\nout!\u201d cried the poor mother, who hardly knew what she was saying; but the\nboy picked the little bird up, just as if he did not hear her. \u201cOh, what\nshall I do?\u201d cried the mother bird.\n\nThen the boy looked at her and at the tree where the nest was. \u201cCoo, coo,\ncoo! I think I know what he is going to do,\u201d said the dove. \u201cThere\u2019s no\ntelling,\u201d croaked the frog; and they all watched and wondered, while the\nboy put the bird in his pocket and began to climb the tree. He swung\nhimself from branch to branch, climbing higher all the time, until at\nlast he reached the pretty nest where the sister bird waited for her\nmother to come home.\n\nMother bird and father bird flew to the top of the tree to watch the boy.\n\u201cSuppose he should take her, too,\u201d said the mother bird. But what do you\nthink he did? Yes, indeed. He put the brother bird back in the nest, as\nwell as the mother bird could have done it herself.\n\n\u201cThank you! Thank you!\u201d sang the mother and father as the boy scrambled\ndown again. \u201cPeep, peep! Thank you!\u201d called the little birds from the\nnest. \u201cCoo, coo! I knew,\u201d cried the dove. \u201cKerchunk! Kerchunk! I should\nlike to have him in my school,\u201d said the frog, as he hopped away to his\npond.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF BLUE-WINGS\n\nMARY STEWART\n\n\nThere was once an old apple-orchard. It was full of beautiful things. In\nthe spring the trees were covered with pink and white blossoms, while the\nsoft green grass was sprinkled with dandelions. In the autumn the fruit\nwas scarlet, and beneath the trees the grass, which had grown high and\nfeathery, waved in the wind.\n\nBut there was something else in the orchard which was more wonderful\nthan the grass or the dandelions, the blossoms or the fruit. Sometimes\nearly in the spring there was a sudden flash of blue wings above the\ntrees, then a bird\u2019s song, so clear and sweet and joyous that it made us\nthink of blue skies and of dancing blue waves. It came from the owner of\nthose splendid blue wings, and we knew that the king of the orchard had\nreturned from his winter\u2019s trip, the bluebird had come home.\n\nHigh up in an old tree there was a little hole and there the bluebird\nmade his nest. From the outside the hole looked dark and hard, but inside\nit was as soft and cosy as the prettiest nest in the world. It was lined\nwith bits of feathers and down and it was quite big, plenty big enough\nfor the bluebird and his wife. Her feathers were not as bright as his nor\nher song as beautiful, but she could do something even more marvellous\nthan wearing bright feathers or singing joyous songs. She could lay eggs.\n\nAnd so she laid five small, bluish eggs in that cosy home. Then she sat\non them, keeping them warm with her soft little body, while the father\nbird flashed his splendid wings back and forth through the orchard,\nbringing food to the little mother bird and singing his happy song,\nhappier than ever now that he could tell of those precious eggs.\n\nAt last the shells went \u201ccrack,\u201d and five little baby birds opened their\nbig bills very wide and chirped for food. Then how busy their father and\nmother were kept!\n\nI have not time to tell you all that happened during the summer, when\nthe young ones learned to fly, learned too a few notes of that song which\nmakes us think of the sky and the sea. None of them were as beautiful as\ntheir father, none of their songs were as perfect, but their mother told\nthem to have patience, to try hard to fly straight, and to sing clearly,\nand then, perhaps, after their winter in the warm South, they would come\nback to the orchard with wings that would flash, and with a song that\nwould be like the first joyous call of the spring time.\n\nAnd so, when the first cold weather came, four of the young birds flew\naway with their mother and father. But one was left behind! Poor little\nbird, I do not know whether he had fallen from a tree or been hit by\na stone. I only know that one wing was broken, and he lay on the hard\nground, his blue feathers dull, his eyes dim.\n\nThere a little girl found him, and she lifted him tenderly and carried\nhim through the orchard to the white farm house beyond. She laid the poor\nlittle creature in a big wooden cage, and fed him with bread crumbs\nsoaked in water until his eyes grew brighter and he tried to lift his\nwings. But when he found that he could not, because one was broken, you\nknow, he gave a chirp of pain and huddled down forlornly on the floor of\nthe cage. But soon, with all this care, he grew strong again, even if he\ncould not fly, and he and the little girl had nice times together. The\ndoor of the cage was always open and Blue-wings, that is the name the\nchild gave him, although his feathers were not so very blue, would hop\ndown to the table and around the room, always ending by lighting on the\nlittle girl\u2019s shoulder. He would eat from her hand, and sometimes he gave\nlittle chirps which meant \u201cthank you.\u201d\n\nHe had never sung since the day when he had tried to raise his wings\nand had dropped them in pain. Sometimes he dreamed of the orchard, of\nflying swiftly through the trees and of singing joyous songs to greet\nthe sunshine. Then he would open his eyes and see the cosy kitchen and\nhis dear little girl friend, and he would hop down sadly and sit on her\nshoulder, trying to forget his longings, trying to chirp cheerfully when\nshe gave him crumbs.\n\nAs the winter passed and the days grew warm and bright, Blue-wings found\nhimself dreaming of his old free life most of the time, and between the\ndreams the longing to fly and sing was stronger than ever. One day the\nwindow next his cage was left wide open and through it the soft south\nwind brought the fragrance of the apple blossoms, and the whir and hum\nof the little creatures who were busy greeting the spring time. Suddenly\nBlue-wings felt as if he must fly and sing or his heart would break. And\nthen\u2014was it a dream, he wondered\u2014he lifted his wings and flew right out\nof the window. Through the orchard he darted, above the blossoming trees,\nhis blue wings flashing in the sunshine. Even his father\u2019s wings were not\nas splendidly blue as his, and they were so strong!\n\nIt was no dream now, he knew; it was all true. And as he mounted higher\nand higher he sang a song so clear and sweet and joyful that the farmer\nploughing in the field stopped, and listened with tears in his eyes.\nBlue-wing\u2019s song made him think of the tossing sea he had lived beside\nwhen he was a boy. And the little girl heard it, as she stood at the\nfarm-house door, and she stood smiling up into the blue sky with thoughts\nof angels in her heart.\n\n\u201cDid Blue-wings ever come back to the little girl,\u201d you ask? He never\ncame back to the cage or the farm-house kitchen, but he lived in the\norchard and had a nest there. And whenever the child saw a wonderfully\nblue glimmer through the branches, or heard a most beautiful bird\u2019s song,\nshe knew that Blue-wings was near. And she remembered that it was through\nher love and her care that he had lived and grown strong, able to take\nhis place as king of the orchard, able by his song to bring into people\u2019s\nhearts happiness too great for words.\n\n\n\n\nAN EASTERN LEGEND\n\nGRACE DUFFIELD GOODWIN\n\n\n There\u2019s a tender eastern legend,\n In a volume old and rare\n Of the Christ Child in his garden,\n Walking with the children there.\n\n And it tells\u2014this strange, sweet story\u2014\n (True or false, ah, who shall say?)\n How a bird with broken pinion\n Dead within the garden lay.\n\n And the children, children cruel,\n Lifted it by shattered wing,\n Shouting, \u201cMake us merry music,\n Sing, you lazy fellow, sing.\u201d\n\n But the Christ Child bent above it,\n Took it in his gentle hand,\n Full of pity for the suffering\n He alone could understand.\n\n Whispered to it\u2014oh, so softly!\n Laid his lips upon its throat,\n And the song life, swift returning,\n Sounded out in one glad note.\n\n Then away, on wings unwearied,\n Joyously it sang and soared,\n And the little children kneeling\n Called the Christ Child, \u201cMaster-Lord!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE HOUSE WREN\n\nNELTJE BLANCHAN\n\n\nWhen you are sound asleep some April morning, a tiny brown bird, just\nreturned from a long visit south, will probably alight on the perch in\nfront of one of your boxes, peep in the doorhole, enter\u2014although his pert\nlittle cocked-up tail has to be lowered to let him through\u2014look about\nwith approval, go out, spring to the roof and pour out of his wee throat\na gushing torrent of music. The song seems to bubble up faster than he\ncan sing. After the wren\u2019s happy discovery of a place to live, his song\nwill go off in a series of musical explosions all day long, now from the\nroof, now from the clothes posts, the fence, the barn, or the woodpile.\nThere never was a more tireless, spirited, brilliant singer. From the\nintensity of his feelings, he sometimes droops that expressive little\ntail of his, which is usually so erect and saucy.\n\nWith characteristic energy, he frequently begins to carry twigs into the\nhouse before he finds a mate. The day little Jenny Wren appears on the\nscene, how he does sing! Dashing off for more twigs, but stopping to sing\nto her every other minute, he helps furnish the cottage quickly, but,\nof course, he overdoes\u2014he carries in more twigs and hay and feathers\nthan the little house can hold, then pulls half of them out again. Jenny\ngathers, too, for she is a bustling housewife and arranges matters with\nneatness and despatch. Neither vermin nor dust will she tolerate within\nher well-kept home. Everything she does to suit herself pleases her\nardent little lover. He applauds her with song; he flies about after her\nwith a nervous desire to protect; he seems beside himself with happiness.\nLet any one pass too near his best beloved, and he begins to chatter\nexcitedly: \u201c_Chit-chit-chit-chit_,\u201d as much as to say, \u201cOh, do go away;\ngo quickly! Can\u2019t you see how nervous and fidgety you make me?\u201d\n\nIf you fancy that Jenny Wren, who is patiently sitting on the little\npinkish, chocolate spotted eggs in the centre of her feather bed, is a\ndemure, angelic creature, you have never seen her attack the sparrow,\nnearly twice her size, that dares put his impudent head inside her door.\nOh! how she flies at him! How she chatters and scolds! What a plucky\nlittle shrew she is, after all! Her piercing, chattering, scolding notes\nare fairly hissed into his ears until he is thankful enough to escape.\n\n There\u2019s a little brown wren that has built in our tree,[10]\n And she\u2019s scarcely as big as a big bumble-bee;\n She has hollowed a house in the heart of a limb,\n And made the walls tidy and made the doors trim\n With the down of the crow\u2019s foot, and tow, and with straw\n The cosiest dwelling that you ever saw.\n\n The little brown wren has the brightest of eyes\n And a foot of very diminutive size.\n Her tail is as big as the sail of a ship.\n She\u2019s demure, though she walks with a hop and a skip;\n And her voice\u2014but a flute were more fit than a pen\n To tell of the voice of the little brown wren.\n\n One morning Sir Sparrow came sauntering by\n And cast on the wren\u2019s house an envious eye;\n With a strut of bravado and toss of his head,\n \u201cI\u2019ll put in my claim here,\u201d the bold fellow said;\n So straightway he mounted on impudent wing,\n And entered the door without pausing to ring.\n\n An instant\u2014, and swiftly that feathery knight\n All towsled and tumbled, in terror took flight,\n While there by the door, in her favourite perch,\n As neat as a lady just starting for church,\n With this song on her lips, \u201cHe will not call again\n Unless he is asked,\u201d sat the little brown wren.\n\nIf the bluebirds had her courage and hot, quick temper, they would never\nlet the sparrows drive them away from their boxes. Unfortunately a\nhole large enough to admit a bluebird will easily admit those grasping\nmonopolists; but Jenny Wren is safe, if she did but know it, in her house\nwith its tiny front door. It is amusing to see a sparrow try to work his\nshoulders through the small hole of an empty wren house, pushing and\nkicking madly, but all in vain.\n\nWhat rent do the wrens pay for their little houses? No man is clever\nenough to estimate the vast numbers of insects on your place that they\ndestroy. They eat nothing else, which is the chief reason why they are\nso lively and excitable. Unable to soar after flying insects because\nof their short, round wings, they keep, as a rule, rather close to the\nground which their finely barred brown feathers so closely match. Whether\nhunting for grubs in the wood-pile, scrambling over the brush heap after\nspiders, searching among the trees to provide a dinner for their large\nfamilies, or creeping, like little feathered mice, in queer nooks and\ncrannies among the outbuildings on the farm, they are always busy in your\ninterest which is also theirs. It certainly pays, in every sense, to\nencourage the wrens.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHILDREN OF WIND AND THE CLAN OF PEACE\n\nA CHRIST LEGEND\n\nFIONA MACLEOD\n\n\nIt was the last month of the last year of the seven years\u2019 silence and\npeace. When would that be, you ask?\n\nSurely what other would it be than the seven holy years when Jesus the\nChrist was a little lad.\n\nIt was a still day. The little white flowers that were called Breaths of\nHope and that we now call Stars of Bethlehem were so hushed in quiet that\nthe shadows of the moths lay on them like the dark motionless violet in\nthe hearts of pansies. In the long swords of tender grass the multitude\nof the daisies were white as milk faintly stained with flusht dews fallen\nfrom roses. On the meadows of white poppies were long shadows blue as the\nblue lagoons of the sky among drifting snow white moors of cloud. Three\nwhite aspens on the pastures were in a still sleep; their tremulous\nleaves made no rustle; ewes and lambs were sleeping and yearling kids\nopened and closed their eyes among the garths of white clover.\n\nIt was Sabbath and Jesus walked alone. When He came to a little rise\nin the grass He turned and looked back at the house where His parents\ndwelled. Suddenly He heard a noise as of many birds and turned and looked\nbeyond the low upland where He stood. A pool of pure water lay in the\nhollow, fed by a ceaseless wellspring and round it and over it circled\nbirds whose breasts were grey as pearl and whose necks shone purple and\ngrass green and rose. The noise was of their wings, for though the birds\nwere beautiful they were voiceless and dumb as flowers.\n\nAt the edge of the pool stood two figures like angels, but the child did\nnot know them. One He saw was beautiful as Night, and one beautiful as\nMorning.\n\nHe drew near.\n\n\u201cI have lived seven years,\u201d He said, \u201cand I wish to send peace to the far\nends of the world.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell your secret to the birds,\u201d said one.\n\n\u201cTell your secret to the birds,\u201d said the other.\n\nSo Jesus called the birds.\n\n\u201cCome,\u201d He cried, and they came.\n\nSeven came flying from the left, from the side of the angel beautiful\nas Night. Seven came flying from the right, from the side of the angel\nbeautiful as Morning.\n\nTo the first He said: \u201cLook into my heart.\u201d\n\nBut they wheeled about Him, and with new found voices mocked, crying,\n\u201cHow could we see into your heart that is hidden ...\u201d and mocked and\nderided, crying, \u201cWhat is Peace! ... leave us alone. Leave us alone.\u201d\n\nSo Christ said to them: \u201cI know you for the birds of Evil. Henceforth ye\nshall be black as night, and be children of the winds.\u201d\n\nTo the seven other birds which circled about Him, voiceless, and brushing\ntheir wings against His arms, He cried:\n\n\u201cLook into my heart.\u201d\n\nAnd they swerved and hung before Him in a maze of wings, and looked into\nHis pure heart: and, as they looked, a soft murmurous sound came from\nthem\u2014drowsy, sweet, full of peace\u2014and as they hung there like a breath in\nfrost they became white as snow.\n\n\u201cYe are the Doves of the Spirit,\u201d said Christ, \u201cand to you I will commit\nthat which ye have seen. Henceforth shall your plumage be white and your\nvoices be the voices of peace.\u201d\n\nThe young Christ turned, for He heard Mary calling to the sheep and\ngoats, and knew that dayset was come and that in the valleys the gloaming\nwas already rising like smoke from the urns of the twilight. When he\nlooked back he saw that seven white doves were in the cedar beyond the\npool, cooing in low ecstasy of peace and awaiting through sleep and\ndreams the rose-red pathways of the dawn. Down the long grey reaches of\nthe ebbing day He saw seven birds rising and falling on the wind black\nas black water in caves, black as the darkness of night in old pathless\nwoods.\n\nAnd that is how the first doves became white, and how the first crows\nbecame black and were called by a name that means the clan of darkness,\nthe children of wind.\n\n\n\n\nIN MEADOW AND POND\n\n\n\n\nA SPRING LILT\n\n\n Through the silver mist\n Of the blossom-spray\n Trill the orioles: list\n To their joyous lay!\n\n \u201cWhat in all the world\n In all the world,\u201d they say,\n \u201cIs half so sweet, so sweet,\n Is half so sweet as May?\u201d\n\n \u201cJune! June! June!\u201d\n Low croon\n The brown bees in the clover.\n \u201cSweet! sweet! sweet!\u201d\n Repeat\n The robins, nestled over.\n\n _Unknown._\n\n\n\n\nHOW BUTTERFLIES CAME\n\nHANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN\n\n\nOne day the flowers begged the fairies to let them leave their stalks and\nfly away into the air.\n\n\u201cWe have to sit here in the same place from morning till night, fairies!\nDo let us go!\u201d\n\n\u201cGo then, dear flowers,\u201d said the fairies. \u201cBut you must promise that you\nwill return to your stalks before the sun goes down.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe promise,\u201d called out the flowers as they flew away, red, yellow, and\nwhite, over the grass, out of the garden to the great wide meadow beyond.\nThe fairies\u2019 garden seemed, suddenly, to have taken wings.\n\nAs the sun began to set the flowers flew quietly back to their stalks,\nand when the fairies came, they found each flower again in its place.\n\n\u201cWell done, well done!\u201d exclaimed the fairies. \u201cTo-morrow you may fly\naway again to the meadows.\u201d\n\nAs the sun rose the next morning there was a flutter of red and yellow\nand white as, from every stalk, a pair of coloured wings rose and\nflapped, then took flight once more over the meadows and fields. And by\nand by a day came when the petals of the flowers became wings\u2014_real_\nwings, for the flowers themselves had become beautiful butterflies\u2014red,\nyellow and white.\n\n\n\n\nWHITE BUTTERFLIES\n\nALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE\n\n\n Fly, white butterflies, out to sea,\n Frail, pale wings for the wind to try,\n Small white wings that we scarce can see,\n Fly.\n\n Some fly light as a laugh of glee,\n Some fly soft as a long, low sigh;\n All to the haven where each should be,\n Fly.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BUTTERFLY\n\nMRS. ALFRED GATTY\n\n\n\u201cLet me hire you as a nurse for my poor children,\u201d said a Butterfly\nto a quiet Caterpillar, who was strolling along a cabbage-leaf in her\nodd lumbering way. \u201cSee these little eggs,\u201d continued the Butterfly;\n\u201cI don\u2019t know how long it will be before they come to life, and I feel\nvery sick and poorly, and if I should die, who will take care of my baby\nbutterflies when I am gone? Will _you_, kind, mild, green Caterpillar?\nBut you must mind what you give them to eat, Caterpillar!\u2014they cannot,\nof course, live on _your_ rough food. You must give them early dew, and\nhoney from the flowers; and you must let them fly about only a little\nway at first; for, of course, one can\u2019t expect them to use their wings\nproperly all at once. Dear me, it is a sad pity you cannot fly yourself!\nBut I have no time to look for another nurse now, so you will do your\nbest, I hope. Dear, dear! I cannot think what made me come and lay my\neggs on a cabbage-leaf! What a place for young butterflies to be born\nupon! Still you will be kind, will you not, to the poor little ones?\nHere, take this gold-dust from my wings as a reward. Oh, how dizzy I am!\nCaterpillar, you will remember about the food\u2014\u201d\n\nAnd with these words the Butterfly drooped her wings and was gone; and\nthe green Caterpillar, who had not had the opportunity of even saying\nYes or No to the request, was left standing alone by the side of the\nButterfly\u2019s eggs.\n\n\u201cA pretty nurse she has chosen, indeed, poor lady!\u201d exclaimed she, \u201cand\na pretty business I have in hand! Why, her senses must have left her, or\nshe never would have asked a poor crawling creature like me to bring up\nher dainty little ones! Much they\u2019ll mind me, truly, when they feel the\ngay wings on their backs, and can fly away out of my sight whenever they\nchoose! Ah! how silly some people are, in spite of their painted clothes\nand the gold-dust on their wings!\u201d\n\nHowever, the poor Butterfly was gone, and there lay the eggs on the\ncabbage-leaf; and the green Caterpillar had a kind heart, so she resolved\nto do her best. But she got no sleep that night, she was so very anxious.\nShe made her back quite ache with walking all night round her young\ncharges, for fear any harm should happen to them; and in the morning says\nshe to herself\u2014\n\n\u201cTwo heads are better than one. I will consult some wise animal upon the\nmatter, and get advice. How should a poor crawling creature like me know\nwhat to do without asking my betters?\u201d\n\nBut still there was difficulty\u2014whom should the Caterpillar consult?\nThere was the shaggy Dog who sometimes came into the garden. But he was\nso rough!\u2014he would most likely whisk all the eggs off the cabbage-leaf\nwith one brush of his tail, if she called him near to talk to her, and\nthen she should never forgive herself. There was the Tom Cat, to be\nsure, who would sometimes sit at the foot of the apple-tree, basking\nhimself and warming his fur in the sunshine; but he was so selfish and\nindifferent!\u2014there was no hope of his giving himself the trouble to think\nabout butterflies\u2019 eggs. \u201cI wonder which is the wisest of all the animals\nI know,\u201d sighed the Caterpillar, in great distress; and then she thought,\nand thought, till at last she thought of the Lark; and she fancied that\nbecause he went up so high, and nobody knew where he went to, he must be\nvery clever, and know a great deal; for to go up very high (which she\ncould never do) was the Caterpillar\u2019s idea of perfect glory.\n\nNow in the neighbouring corn-field there lived a Lark, and the\nCaterpillar sent a message to him, to beg him to come and talk to her,\nand when he came she told him all her difficulties, and asked him what\nshe was to do to feed and rear the little creatures so different from\nherself.\n\n\u201cPerhaps you will be able to inquire and hear something about it the next\ntime you go up high,\u201d observed the Caterpillar, timidly.\n\nThe Lark said, \u201cPerhaps he should;\u201d but he did not satisfy her curiosity\nany further. Soon afterwards, however, he went singing upwards into the\nbright blue sky. By degrees his voice died away in the distance till the\ngreen Caterpillar could not hear a sound. It is nothing to say she could\nnot see him, for, poor thing, she never could see far at any time, and\nhad a difficulty in looking upwards at all, even when she reared herself\nup most carefully, which she did now; but it was of no use, so she\ndropped upon her legs again, and resumed her walk round the Butterfly\u2019s\neggs, nibbling a bit of the cabbage-leaf now and then as she moved along.\n\n\u201cWhat a time the Lark has been gone!\u201d she cried, at last. \u201cI wonder where\nhe is just now! I would give all my legs to know! He must have flown up\nhigher than usual this time, I do think! How I should like to know where\nit is that he goes to, and what he hears in that curious blue sky! He\nalways sings going up and coming down, but he never lets any secret out.\nHe is very close!\u201d\n\nAnd the green Caterpillar took another turn round the Butterfly\u2019s eggs.\n\nAt last the Lark\u2019s voice began to be heard again. The Caterpillar almost\njumped for joy, and it was not long before she saw her friend descend\nwith hushed note to the cabbage bed.\n\n\u201cNews, news, glorious news, friend Caterpillar!\u201d sang the Lark; \u201cbut the\nworst of it is, you won\u2019t believe me!\u201d\n\n\u201cI believe everything I am told,\u201d observed the Caterpillar, hastily.\n\n\u201cWell, then, first of all, I will tell you what these little creatures\nare to eat\u201d\u2014and the Lark nodded his beak towards the eggs. \u201cWhat do you\nthink it is to be? Guess!\u201d\n\n\u201cDew, and the honey out of flowers, I am afraid,\u201d sighed the Caterpillar.\n\n\u201cNo such thing! Something simpler than that. Something _you_ can get at\nquite easily.\u201d\n\n\u201cI can get at nothing quite easily but the cabbage-leaves,\u201d murmured the\nCaterpillar, in distress.\n\n\u201cExcellent! my good friend,\u201d cried the Lark, exultingly; \u201cyou have found\nit out. You are to feed them with cabbage-leaves.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Never!_\u201d cried the Caterpillar, indignantly. \u201cIt was their mother\u2019s\nlast request that I should do no such thing.\u201d\n\n\u201cTheir mother knew nothing about the matter,\u201d persisted the Lark; \u201cbut\nwhy do you ask me, and then disbelieve what I say? You have neither faith\nnor trust.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I believe everything I am told,\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\n\u201cNay, but you do not,\u201d replied the Lark; \u201cyou won\u2019t believe me even about\nthe food, and yet that is but a beginning of what I have to tell you.\nWhy, Caterpillar, what do you think those little eggs will turn out to\nbe?\u201d\n\n\u201cButterflies, to be sure,\u201d said the Caterpillar.\n\n\u201c_Caterpillars!_\u201d sang the Lark; \u201cand you\u2019ll find it out in time;\u201d and\nthe Lark flew away, for he did not want to stay and contest the point\nwith his friend.\n\n\u201cI thought the Lark had been wise and kind,\u201d observed the mild green\nCaterpillar, once more beginning to walk round the eggs, \u201cbut I find\nthat he is foolish and saucy instead. Perhaps he went up _too_ high this\ntime. Ah, it\u2019s a pity when people who soar so high are silly and rude\nnevertheless! Dear! I still wonder whom he sees, and what he does up\nyonder.\u201d\n\n\u201cI would tell you if you would believe me,\u201d sang the Lark, descending\nonce more.\n\n\u201cI believe everything I am told,\u201d reiterated the Caterpillar, with as\ngrave a face as if it were a fact.\n\n\u201cThen I\u2019ll tell you something else,\u201d cried the Lark; \u201cfor the best of my\nnews remains behind. _You will one day be a Butterfly yourself._\u201d\n\n\u201cWretched bird!\u201d exclaimed the Caterpillar, \u201cyou jest with my\ninferiority\u2014now you are cruel as well as foolish. Go away! I will ask\nyour advice no more.\u201d\n\n\u201cI told you you would not believe me,\u201d cried the Lark.\n\n\u201cI believe everything that I am told,\u201d persisted the Caterpillar; \u201cthat\nis\u201d\u2014and she hesitated\u2014\u201ceverything that is _reasonable_ to believe. But\nto tell me that butterflies\u2019 eggs are caterpillars, and that caterpillars\nleave off crawling and get wings, and become butterflies!\u2014Lark! you\nare too wise to believe such nonsense yourself, for you know it is\nimpossible.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know no such thing,\u201d said the Lark, warmly. \u201cWhether I hover over the\ncornfields of earth, or go up into the depths of the sky, I see so many\nwonderful things, I know no reason why there should not be more. Oh,\nCaterpillar! it is because you crawl, because you never get beyond your\ncabbage-leaf, that you call _any_ thing _impossible_.\u201d\n\n\u201cNonsense!\u201d shouted the Caterpillar, \u201cI know what\u2019s possible, and what\u2019s\nnot possible, according to my experience and capacity, as well as you do.\nLook at my long green body and these endless legs, and then talk to me\nabout having wings and a painted feathery coat.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou would-be-wise Caterpillar!\u201d cried the indignant Lark. \u201cDo you\nnot hear how my song swells with rejoicing as I soar upwards to the\nmysterious wonder-world above? Oh, Caterpillar; what comes to you from\nthence, receive, as I do, upon trust.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is what you call\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cFaith,\u201d interrupted the Lark.\n\n\u201cHow am I to learn Faith?\u201d asked the Caterpillar.\n\nAt that moment she felt something at her side. She looked round\u2014eight or\nten little green caterpillars were moving about, and had already made a\nshow of a hole in the cabbage-leaf. They had broken from the Butterfly\u2019s\neggs!\n\nShame and amazement filled our green friend\u2019s heart, but joy soon\nfollowed; for, as the first wonder was possible, the second might be so\ntoo. \u201cTeach me your lesson, Lark!\u201d she would say; and the Lark sang to\nher of the wonders of the earth below and of the heaven above. And the\nCaterpillar talked all the rest of her life to her relations of the time\nwhen she should be a Butterfly.\n\nBut none of them believed her. She nevertheless had learnt the Lark\u2019s\nlesson of faith, and when she was going into her chrysalis, she said\u2014\n\n\u201cI shall be a Butterfly some day!\u201d\n\nBut her relations thought her head was wandering, and they said, \u201cPoor\nthing!\u201d\n\nAnd when she was a Butterfly, and was going to die again, she said\u2014\n\n\u201cI have known many wonders\u2014I have faith\u2014I can trust even now for what\nshall come next!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE WIND, A HELPER\n\nMARY STEWART\n\n\nA little girl was once standing in a dark, narrow street playing with\nsome bits of coloured paper she had found in an ash-can. Suddenly a gust\nof wind came around the street-corner. It blew the coloured scraps right\nout of the child\u2019s hand and carried them up over her head, then higher\nstill, over the house-tops, until they were out of sight.\n\nJanie, that was the little girl\u2019s name, watched them fly away, with tears\nin her eyes. Her busy mother had given her this day for a holiday, she\nhad no toys to play with, and she loved those gay bits of paper. As she\nlooked after the scraps up into the little patch of blue sky, which was\nall she could see between the high houses, she saw a small, white cloud\nscudding along, just the way the papers had flown.\n\n\u201cWhat makes the cloud fly so fast?\u201d thought Janie, and as if in answer\nanother gust of wind came blowing down the street. \u201cOh, wind, blow me,\ntoo,\u201d cried Janie, \u201ctake me up in the sky with the cloud,\u201d and she held\nout her little petticoat.\n\nThe wind filled it and blew her\u2014well, it didn\u2019t quite blow her into the\nsky, but it did a kinder thing. It blew her down the dark, narrow street,\nthrough other streets, each getting wider and cleaner, until at last it\nblew her right into the country. There she found herself racing over\ngreen fields, with the sky overhead so big and so blue that the clouds\nlooked like a flock of little sheep. There for a moment the wind left\nher\u2014he had other things to do\u2014and Janie stood looking around her happy\nand surprised. It was a spring day and the grass, which was waving in\nthe wind, was soft and green and full of buttercups and daisies. \u201cFar\nprettier than my scraps of paper,\u201d thought Janie. The trees were covered\nwith new, green leaves, some of them were dressed in pink and white\nblossoms, and their branches swayed in the wind as if they were waving a\nwelcome to the little girl. But she didn\u2019t have long to stand and look.\nBack came the wind, bringing new scents of blossoms and other sweet\nspring things with him, and off the child ran again.\n\nPresently she saw in front of her a shining blue line, and when she\nreached it she found it was the sea. If any one of us has ever seen the\nsea on a clear windy day we can never forget it, and that is just the way\nJanie felt. The waves were high and blue, but they wore great white caps\nwhich broke against the wind, and he scattered them into splendid foamy\nbits of spray, while the waves came dashing over the beach.\n\nIt was all so beautiful that Janie took a long, deep breath of wind, and\nsuddenly her cheeks grew pink and her eyes bright, and you never would\nhave known she was the pale, sad little Janie who stood in the dark\nstreet watching her scraps of paper blow away.\n\nShe was standing on the beach gazing out to sea in astonishment. For\nthere, on the blue water, was something which looked like a great bird\nwith its wings outspread, only it was far bigger than any bird, and as\nit skimmed over the water she saw men moving upon it. Can you guess\nwhat it was? It was a splendid ship; but as Janie had never seen one\nbefore, except in pictures, she was much puzzled. \u201cWhat makes it fly so\nfast?\u201d she wondered, and for an answer the wind blew her along the beach,\nthrough a garden, and almost into a little white cottage, where a woman\nwas standing with a baby in her arms.\n\nShe didn\u2019t seem to mind a bit when she saw a strange little girl come\nflying down the garden path to her house. She just laughed and cried,\n\u201cThis is another trick of my friend the wind.\u201d Then she laid the baby\ndown in a cradle and took both Janie\u2019s hands, making her sit on the door\nstep where the wind had dropped her.\n\n\u201cPlease, ma\u2019am,\u201d said Janie, when she could get her breath, \u201ccan you tell\nme what makes the boat sail?\u201d The woman laughed again and answered, \u201cWhy,\nthis beautiful wind blows her along, of course; that is only one of the\nhundreds of things the wind does for us. He can blow so hard that the\ngreat ships are just driven before him, and he can blow so softly that\nmy baby is rocked to sleep. Look at the cradle now.\u201d Janie looked, and\nthere in the light wind which seemed to be full of the scent of blossoms,\nthe cradle was rocking so gently that the baby had fallen asleep. Then\nthe mother brought Janie a bowl of bread and milk, and while she ate it\nthey talked about the wind.\n\n\u201cHe blows away the dead leaves with such fury,\u201d said the mother, \u201cthat\nthey tear along in front of my window like a flock of frightened birds.\nBut when he finds a little flower beneath the leaves he blows on its\npetals so softly that it feels as if its mother were kissing it.\n\n\u201cSometimes, when it comes from the North, it brings snow and hail and the\nbeautiful frosts of winter. But when it comes from the South it brings\nsweet scents and soft, warm air. The East Wind often brings rain and\nmist, and some people don\u2019t like it, but the ground needs the rain, the\nflowers love it, and the East Wind is a gift from God, just as the others\nare. The West Wind is blowing to-day, and that is why the world looks so\nfresh and shining.\u201d\n\nSo they talked most of the afternoon, the mother and Janie, until when\nthe sun began to sink and the ship came sailing homeward, Janie turned\nagain toward the city.\n\nVery gently this time the wind blew her along, beside orchards where the\ntrees were rustling their leaves like lullabies, and through meadows\nwhere, like sleepy children, the flowers were nodding their heads for\ngood-night to the dear West Wind.\n\nAnd although she was leaving it all, Janie was very happy. The woman in\nthe cottage by the sea had told her to come back on her next holiday. And\nshe knew that although she could not always see the dancing trees and\nflowers and waves and ships, she would remember that they were waiting\nfor her every time she heard the wind rattling the window or blowing\namong the chimneys.\n\nJust before she went to sleep she looked out of her tiny window through\nwhich a patch of sky could be seen. It was a dark, cloudy patch, and\nJanie was just turning away from it when the clouds began to move. The\nwind was still at work, in an instant the clouds had been blown away, and\nthrough that tiny window Janie saw a bright, clear star shining down\nupon her. \u201cThank you, dear wind,\u201d she whispered. And then, as she cuddled\ndown to sleep she seemed to hear the wind, or was it the star, singing\nsoftly, \u201cThank God, thank God.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE SPRINGING TREE: WILLOWS\n\nMRS. DYSON\n\n\nThe willow is one of the greatest of Mother Nature\u2019s puzzles. It will\ngive you years of pleasure before you have fully found out all its\nsecrets. What is the puzzle? Perhaps you say, We all know a willow. Do\nyou? Let us see how much you know. It is a weeping tree; its branches and\nleaves drop to the ground. That is true sometimes, not always. It grows\nby the water side. Neither is that always true. In early spring it has\nbuds like soft pussy-cats, which you love to gather, and stroke against\nyour faces, and in summer it has long narrow leaves.\n\nYes, but if you look at all the pussy-cats you can find, you will see\nthat they are very different from one another. The willow has two kinds\nof tails growing on different trees. One tree has flowers made of\nstamens, another tree has flowers containing seed-bags, and even of\nthese two kinds you will find many different sorts. Then if you will look\nat the same trees when the leaves come out, you will perhaps be surprised\nto see that they have not all leaves of the same sort. Some are long,\nnarrow and pointed, but some are broad and rounded; some are white and\nsilky, some are crumpled and downy.\n\nNow you see what is the great puzzle. When you see a tree with a long\nnarrow leaf like a sword, you are sure at once it is a willow. The\nwillow gives its name to this shape; for when we see other plants with\nleaves of this pattern, we always call them willow-leaves. The flowers\nof all the willows are very much alike. They all grow on tails, true\npussy-cats\u2019 tails, so soft and silky are they. But they are the tails of\nangry pussy-cats, for they stand up straight and stiff and thick; they\ndo not hang down wagging and waving in a good-tempered way. The flowers\nare soft silky scales, fastened closely together on the stalk. On the\ntails of one tree, under each scale, there are two, three or five slender\nstamens, each with a double yellow head and between these and the stem\nthere is a little honey-bag. Under the scales of another tree\u2019s tails\nthere are beautiful silken seed-bags, shaped like pears, the pointed\nend just divided into two sticky horns. When the seeds are ripe, these\nlovely silk bags split open at the point, and the two horns curl back in\na beautiful way, like two doors opening to make way for the crowd of tiny\nseeds, each one with a great plume of whitest silk, which tries to spread\nout to the sun and fresh air. The opening seed-bags of all the willows\nare a charming sight. What is all this silk for? To keep the seeds warm?\nYes, and also to float them through the air to a place where they may\ntake root and grow. You must look out for them early in the year, in\nlate spring and early summer, long before other seeds are ripe. You will\nfind that the birds are also on the lookout,\u2014for food you suppose? No,\nthey are building their nests, and they want something nice and soft\nwith which to line them and make a comfortable bed for the eggs and the\nlittle birds; and what could they have better than this yellow silk? The\nthistledown is all destroyed by the winter rains and there is nothing\nelse ready yet.\n\nThe willow is the earliest tree, except the hazel, to say that spring is\ncoming. It begins to get ready in the autumn. Then the buds swell and\noften burst, so that you can see the tufts of white silk peeping out as\nif the flowers were in such a hurry they could not wait till the spring.\nAll the winter they are growing, but you are so busy skating and snow\nballing whenever you go out that you have no time to watch them, and\nare quite surprised at the first glimpse of the soft pussy-cats in the\nspring. At first only the silky scales show, but soon after the golden\nheads or the funny two-horned bottles hang out and the fruit is ripe by\nthe time other trees have opened their flowers.\n\nSome people say there are two hundred different kinds of willow trees but\nothers think this is making too much of slight differences. There are\nabout fifteen kinds which are so very different from one another that you\nwill easily be able to discover them.\n\nYou already know well, four kinds of willow. Two of them are large trees;\none of these is always found by the water-side bending over the still\nslow streams. It is called the _white_ willow because its leaves are\ncovered on both sides with soft white silk.\n\nThe other is the willow tree which grows most frequently in our gardens\nand by the road side. Its leaves are like those of the white willow\nin shape, but on the upper side they are bright green; with no silky\ncovering. This is called the _crack_ willow, because its branches crack\nand break at the joints so easily. Give them just a little blow and they\nsnap at once. These are the only kinds of willow that grow into large\ntrees. They are generally very crooked trees; their trunks split and bend\nand sometimes when near a stream they stretch over it as if they wanted\nto make a bridge across.\n\nThe other two willows that you know well are large shrubs or little trees\nnot much taller than a man. One of them bears very silky catkins, and its\nleaves are always silky, quite white on the under side. This willow has\nlong, slender arms like fairies\u2019 wands. Cinderella\u2019s godmother may have\nused one of them. This is the osier of which we make our baskets. If you\ntry to break off one of these long arms, you may tug and tug away, but\nall in vain, they are so tough; and as your hand slips there comes off\ninto it a long roll of bark, leaving the branch smooth and white. You can\nbend these slender shoots as much as you like and still they will not\nsnap, and so they are just what we want for weaving into light baskets.\n\nThe other shrub or little tree is perhaps the willow that you know best\nin the spring. It grows in the hedge everywhere and is called the _goat\nwillow_ or _sallow_. It has purplish brown branches and from it you\nprobably gather your first pussy-cats. It flowers with the snowdrop,\neven while it is yet winter, in cold February or March. The first warm\nsunshine is better than any fairy\u2019s wand for it turns these flowers into\ngold. Then the bees rejoice; the food they have had in their hives during\nthe winter is nearly done, and other flowers have scarcely dared to think\nof opening yet. But the bees know the secrets of the flowers and they\nare quite aware of the wee honey bag hidden in every flower of that thick\ntail.\n\nSo you see this tree seems so full of life and joy, it grows so fast, and\nis so willing and obliging, that we call it by the name willow, which\nmeans the \u201cspringing\u201d tree.\n\n\n\n\nPUSSY WILLOW\n\nKATE LOUISE BROWN\n\n\nAll winter Miss Pussy had been shut up in her house by the brook; but one\nbright morning in early spring, the door of her house opened. Then she\nstepped out to see the world.\n\nThe swelling buds were rocking to and fro on the branches, the grass\nblades were peeping above the ground, and a few brave flowers were\nopening their sleepy eyes.\n\n\u201cDear me!\u201d cried Pussy, \u201cthe wind is sharp and cold, if it is a bright\nday.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, whom have we here?\u201d asked the brook in great surprise. \u201cTrue as I\nlive, it is Miss Pussy Willow! Good morning, Pussy, you are out bright\nand early; but why do you wear that fur hood? Summer is coming and the\ndays grow warmer.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Mother Nature told me to wear it, lest I get a toothache.\u201d\n\nEverybody was glad to see Pussy. The little brook, the grass, the buds,\nand the little spring birds. But they were all very curious to know why\nshe wore her fur hood.\n\nPoor Pussy! she was tempted more than once to take it off, so much was\nsaid about it. But she didn\u2019t; she thought best to mind Mother Nature.\nNow, it grieves me to say Mr. Robin was very bold and saucy. He whispered\nsome unkind things to Pussy\u2019s friends one day. The next morning, when\nPussy opened her eyes, the birds, the buds, the brook, the grass, and the\nflowers began to whisper to themselves: \u201cDo you suppose Pussy Willow has\nto wear her hood because she has no hair? Poor Pussy Willow!\u201d\n\nPoor Pussy Willow! Brave Pussy felt very sad. All she said was: \u201cWait and\nsee.\u201d\n\nHow surprised every one was a few days after this! There was Pussy Willow\nwith no fur hood on her head, but bright golden curls were dancing up and\ndown in the breeze.\n\n\u201cPussy Willow is not a baldhead; she wears beautiful golden curls,\u201d cried\nall her friends. Mr. Robin hid his head and flew away, very much ashamed.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DRAGON FLY\n\nMRS. ALFRED GATTY\n\n\n\u201cI wonder what becomes of the Frog when he climbs up out of this world,\nand disappears so that we do not see even his shadow; till, plop! he is\namong us again. Does anybody know where he goes to?\u201d\n\nThus chattered the grub of a Dragon fly as he darted about with his\ncompanions in and out among the plants at the bottom of a beautiful pond\nin the centre of a wood.\n\n\u201cWho cares what the Frog does?\u201d answered one who overheard the Grub\u2019s\nquestion, \u201cwhat is it to us?\u201d\n\n\u201cLook out for food for yourself and let other people\u2019s business alone,\u201d\ncried another. \u201cBut I should like to know,\u201d said the grub. \u201cI can see all\nof you when you pass by me among the plants in the water here, and when\nI don\u2019t see you any longer I wonder where you have gone. I followed the\nFrog just now as he went upwards, and all at once he went to the side of\nthe water, then he began to disappear and presently he was gone. Did he\nleave this world? And where did he go?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou idle fellow,\u201d cried another. \u201cSee what a good bite you have missed\nwith your wonderings about nothing.\u201d So saying he seized an insect which\nwas flitting right in front of the Grub.\n\nSuddenly there was a heavy splash in the water and a large yellow Frog\nswam down to the bottom among the grubs.\n\n\u201cAsk the Frog himself,\u201d suggested a minnow as he darted by overhead.\n\nSuch a chance of satisfying himself was not to be lost, and after taking\ntwo or three turns round the roots of a water-lily, the grub screwed up\nhis courage and, approaching the Frog, asked, \u201cIs it permitted to a very\nunhappy creature to speak?\u201d\n\nThe Frog turned his gold edged eyes upon him in surprise and answered,\n\u201cVery unhappy creatures had better be silent. I never talk but when I\u2019m\nhappy.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I shall be happy if I may talk,\u201d said the Grub.\n\n\u201cTalk away then,\u201d said the Frog.\n\n\u201cBut it is something I want to ask you.\u201d\n\n\u201cAsk away,\u201d exclaimed the Frog.\n\n\u201cWhat is there beyond the world?\u201d inquired the Grub in a very quiet way.\n\n\u201cWhat world do you mean\u2014this pond?\u201d asked the Frog, rolling his goggle\neyes round and round.\n\n\u201cI mean the place we live in whatever you may choose to call it. I call\nit the world,\u201d said the Grub.\n\n\u201cDo you, sharp little fellow? Then what is the place you don\u2019t live in?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s just what I want you to tell me,\u201d replied the little Grub.\n\n\u201cOh, indeed, little one. I shall tell you, then. It is dry land.\u201d\n\n\u201cCan one swim about there?\u201d inquired the Grub.\n\n\u201cI should think not,\u201d chuckled the Frog.\n\n\u201cDry land is not water. That is just what it is _not_. Dry land is\nsomething like the sludge at the bottom of this pond, only it is not wet\nbecause there\u2019s no water.\u201d\n\n\u201cReally! What is there then?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s the difficulty,\u201d exclaimed Froggy.\n\n\u201cThere is something, of course, they call it air, but how to explain it\nI don\u2019t know. Now just take my advice and ask no more silly questions.\nI tell you the thing is not worth your troubling yourself about. But I\nadmire your spirit,\u201d continued the Frog. \u201cI will make you an offer. If\nyou choose to take a seat on my back I will carry you up to dry land and\nyou can judge for yourself what is there and how you like it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI accept with gratitude, honoured Frog,\u201d said the little Grub.\n\n\u201cDrop yourself down on my back, then, and cling to me as well as you can.\nCome now, hold fast.\u201d\n\nThe little Grub obeyed and the Frog, swimming gently upwards, soon\nreached the bulrushes by the water\u2019s side.\n\n\u201cHold fast,\u201d repeated the Frog, and then, raising his head out of the\npond, he clambered up the bank and got upon the grass.\n\n\u201cNow, then, here we are,\u201d exclaimed the Frog. \u201cWhat do you think of dry\nland?\u201d\n\nBut no one answered.\n\n\u201cHallow! Gone? That\u2019s just what I was afraid of. He has floated off my\nback, stupid fellow. But perhaps he has made his way to the water\u2019s edge\nhere after all, and then I can help him out. I\u2019ll wait about and see.\u201d\n\nAnd away went Froggy with a leap along the grass by the edge of the pond\nglancing every now and then among the bulrushes to see if he could spy\nhis little friend, the dragon fly grub.\n\nBut what had become of the little grub? He had really clung to the Frog\u2019s\nback with all his might; but the moment the mask of his face began to\nissue from the water, a shock seemed to strike his frame and he reeled\nfrom his resting place back into the pond panting and struggling for life.\n\n\u201cTerrible,\u201d he cried as soon as he came to himself. \u201cThe Frog has\ndeceived me. He cannot go there, at any rate.\u201d And with these words, the\nlittle Grub moved away to his old companions to talk over with them what\nhe had done and where he had been.\n\n\u201cIt was terrible, terrible. But the sun is beginning to set and I must\ntake a turn around the pond in search of food.\u201d And away went the little\ndragon fly grub for a ramble among the water plants.\n\nOn his return who should he see sitting calmly on a stone at the bottom\nof the pond but his friend the yellow Frog.\n\n\u201cYou here!\u201d cried the startled Grub. \u201cYou never left this world at all\nthen. How you deceived me, Frog!\u201d\n\n\u201cClumsy fellow,\u201d replied the Frog. \u201cWhy did you not sit fast as I told\nyou?\u201d\n\nThe little Grub soon told his story while the Frog sat staring at him in\nsilence out of his great goggle eyes.\n\n\u201cAnd now,\u201d said the Grub, \u201csince there is nothing beyond this world, all\nyour stories of going there must be mere inventions. As I have no wish to\nbe fooled by any more of your tales, I will bid you a very good evening.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll do no such thing,\u201d said the Frog, \u201cuntil you have heard my story.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs you wish,\u201d answered the Grub.\n\nThen the Frog told him how he had lingered by the edge of the pond in\nhope of seeing the little Grub again, how he had hopped about in the\ngrass, how he had peeped among the bulrushes.\n\n\u201cAnd at last,\u201d he continued, \u201cthough I did not see you yourself, I saw a\nsight which has more interest for you than for any other creature that\nlives,\u201d and then the Frog stopped speaking.\n\n\u201cWhat was it?\u201d asked the inquisitive little Grub.\n\n\u201cUp the polished green stalk of one of those bulrushes I saw a little\ndragon-fly grub slowly and gradually climb till he had left the water\nbehind him. As I continued to look, I noticed that a rent seemed to come\nin your friend\u2019s body. I cannot tell you in what way the thing happened,\nbut after many struggles, there came from it one of those beautiful\ncreatures who float through the air and dazzle the eyes of all who catch\nglimpses of them as they pass\u2014a glorious Dragon-fly!\n\n\u201cAs if just waking from a dream he lifted his wings out of the covering.\nThough shrivelled and damp at first they stretched and expanded in\nthe sunshine till they glistened as if with fire. I saw the beautiful\ncreature at last poise himself for a second or two in the air before\nhe took flight. I saw the four gauzy wings flash back the sunshine that\nwas poured on them. I heard the clash with which they struck the air and\nI saw his body give out rays of glittering blue and green as he darted\nalong and away over the water in circles that seemed to know no end. Then\nI plunged below to find you out and tell you the good news.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a wonderful story,\u201d said the little Grub.\n\n\u201cA wonderful story, indeed,\u201d repeated the Frog.\n\n\u201cAnd you really think, then, that the glorious creature you saw was once\na\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cSilence,\u201d cried the Frog. \u201cAll your questions have been answered. It is\ngetting dark here in your world. I must return to my grassy home on dry\nland. Go to rest, little fellow, and awake in hopes.\u201d\n\nThe Frog swam close to the bank and clambered up its side while the\nlittle Grub returned to his companions to wait and hope.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CICADA\u2019S STORY[11]\n\nAGNES MCCLELLAN DAULTON\n\n\nOnce upon a time a grasshopper introduced me to Mr. Periodical Cicada.\nHe was a very pleasant fellow and not a bit stuck up, although the poets\nhave written of him, and almost every one knows him by the name of\nseventeen year locust, though he really is not a locust at all. I was\npleased to meet him, and asked him if he would mind telling me what he\ndid all those seventeen years, and he replied:\n\n\u201cNot at all, now that they are over it is very pleasant to talk about\nthem.\u201d Then he began his story. \u201cSeventeen years ago this June, in an old\norchard, my mother tucked away in the green twigs of a mossy apple tree\nhundreds of little cradles. I was sleeping in one and in the others were\nmy brothers and sisters. While my mother was at work our father sat on a\ntwig close by and sang the merriest lullaby that babies ever listened to.\n\n\u201cSeveral weeks later we little ones crept out of our cradles and dropped\nlightly to the ground beneath the tree; then each of us dug a little\nburrow and hid ourselves away in the warm, moist soil near sappy rootlets\nthat gave us our food.\n\n\u201cWe were very tiny at first, but little by little we grew, always making\nour cells bigger to fit, so that we were as snug and cosy as babies could\nbe, only it was very dark and lonely.\n\n\u201cThe rootlets would tell us when it was spring, of how the pink and white\nblossoms were holding up perfumed cups to the blue sky; of the tree\nmusical with the humming of the bees that came for honey; then of summer,\nwhen birds nested and sang among the green boughs; later of autumn, of\napples mellow and ripe, globes of red and gold, that fell with a muffled\nthud in the long, green grass; and at last of the winter, and of the\nfleecy snow that clothed the old tree in soft white. They whispered\nof heat, of cold, of sunshine and rain, of freezing winds and balmy\nbreezes, but we baby Cicadas neither understood nor cared, and there\ntucked away in our gloomy cells we lived seventeen long years.\n\n\u201cBut one May day, in the sweetest of apple blossoming time, all we little\nCicadas made up our minds to go out into the world and seek our fortunes.\nThen every one of us began digging and carrying up to the surface tiny\npellets of soft clay.\n\n\u201cMy, but we did work hard, and by the time the big sun had hidden his\nround face in the west each of us had built a funny little chimney six\ninches high.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, how lovely!\u201d I cried; \u201cand please, Mr. Periodical Cicada, what were\nthey for?\u201d\n\nBut the Cicada only shook his head at me gravely, as much as to say that\nit was a Cicada family secret.\n\n\u201cWhen the chimneys were done,\u201d he went on, \u201cwe all scrambled up and began\nhunting a safe place to rest. I soon found a fine twig where I held on\nfor dear life. I wasn\u2019t very pretty, being dressed in a brown coat, and\nbesides, I had gotten very muddy building my chimney. Now while I was\nhanging there hoping to dry off\u2014click\u2014and goodness me! if my little\nbrown jacket hadn\u2019t split down my back from collar to waistband. I felt\nvery bad, for even if it was a muddy, ugly brown coat, it was all I had,\nand I had no idea where to get another in the big, cold world I had just\ncome into. But when I stepped out of my coat to see if I could mend it,\nmy stockings and shoes came off with it and there I hung, if you will\nbelieve me, dressed in the prettiest cream-coloured suit you ever saw. I\nnever was more surprised in my life.\n\n\u201cJust then, I happened to catch a glimpse of one of my sisters, and she\nalso was in cream, and there was a brother; yes, there was the whole\nfamily, and every one of us in a lovely suit of cream-colour. But, oh,\nwhen we got a good look at each other we laughed till we almost fell from\nour perches, for each of us had pink eyes and heavy, fierce eyebrows, and\nqueer humps on the sides of our necks. Such a ridiculous looking lot of\nyoungsters you never saw. Beside us hung our old, muddy clothes, coat,\nshoes, stockings, and all. If you look in the orchard you can often find\nthese old clothes long after the Cicadas have flown away.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Mr. Cicada, how I should love to have seen you!\u201d I exclaimed. \u201cI\nshall look for little brown coats as soon as I get home.\u201d\n\n\u201cThis was only the beginning,\u201d went on Periodical. \u201cThe most wonderful\nthings were to come; for slowly, slowly those humps on our necks began\nto swell, and after a time they opened out into two lovely, gauzy wings,\nveined with pearl colour. When the great round moon came gliding up over\nthe orchard and shed down upon us her gentle, silvery light, there we\nhung like some strange, beautiful flowers. The apple blossoms thought we\nwere flowers and whispered to us some of the prettiest honey and pollen\nsecrets; they were so provoked when we flew away and they found out their\nmistake\u2014but they need not fear for we will never tell; no, indeed, never!\n\n\u201cWhen morning came we found our beauty had been very fleeting, for our\nlovely cream-coloured suits had changed to greenish-brown, and our wings,\nthough still transparent, were dull of colour. The males among us were\ndrummers. Deep within my body, I carried two drums, each being covered\nby a plate that you can easily see on the outside. Now, I don\u2019t need\ndrumsticks, for my drums are air instruments, and by twitching my muscles\nI can snap my drumheads faster and faster, making the gayest sort of a\nroll-call. Listen to this: _Whirr-r-r-r-r!_\u201d\n\n\n\n\nEDITH AND THE BEES\n\nHELEN KELLER\n\n\nOne beautiful morning last June, a sweet little girl thought she would go\nout into the garden and pick some flowers for one of her playmates, who\nwas sick and obliged to stay shut up in the house this fragrant summer\nmorning. \u201cTommy shall have the most beautiful flowers in the garden,\u201d\nthought Edith, as she took her little basket and pruning scissors, and\nran out into the garden. She looked like a lovely fairy or a sunbeam,\nflitting about the rose-bushes. I think she was the most exquisite rose\nin all the garden herself. Her heart was full of thoughts of Tommy, while\nshe worked away busily. \u201cI wish I knew something that would please Tommy\nmore than anything else!\u201d she said to herself. \u201cI would love to make him\nhappy,\u201d and she sat down on the edge of a beautiful fountain to think.\n\nWhile she sat there thinking, two dear little birds began to take their\nbath in the lovely, sparkling water that rippled and danced in the\nsunshine. They would plunge into the water and come out dripping, perch\non the side of the fountain for a moment, and plunge in again. Then they\nwould shake the bright drops from their feathers, and fly away singing\nsweeter than ever. Edith thought the little birds enjoyed their bath as\nmuch as her baby brother did his.\n\nWhen they had flown away to a distant tree, Edith noticed a beautiful\npink rosebud, more beautiful than any she had yet seen. \u201cOh, how lovely\nyou are!\u201d she cried; and, running to the bush where it was, she bent\ndown the branch, that she might examine it more closely, when out of the\nheart of the rose came a small insect and stung her pretty cheek. The\nlittle girl began to weep loudly, and ran to her father who was working\nin another part of the yard. \u201cWhy, my little girl!\u201d said he, \u201ca bee has\nstung you.\u201d He drew out the sting, and bathed her swollen cheek in cool\nwater, at the same time telling her many interesting things about the\nwonderful little bees.\n\n\u201cDo not cry any more, my child,\u201d said her father, \u201cand I will take you to\nsee a kind gentleman who keeps many hives of bees.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, thank you!\u201d cried Edith, brushing away her tears. \u201cI will run and\nget ready now.\u201d\n\nThe bee-master, as everybody called the old man who kept the bees, was\nvery glad to show his little pets, and to tell Edith all he knew about\nthem. He led her to a hive, made wholly of glass, so that she might watch\nthe bees at their work.\n\n\u201cThere are three kinds of bees in every hive,\u201d said the gentleman. \u201cThat\nlarge bee in the middle is the queen bee. She is the most important bee\nin the hive. She has a sting, but seldom makes use of it. Those busy\nbees are the worker bees. It was probably a worker that stung you this\nmorning, my little girl,\u201d said the bee-master.\n\nEdith thought she did not like the worker bee as well as the others; but\nwhen she heard what industrious little workers they are, and how they\ntake all the care of the young bees, build the cells of wax, and bring\nin the honey, she felt much more affection for them.\n\n\u201cWhat do the bees do in winter when there are no flowers from which to\ngather honey?\u201d inquired Edith.\n\n\u201cThey sleep during the long, cold winter days, and awaken when the warm\nspring returns,\u201d replied her kind instructor.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said Edith\u2019s father, \u201cwe had better go, or you will not get to see\nTommy to-day.\u201d\n\nThen the little girl thanked her new friend for telling her so much about\nhis interesting pets, and promised to come and see him as often as she\ncould.\n\n\u201cOh, father!\u201d cried Edith, as they walked homeward, \u201cI am almost glad\nthat the naughty little bee stung me this morning, for now I shall have\nsomething interesting to tell Tommy.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE TADPOLE[12]\n\nKATHARINE PYLE\n\n\nThe brook flows down past the field, around the hill, and through the\nwood.\n\nThere are all sorts of things in the brook: water cress and snails, and\nlittle darting fishes, eelgrass and crawfish, and under a stone where the\nwater is cool and deep a little brown lizard used to live.\n\nThe lizard was a busy little thing, always anxious about something or\nother. She told the crawfish when to shed their shells; she showed the\nsnails where to find dead leaves; and she attended to every one else\u2019s\nbusiness as well as her own.\n\nOne day when she was crawling up the stream, she saw a tadpole lying in a\nsunny shallow, with its nose almost out of the water.\n\n\u201cThat tadpole oughtn\u2019t to lie there in the sun,\u201d said the lizard to\nherself. \u201cIt\u2019s too warm. I think I\u2019ll tell him.\u201d So she crawled up to\nwhere the tadpole was lying.\n\nAs she came nearer she heard the tadpole whispering softly to himself.\n\u201cOh, how beautiful! how beautiful!\u201d he was saying.\n\n\u201cWhat is so beautiful?\u201d asked the lizard curiously, looking about her.\n\n\u201cThat singing!\u201d cried the tadpole. \u201cDon\u2019t you hear it?\u201d\n\nAnd now that the lizard listened, she did indeed hear a perfect chorus of\nbirds singing their morning songs in wood and field and thicket.\n\n\u201cYes, it\u2019s pretty enough,\u201d said the lizard. \u201cBut you oughtn\u2019t to be lying\nhere in the hot sun. You\u2019ll make yourself sick.\u201d\n\nThe tadpole only wriggled impatiently, and then lay still, listening. But\npresently he turned his little dull eyes on the lizard. \u201cI suppose you\nhave often seen birds coming down to the stream to bathe,\u201d he said. \u201cDo\nyou think I look anything like one?\u201d\n\n\u201cLike a bird!\u201d cried the lizard. \u201cNo, you don\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I don\u2019t see why not,\u201d said the tadpole. \u201cTo be sure, I haven\u2019t\nany legs, but I have a tail.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the lizard, \u201cbut birds have beaks and feathers and wings as\nwell, and you haven\u2019t anything but a body and a tail.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is true,\u201d said the tadpole, and he sighed heavily.\n\nAs the lizard had said, it was warm up in the shallow where the tadpole\nlay; but she was curious now as to why the tadpole should want to look\nlike a bird, so she settled herself down more comfortably and went on\ntalking.\n\n\u201cNow, I should like to know,\u201d she said, \u201cwhy you want to look like a\nbird.\u201d\n\nAt first the tadpole made no answer; he seemed to be either shy or dull,\nbut when the lizard asked him again, he said: \u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d\n\nThen he was silent again; and the lizard was about to go away when the\ntadpole suddenly went on: \u201cIt\u2019s because there seems to be something\ninside of me that must sing, and I\u2019ve tried and tried, until all the\nfishes and even the snails laugh at me, and I can\u2019t make a sound. I\nthink if I only had legs, and could hop about like a bird, I could do it.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I don\u2019t see why you should want to sing,\u201d said the lizard. \u201cI never\ndid.\u201d\n\nStill, the tadpole seemed so grieved about it that she felt sorry for\nhim, and stayed there in the shallow talking to him for quite a long\ntime; and the next morning she went to see him again.\n\nThis was the beginning of a friendship between the two; and though the\nlizard could not understand why the tadpole should wish to sing, she\nnever made fun of him, but tried to think of some plan by which he might\nlearn to do it.\n\nOnce she suggested that if he were only up on the shore he might be able\nto do something about it. So he wriggled himself up half out of the\nwater; but almost immediately he grew so sick that the lizard had to pull\nhim back again by his tail, feeling terribly frightened, all the while,\nlest it should break.\n\nIt was the very next morning that the lizard found the tadpole in a state\nof wild excitement. \u201cOh, Lizard, Lizard!\u201d he cried, shaking all over\nfrom his nose to his tail. \u201cJust look at me! I\u2019m getting legs.\u201d\n\nIt was true. There they were, still very small and weak, but really\nlegs. The lizard and the tadpole had been too busy talking over how to\nmake them grow to notice that they were already budding. They were still\nmore excited when, soon afterwards, they saw near the front part of the\ntadpole\u2019s body two more little buds; and the lizard was sure these would\nprove to be wings.\n\nIt was a terrible blow to them when they found these were not wings at\nall, but more legs. \u201cNow it\u2019s all over,\u201d cried the tadpole, in despair.\n\u201cIt was bad enough not to have wings; but now that I\u2019m getting legs this\nway, there\u2019s no knowing where it\u2019ll end.\u201d\n\nThe lizard, too, was almost hopeless, until suddenly she remembered a\ncrawfish she had known who had lost one of his legs in a fight, and it\nhad hardly hurt him at all. She said perhaps she could pull the tadpole\u2019s\nfront legs off the same way.\n\nHe was quite willing for her to try, but at the first twitch she gave he\ncried out, \u201cOuch! that hurts!\u201d so the lizard had to stop.\n\nShe still thought, however, that something could have been done about it\nif the tadpole had not been such a coward and had let her pull harder.\n\nBut worse was to follow.\n\nOne morning, before the lizard was up, the tadpole came wriggling over to\nthe door of her house.\n\n\u201cLizard, Lizard, come out here,\u201d he cried. Then, as soon as she came out,\nhe begged her to get a piece of eelgrass and measure his tail.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve been afraid it was shrinking for some time,\u201d he said, \u201cand now I\u2019m\nalmost sure of it. I have such strange feelings, too. Sometimes I feel as\nthough I must have air, and I get up on a stone so that I\u2019m almost out of\nthe water, and only then am I comfortable.\u201d\n\nHastily the lizard got the eelgrass and measured. Then they sat staring\nat each other in dismay. The tail was almost gone!\n\nStill, the lizard would not give up all hope.\n\nThat same crawfish that had lost a leg lived farther down the stream,\nand he was very old and wise. She would get him to come and look at the\ntadpole and give his advice.\n\nSo the kindly little lizard bustled away, and soon she came back, to\nwhere the tadpole was lying, and the crawfish came with her, twiddling\nhis feelers, and staring both ways with his goggle eyes.\n\n\u201cSick tadpole!\u201d he cried. \u201cThis is no tadpole!\u201d Then, coming closer, the\ncrawfish went on: \u201cWhy are you lying here? Why aren\u2019t you over in the\nswamp singing with all the rest of them? Don\u2019t you know you are a frog?\u201d\n\n\u201cA frog!\u201d cried the lizard.\n\nBut the young tadpole frog leaped clear out of the brook with a joyous\ncry.\n\n\u201cA frog!\u201d he shouted. \u201cWhy, that\u2019s the best of all! If that\u2019s true I\nmust say good-bye, little Lizard. Hey for the wide green swamp and the\nloud frog chorus under the light of the moon! Good-bye, little friend,\ngood-bye! I shall never forget what you have done for me.\u201d\n\nSo the frog went away to join his brothers.\n\nThe little lizard felt quite lonely for a while after the frog had gone;\nbut she comforted herself by thinking how happy he must be.\n\nOften in the twilight, or when the moon was bright, she listened to the\nchorus of frogs as they sang over in the swamp, and wondered if the one\nwho sang so much louder and deeper than the rest was the little frog who\nhad tried so hard to be a bird.\n\n\u201cAfter all,\u201d she said to herself, \u201cthere are more ways of singing than\none.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nMISTER HOP-TOAD\n\nJAMES WHITCOMB RILEY\n\n\n Howdy, Mister Hop-Toad! Glad to see you out!\n Bin a month o\u2019 Sundays since I seen you hereabout.\n Kind o\u2019 bin a-layin\u2019 in, from the frost and snow?\n Glad to see you out ag\u2019in, it\u2019s been so long ago.\n\n\n\n\nBUZ AND HUM\n\nMAURICE NO\u00cbL\n\n\nThe time came when Buz and Hum, two young bees, were allowed to try their\nwings.\n\n\u201cFollow me,\u201d said a friendly older bee; \u201cI can spare time to fly a little\nway; and when I stop, you stop, too.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll right,\u201d cried Buz, trembling with excitement.\n\nHum said nothing, but her wings began to move, almost in spite of herself.\n\nAway went the bee, as straight as a line from the mouth of the hive, and\naway flew Buz and Hum after her; but at first starting they both found it\na little difficult to keep quite straight, and Buz knocked against the\nboard to begin with, and nearly stopped herself, as she had not learned\nhow to rise.\n\nThe older bee did not go far, and lit on the branch of a peach tree which\nwas growing against a wall near by. Buz came after her in a great hurry,\nbut missed the branch and gave herself a bang against the wall. Hum saw\nthis, and managed to stop herself in time; but she did not judge her\ndistance very well either; and got on the peach tree in a scrambling sort\nof way.\n\n\u201cVery good,\u201d said their friend, as they all three stood together; \u201cyou\nwill soon be able to take care of yourself now; but just let me see you\nback to the hive.\u201d\n\nSo off they flew again, and lighted on the board in a very creditable\nmanner.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said the bee, \u201cI shall leave you; but before I go let me advise\nyou, as a friend, not to quit the garden to-day; there are plenty of\nflowers, and plenty of opportunities for you to meet with \u2018Experience,\u2019\nwithout flying over any of the four walls.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho is Experience?\u201d asked Buz and Hum together.\n\n\u201cOh! somebody to whom you are going to be introduced, who will teach you\nmore in a day than you could learn from me in a week. Good-bye.\u201d\n\nSo saying, she disappeared into the hive.\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t it too delightful?\u201d exclaimed Buz to Hum. \u201cFlying! why it\u2019s even\nmore fun that I thought!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is,\u201d said Hum; \u201cbut I should like to get some honey at once.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course,\u201d replied Buz, \u201conly I should like to fly a long way to get\nit.\u201d\n\n\u201cI want to fill a cell quickly,\u201d said Hum.\n\n\u201cOh, yes, to be sure! What a delightful thing it will be to put one\u2019s\nproboscis down into every flower and see what\u2019s there! Do you know,\u201d\nadded Buz, putting out her proboscis, \u201cI feel as if I could suck honey\ntremendously; don\u2019t you?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, yes,\u201d cried Hum. \u201cI long to be at it; let\u2019s be off at once.\u201d\n\nSo away they went and lit on a bed of flowers. Hum spent the day between\nthe hive and that bed, and was quite, quite happy; but Buz, though she,\ntoo, liked collecting the honey, wanted to have more excitement in\ngetting it; and every now and then, as she passed to and from the hive, a\nlovely field of clover, not far off, sent forth such a delicious smell,\nas the breeze swept over it, that she was strongly tempted to disregard\nthe advice she had been given, and to hurry off to it.\n\nAt last she could stand it no longer; and, rising high into the air, she\nsailed over the wall and went out into the world beyond.\n\nAnd so she reached the field of clover, and, flying quite low over\nthe flowers, was astonished to see how many bees were busy among\nthem\u2014bumble-bees without end, and plenty of honey-bees, too; in fact, the\nair was filled with the pleasant murmur that they made.\n\n\u201cTo be sure,\u201d said Buz to herself, \u201cthis is the place for me! Poor, dear\nold Hum! I hope she is enjoying herself as much as I am. I don\u2019t mean to\nbe idle either, so here goes for some honey.\u201d\n\nBuz was very diligent, indeed, and soon collected as much honey as she\ncould carry. But by the time she had done this she found herself close\nto the farther end of the clover field, and while resting for a moment,\nbefore starting to carry her load to the hive, she noticed a little pond\nin the corner. Feeling thirsty after her hard work, she flew off to\ntake a few sips; but just as she reached the pond and was in the act of\ndescending, a light gust of wind caught her and turned her half over, and\nbefore she could recover herself she was plunged far out into the water!\n\nPoor Buz! She was a brave little bee, but this was a terrible accident;\nand after a few wild struggles she almost gave herself up. The water was\nso cold, and she felt herself so helpless in it; and then the accident\nhad happened so suddenly, and taken her so utterly by surprise, that it\nis no wonder she lost courage. Only for a moment though; just as she was\ngiving up in despair the hard and seemingly useless work of paddling and\nstruggling with all her poor little legs at once, she saw that a bit of\nstick was floating near her, and with renewed energy she attempted to get\nto it. Alas! It was all she could do to keep her head above water; as\nfor moving along through it, that seemed impossible, and she was tempted\nto give up once more. It was very hard though; there was the stick, not\nmore than a foot away from her. If she could only reach it! At any rate,\nshe was determined it should not be her fault if she was unsuccessful;\nso she battled away harder than ever, though her strength began to fail\nand she was becoming numbed with the cold. Just as she made this last\neffort another gust of wind swept over the pond, and Buz saw that the\nstick began to move through the water, and to come nearer and nearer to\nher. The fact was that a small twig sticking up from it acted as a sail,\nthough Buz did not know this. And now the stick was quite close, almost\nwithin reach; in another moment she would be on it. Ah! but a moment\nseems a long time when one is at the last gasp, as poor Buz was.\n\nWould she be drowned after all? No! Just as she was sinking she touched\nthe stick with one little claw, and held on as only drowning people can;\nand then she got another claw safely lodged, and was able to rest for a\nmoment. Oh! the relief of _that_, after such a long ceaseless struggle!\n\nBut even then it was very hard to get up on the stick, very hard indeed.\nHowever, Buz managed it at last, and dragged herself quite out of the\ncold water.\n\nBy this time the breeze was blowing steadily over the pond, and the stick\nwould soon reach the bank; but Buz felt very miserable and cold, and her\nwings clung tightly to her, and she looked dreadfully forlorn.\n\nThe pond, too, was overshadowed by trees so there were no sunbeams to\nwarm her. \u201cAh,\u201d thought she, \u201cif I can manage to drag myself up into the\nsunshine and rest and be well warmed, I shall soon be better.\u201d\n\nWell, the bank was safely reached at last! but Buz, all through her\nlife, never forgot what a business it was climbing up the side. The long\ngrasses yielded to her weight, and bent almost straight down, as if on\npurpose to make it as up-hill work for her as possible. And even when she\nreached the top it took her a weary while to get across the patch of dark\nshadow and out into the glad sunlight beyond; but she managed to arrive\nthere at last, and crawling on the top of a stone which had been well\nwarmed by the sun\u2019s rays, she rested for a long time.\n\nAt last she recovered sufficiently to make her way, by a succession of\nshort flights, back to the hive. After the first of these flights she\nfelt so dreadfully weak that she almost doubted being able to accomplish\nthe journey, and began to despond.\n\n\u201cIf I ever do get home,\u201d she said to herself, \u201cI will tell Hum all about\nit, and how right she was to take advice.\u201d\n\nNow, whether it was the exercise that did her good, or that the sun\u2019s\nrays became hotter that afternoon, cannot be known, but this is certain,\nthat Buz felt better after every flight. When she reached the end of\nthe clover field, she sipped a little honey, cleaned herself with her\nfeet, stretched her wings, and, with the sun glistening brightly on her,\nlooked quite fine again. Her last flight brought her to the top of the\nkitchen-garden wall. After resting here, she opened her wings and flew\ngaily to the hive, which she entered just as if nothing had happened.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY WITHOUT AN END\n\nTRANSLATED BY SARAH AUSTIN FROM THE GERMAN OF A. CAROVE\n\n\nIN THE GREEN MEADOW\n\nThere was once a child who lived in a little hut, and in the hut there\nwas nothing but a little bed, and a looking-glass which hung in a dark\ncorner. Now the child cared nothing at all about the looking-glass, but\nas soon as the first sunbeam glided softly through the casement and\nkissed his sweet eyelids, and the finch and the linnet waked him merrily\nwith their morning songs, he arose and went out into the green meadow.\nAnd he begged flour of the primrose, and sugar of the violet, and butter\nof the buttercup; he shook dew-drops from the cowslip into the cup of a\nharebell; spread out a large lime-leaf, set his little breakfast upon\nit, and feasted daintily. Sometimes he invited a humming bee, oftener a\ngay butterfly, to partake of his feast; but his favourite guest was the\nblue dragon-fly. The bee murmured a good deal, in a solemn tone, about\nhis riches; but the child thought that if _he_ were a bee, heaps of\ntreasure would not make him gay and happy; and that it must be much more\ndelightful and glorious to float about in the free and fresh breezes of\nspring, and to hum joyously in the web of the sunbeams, than, with heavy\nfeet and heavy heart, to stow the silver wax and the golden honey into\ncells.\n\nTo this the butterfly assented and he told how, once on a time, he too\nhad been greedy and sordid; how he had thought of nothing but eating, and\nhad never once turned his eyes upwards to the blue heavens. At length,\nhowever, a complete change had come over him and instead of crawling\nspiritless about the dirty earth, half dreaming, he all at once awaked as\nout of a deep sleep. And now he could rise into the air and it was his\ngreatest joy sometimes to play with the light, and to reflect the heavens\nin the bright eyes of his wings, sometimes to listen to the soft language\nof the flowers, and catch their secrets. Such talk delighted the child,\nand his breakfast was the sweeter to him and the sunshine on leaf and\nflower seemed to him more bright and cheering.\n\nBut when the bee had flown off to beg from flower to flower, and the\nbutterfly had fluttered away to his playfellows, the dragon-fly still\nremained poised on a blade of grass. Her slender and burnished body, more\nbrightly and deeply blue than the deep blue sky, glistened in the sunbeam\nand her net-like wings laughed at the flowers because _they_ could not\nfly, but must stand still and abide the wind and the rain. The dragon-fly\nsipped a little of the child\u2019s clear dew-drops and blue-violet honey, and\nthen whispered her winged words. And the child made an end of his repast,\nclosed his dark blue eyes, bent down his beautiful head, and listened to\nthe sweet prattle.\n\nThen the dragon-fly told much of the merry life in the green wood,\u2014how\nsometimes she played hide-and-seek with her playfellows under the broad\nleaves of the oak and the beech trees or hunt-the-hare along the surface\nof the still waters or sometimes quietly watched the sunbeams, as they\nflew busily from moss to flower and from flower to bush, and shed life\nand warmth over all. But at night, she said, the moonbeams glided softly\naround the wood, and dropped dew into the mouths of all the thirsty\nplants; and when the dawn pelted the slumberers with the soft roses of\nheaven, some of the half-drunken flowers looked up and smiled, but most\nof them could not so much as raise their heads for a long, long time.\n\nSuch stories did the dragon-fly tell and as the child sat motionless,\nwith his eyes shut, and his head rested on his little hand, she thought\nhe had fallen asleep, so poised her double wings and flew into the\nrustling wood.\n\n\nTHE STORY OF A DROP OF WATER\n\nBut the child was only sunk into a dream of delight, and was wishing _he_\nwere a sunbeam or a moonbeam; and he would have been glad to hear more\nand more, and forever. But at last, as all was still, he opened his eyes\nand looked around for his dear guest, but she was flown far away; so he\ncould not bear to sit there any longer alone, and he rose and went to the\ngurgling brook. It gushed and rolled so merrily, and tumbled so wildly\nalong as it hurried to throw itself head-over-heels into the river, just\nas if the great massy rock out of which it sprang were close behind it,\nand could only be escaped by a break-neck leap.\n\nThen the child began to talk to the little waves, and asked them whence\nthey came. They would not stay to give him an answer, but danced away,\none over another, till at last, that the sweet child might not be\ngrieved, a drop of water stopped behind a piece of rock. From her the\nchild heard strange histories; but he could not understand them all, for\nshe told him about her former life, about the depths of the mountain.\n\n\u201cA long while ago,\u201d said the drop of water, \u201cI lived with my countless\nsisters in the great ocean, in peace and unity. We had all sorts of\npastimes; sometimes we mounted up high into the air, and peeped at\nthe stars; then we sank plump down deep below, and watched how the\ncoral-builders work till they are tired, that they may reach the light of\nday at last. But I was conceited, and thought myself much better than my\nsisters. And so one day, when the sun rose out of the sea, I clung fast\nto one of his hot beams, and thought that now I should reach the stars,\nand become one of them. But I had not ascended far, when the sunbeam\nshook me off, and, in spite of all I could say or do, let me fall into a\ndark cloud. And soon a flash of fire darted through the cloud, and now I\nthought I must surely die; but the whole cloud laid itself down softly\nupon the top of a mountain, and so I escaped. Now I thought I should\nremain hidden, when all on a sudden, I slipped over a round pebble, fell\nfrom one stone to another, down into the depths of the mountain, till at\nlast it was pitch dark, and I could neither see nor hear anything. Then\nI found, indeed, that \u2018pride goeth before a fall,\u2019 resigned myself to\nmy fate, and, as I had already laid aside all my unhappy pride in the\ncloud, my portion was now the salt of humility; and after undergoing many\npurifications from the hidden virtues of metals and minerals, I was at\nlength permitted to come up once more into the free cheerful air and now\nwill I run back to my sisters, and there wait patiently till I am called\nto something better.\u201d\n\nBut hardly had she done when the root of a forget-me-not caught the\ndrop of water by her hair, and sucked her in, that she might become a\nfloweret, and twinkle brightly as a blue star on the green firmament of\nearth.\n\n\n\n\nLEGEND OF THE FORGET-ME-NOT\n\n\nThere was once a little plant that grew by a shady brook. It had many\ncompanions even in this quiet spot. The great branches of the old tree\nstretched over it, and the beautiful flowers were friendly; but it did\nnot seem happy. The flowers often thought they heard it sigh as its head\ndrooped almost to the ground.\n\n\u201cHow I wish I might have flowers like the other plants,\u201d it said to\nitself, \u201cblue ones, the colour of the beautiful sky. There is so much\nblue, surely some could be spared for the earth. Then the children would\nnot always need to look up to see the sky.\u201d But it kept its secret close\nto its heart and only bent its head a little lower.\n\n\u201cWhat makes you droop so, little plant?\u201d asked one of the flowers. \u201cYour\nleaves are quite down again. Surely the sun is not too warm here.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell us,\u201d said the others, \u201cperhaps we can be of some help to you. We\nwant to see you look up again at the sky as you used to do.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt would be of no use to tell you,\u201d answered the little plant. \u201cI have\noften whispered my secret to the old tree as its branches swayed near me,\nbut it has all been of no use,\u201d and its head bent lower and lower.\n\n\u201cPerhaps,\u201d said the flowers to each other, \u201cperhaps our Angel can be of\nsome help. Let us speak to her.\u201d\n\nAnd when evening came, and the Angel closed the flowers as she kissed\nthem good-night, she heard one whisper, \u201cSomething makes our little\nfriend very sad. She will not tell us. See if she will tell you her\nsecret.\u201d They saw the Angel stoop down and whisper something to the\nlittle plant and go away.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\u201cSee how our little companion has raised its head this morning,\u201d said the\ngrasses.\n\n\u201cAn Angel visited her last night,\u201d one answered.\n\nBy and by a day came when the little plant was covered with many tiny\nblossoms. The other flowers rejoiced to see them. \u201cWe\u2019ve guessed your\nsecret. What beautiful flower children\u2014blue, like the sky. It makes the\nsky seem very near.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is my secret,\u201d answered the little plant. \u201cWhen I told it to the\nAngel I said, \u2018My flowers must be just the colour of the sky.\u2019 And she\nwhispered, \u2018Then always look up, for your flowers will be like that which\nyou love most.\u2019 Then she went away.\u201d\n\nThe Forget-me-not was happy. She never drooped her head again, and the\nAngel always kissed her good-night as she passed by.\n\n\n\n\nFOUR-LEAF CLOVER[13]\n\nELLA HIGGINSON\n\n\n I know a place where the sun is like gold,\n And the cherry blooms burst with snow,\n And down underneath is the loveliest nook\n Where the four-leaf clovers grow.\n I know a place where the sun is like gold,\n And the cherry blooms burst with snow.\n\n One leaf is for hope, and one is for faith,\n And one is for love, you know,\n And God put another one in for luck,\n If you search you will find where they grow.\n I know a place where the sun is like gold,\n And the cherry blooms burst with snow.\n\n But you must have hope, and you must have faith,\n You must love and be strong, and so\n If you work, if you wait, you will find the place\n Where the four-leaf clovers grow.\n I know a place where the sun is like gold,\n And the cherry blooms burst with snow.\n\n\n\n\nJOLLY LITTLE TARS\n\nAGNES MCCLELLAN DAULTON\n\n\n\u201cTur-r-r-r-t, tre-t-t,\u201d trilled a tree-toad who was perched one June day,\non a log at the water\u2019s edge. \u201cThis is a perfect day for us Water-folk.\nSurely there never was such blue in the sky, such green in the grass, nor\nsuch dimpling cloud shadows skipping about everywhere. It is the very day\nto sit down and dream.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe think it just the day for a race,\u201d cried a whirligig beetle who was\nwhizzing past. \u201cCome on, Whirligigs! let us see who will win this time.\u201d\nAnd away they went with a dash, flash, and spin, a long curve here, a\nquick turn there, faster and faster.\n\n\u201cMy, my!\u201d said the tree-toad, half closing his eyes. \u201cIt seems to me\nevery day is the day for a race with those Whirligigs. I never saw one of\nthem meditating in my life. It makes me dizzy and gives me a headache to\nwatch them spinning. It is a wonder they don\u2019t dash themselves to pieces.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot they,\u201d yawned a little snapping-turtle, who had been drowsing on a\nstone near by. \u201cIf you look close at a Whirligig, you will see that he\nis nearly as well protected as I am in my strong shell. How you exist\nwith that soft body of yours is more than I can understand. You are a\npeaceable sort of fellow, but your best friend must admit that you are\nvery ugly.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo such thing,\u201d sputtered the tree-toad, leaning far out to look at\nhis reflection in the water. \u201cI\u2019m nothing of the sort. My mother says\nthat I was the handsomest polliwog in the family. You are forced to wear\none dress always, and that a dull old shell, while I change the colour\nof my clothes to suit the occasion, as all well-bred persons should.\nThis morning I am wearing a full suit of grey-brown; that is because it\nmatches so perfectly this lichen-covered log upon which I am seated. When\nI go swimming, my bathing suit is ashen grey, with green trimmings.\nIf I were to visit the swamp maples I should don plain brown, and if I\nshould take a hop in the grass I should wear a beautiful dress suit of\ngreen. I am Mr. Hyla Versicolour, I\u2019d have you know. See how rough and\nwarty my back is; that is a sign of good family among toads. Watch me\npuff out my throat like a great white bubble as I whistle my tur-r-r-r-t,\ntre-t-t! Besides having a winning voice and power to change my colour I\ncan breathe through my skin. I have a remarkable foot, also. Look at this\ndelicate webbing, and these cunning little disks at the ends of my toes.\nI can climb as well as swim, Mr. Snapper. See me dart out my tongue; it\nis fastened in front and free at the back, so that I may catch a fly in a\nflash.\n\n\u201cUgly fellow, indeed!\u201d Mr. Hyla puffed out his throat as far as he could.\n\u201cFiddlesticks!\u201d snapped the turtle, slipping into the pool with a splash.\n\u201cYou are a worse boaster than a water-boatman. Talk to yourself, please,\u201d\nand away he swam.\n\n\u201cThat Snapper always was a disagreeable fellow,\u201d mused Hyla, with his\neyes half shut. \u201cThere come those Whirligigs back. I wonder which one\nbeat.\u201d\n\n\u201cPooh, how could a Whirligig beat?\u201d scornfully asked a water-strider who\nhad overheard the tree-toad. \u201cThey swim in circles, the foolish things.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s all you know about Whirligig racing,\u201d cried the largest\nwhirligig, who was swimming near. \u201cWe _all_ win every race. But of course\nyou can\u2019t expect a common water-strider with only one pair of eyes to\nunderstand that.\u201d\n\n\u201cOne pair of eyes!\u201d exclaimed Hyla. \u201cWhy, have you more eyes than the\nrest of us, Mr. Whirligig?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly,\u201d replied the beetle, proudly. \u201cWe are not given to boasting,\nbut, since you ask, I will say that we Whirligigs have many remarkable\ntraits. Our family name is Gyrinid\u00e6.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho cares for that?\u201d shouted the angry water-strider, skating toward the\nwhirligig with all his might. \u201cGet out of the road, you beetle, or I will\nskate you down! Ugh, what a horrid perfume you use! How dare you, sir!\u201d\ngasped the strider, as the whirligig swam away, leaving the poor strider\ngasping and sputtering on the other side of the pool.\n\n\u201cKeep your distance, then,\u201d called the whirligig after him.\n\n\u201cHe won\u2019t bother me for a time,\u201d laughed the beetle to the tree-toad.\n\u201cYou see I have the power to give off a milky fluid from my joints, and\ncommon water-folk object to the odour, but it is my only way to get on\nwith these skaters.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut do you really mean,\u201d asked the Hyla, \u201cthat you have more eyes than\nthe rest of us?\u201d\n\n\u201cI certainly do,\u201d replied the beetle with dignity. \u201cWe Whirligigs have a\nsecond pair of eyes under our chins, which enable us to see to the bottom\nof the pool as we swim about, and most convenient we find them.\u201d\n\n\u201cWonderful! wonderful!\u201d The Hyla could scarcely express his amazement.\n\u201cI suppose that is the reason you never hurt yourselves in such rapid\nswimming?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot at all,\u201d said the whirligig. \u201cExamine this handsome, glittering\nblueblack uniform I wear. It is really a coat of mail to protect not only\nour bodies but also our gauzy wings, for we fly as well as swim.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shouldn\u2019t think you could hop very well,\u201d remarked the tree-toad;\n\u201cyour legs look like oars.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho wants to hop if he can swim and fly?\u201d retorted the whirligig, with\nscorn. \u201cI am sure I don\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, come,\u201d cried the other whirligigs, who were swimming by. \u201cDon\u2019t\nspend the day talking when there is racing to be done.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, good-bye, Mr. Tree-toad. There comes that skater again so I will\nbe gone,\u201d and off whisked the beetle.\n\n\u201cNow that was interesting,\u201d said the Hyla to himself. \u201cI really ought to\nknow something more of my neighbours. There comes a Water-Spider[14] for\na bubble. Now I must ask her what she does with it.\n\n\u201cGood-morning, Mistress Spider. What are you going to do with that silver\nbubble, may I ask?\u201d\n\n\u201cGood-morning,\u201d replied Mrs. Spider, as she snatched a bubble of air\nand held it with her hind legs. \u201cI haven\u2019t time to explain up here, Mr.\nTree-Toad, but if you will call at my home I will be glad to tell you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall be most happy,\u201d replied the Hyla, slipping into the water in a\njiffy, and in a second later he was resting on the bottom of the pool,\njust under Mrs. Water Spider\u2019s glittering balloon.\n\n\u201cThat certainly is very beautiful, Mrs. Spider. Would you mind explaining\nhow it is done?\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cNot at all,\u201d said the spider, as she came and sat in the door of her\nhome. \u201cMy house, sir, is woven of silk, just as are those of other\nspiders, but instead of a web I weave this egg-shaped nest with the door\nat the bottom. Now, although I live under water, I breathe air, and it\nis necessary for me to fill my house with it. So up to the top I go and\ncatch a bubble of air with the hairs of my abdomen and my two hinder\nlegs. I then bring it down here and hang it in my silken balloon until it\nis, as you see, a glittering, transparent bell. In the top of my nest I\nweave a little chamber in which to lay my eggs, and when my babies hatch\nout they stay in this shining home until they are strong enough to build\na nest for themselves.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how many eggs, Mrs. Spider,\u201d asked Hyla, politely, \u201cdo you put in\nthe chamber?\u201d\n\n\u201cA hundred is the usual number,\u201d replied Mrs. Spider, \u201cbut now you really\nmust excuse me, as I am in need of more air.\u201d\n\n\u201cGoodness gracious,\u201d mused the tree-toad, looking after her as she darted\ntoward the top. \u201cI should think she would feel something like that old\nwoman who lived in a shoe, who had so many children she didn\u2019t know what\nto do. But what have we here?\u201d and Mr. Hyla leaned forward to watch a wee\nlog hut that was creeping in the queerest way on a water-weed.\n\n\u201cUgh! What great goggle eyes you have!\u201d piped a tiny voice from the door\nof the hut. \u201cI should like to know what you are staring at.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, this is surprising,\u201d gasped the Hyla. \u201cNow, who in the world are\nyou?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am a caddis-worm out for an airing,\u201d said the voice again, as the hut\nreached the edge of the leaf. \u201cI hope you have no objections.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, no; of course not,\u201d stammered the astonished Hyla. \u201cOnly I should\nlike to know if all caddis-worms carry their houses about with them?\u201d\n\n\u201cThis is my overcoat, I\u2019d have you know,\u201d said the caddis, thrusting out\nhis little black head. \u201cMy brother wears one of leaves, my sister wears a\nsand jacket. But mine is the best fit.\u201d\n\n\u201cMay I ask who is your tailor?\u201d asked the tree-toad. \u201cIt is certainly a\nremarkable coat.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am my own tailor,\u201d replied the worm. \u201cA caddis would scorn to have his\nclothes made for him; but it is very hard work, I can assure you of that.\u201d\n\n\u201cWould you mind telling me about it?\u201d inquired the Hyla. \u201cYour coat is a\nperfect fit; there isn\u2019t a wrinkle in it.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you,\u201d replied the gratified caddis-worm. \u201cYou see,\u201d he went on to\nexplain, \u201cwe always make our coats out of the material at hand. Now,\nwhen I found these stylish sticks I anchored myself to a stone by a bit\nof silk which I spun from my mouth, for we caddis-worms furnish our own\nthread. Then by the aid of the same silk I wove this handsome coat, bit\nby bit, making one section at a time, and then slipping my head through\nand wriggling it down into place. See, I can put out my head and my first\nthree pairs of feet, and so creep where I will.\u201d\n\n\u201cMost remarkable, most remarkable,\u201d drawled the toad, who didn\u2019t believe\na word of it. \u201cAnd did you say your sister wears a jacket of sand?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yes, that is common enough,\u201d answered the caddis. \u201cI have heard\nthat my grandfather, who wore an overcoat of shells, wove into it some\ntiny ones, each of which was the home of a little living creature, and\nthe poor things had to pick up a living the best way they could. I have\nalso been told that in captivity some of my family have made remarkable\ncoats of gold dust and crushed glass. After a time I shall draw my head\nback into my overcoat and weave a silk veil, and so shut myself in and\ngo to sleep. When I wake up I shall no longer be a worm, but a beautiful\nfour-winged fly; my gauzy wings will be delicately fringed and there will\nbe slender antenn\u00e6 upon my head, and I shall float in the air. Is not\nthat a beautiful future? But here comes a pond-snail, a most interesting\nfellow. Shall I introduce you?\u201d\n\n\u201cMost happy. I hope you are well,\u201d said Mr. Hyla.\n\nBut the snail said he wasn\u2019t feeling very well, as he had eaten a\nwater-weed that didn\u2019t agree with him; still, he was very pleasant and\nanswered all the tree-toad\u2019s questions most kindly.\n\nHe said the first he could remember he was a little baby-snail not as big\nas a pinhead, moving about with hundreds of his brothers in the sand. Yet\neven then he carried a house on his back, a tiny, perfect shell, into\nwhich he could creep when danger threatened.\n\n\u201cSome people say I am very slow,\u201d said the snail, \u201cbut they forget I have\nonly one foot and carry my house on my back. Yet I am not complaining,\nfor I have a head in which are my eyes, mouth, feelers, and organs of\nsmell, while my relative, the oyster, having no head, has to wear his\neyes, ears, and feelers on his mantle and his mouth near his hinge, poor\nfellow! Even my own cousin, the land-snail, has her eyes on long feelers,\nand has to draw them in if danger is near. Then see what a handsome\ncone-shaped shell I wear; inside there is a kind of spiral staircase, up\nwhich I can creep, and I can close my door with a thin film. If I break\nmy shell I patch it with a sticky fluid that hardens and makes my home\nas good as new. I am an air-breathing creature and go up to the top to\nset free the bubble of impure air I have breathed and then bring down a\nbubble of fresh, sweet air. I have a long, ribbon-like tongue covered\nwith teeth, with which I can chew the delicious water-weeds. Really, I\nconsider myself a very lucky creature.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt must be a trifle monotonous,\u201d thought the Hyla, as he swam toward the\ntop. \u201cI should want a more stirring life. I wonder what that is!\u201d\n\nWhat he saw was a small object floating on the top of the water like an\nodd little boat, only it seemed made of tiny jars with their openings\ntoward the bottom, and out of these jars were darting wee brown wigglers.\n\n\u201cHello, little chaps! who are you?\u201d called the tree-toad.\n\n\u201cWe don\u2019t know, we just got out,\u201d cried the wigglers, \u201cbut there is our\nbig brother; ask him.\u201d\n\nThe brother was a curious fellow. His body was very slender and of a\nmottled green colour, and he had large dark eyes. He also wore a huge\nmoustache, which he was always moving about in a curious way, for he used\nit as a hand for feeding himself. On one side of his tail was a queer\nlittle screw he used as a propeller and rudder. He was sailing about at a\nfurious rate, but almost always on his head, with his tail stuck out of\nthe water.\n\n\u201cAllow me to ask what you are doing in that strange position?\u201d inquired\nthe Hyla in his mildest tones.\n\n\u201cBreathing, sir, as I should think you could see,\u201d replied the larva,\ncrossly. \u201cWhat other way should one breathe?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, excuse me,\u201d said the tree-toad, as he slipped up to his old seat on\nthe log. \u201cI didn\u2019t mean any offence.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe fact is,\u201d said the larva more pleasantly, \u201cI have to go into my pupa\ncase to-morrow and it makes me cross. It is no fun simply to float about\nwithout eating. Still, I shall be able to move about, and that is more\nthan many an insect can do as a pupa, and after all it is only for a few\ndays, and then I shall hatch out into a beautiful mosquito.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, well,\u201d said the tree-toad, \u201cthat will be pleasant. It seems to me\nI have heard of the mosquito. He is a musician, like myself, is he not?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy mother was a fine singer,\u201d replied the larva, proudly. \u201cShe had\nbeautiful wings, two plume-like antenn\u00e6, and six slender legs; and she\nalways carried about with her a case in which there were five lancets to\npierce the skin of men and cattle, and she had also a drop of poison to\ninject into the wound. My father never did anything but fly about in the\nsunshine and sip honey; my mother was the talented member of the family.\nI think I will be going; there come the Giant Water-bugs.\u201d\n\nMrs. Giant Water-bug was swimming quietly along by her husband, who\nlooked very sulky and cross, and did not even return the Hyla\u2019s greeting.\n\n\u201cMy, my,\u201d sighed a water-boatman who was swimming about on his back, \u201chow\nI do pity Mr. Giant Water-bug! Do not take offence at his not speaking,\nHyla; he is simply crushed with his trouble. You see his wife forces\nhim to act as a sort of baby carriage. She fastens her eggs on his back\nwith waterproof glue, although he struggles and struggles to escape her,\nand he has to carry them about with him everywhere, poor old fellow!\nSometimes he is so nearly heartbroken he just hangs to a water-weed and\nwon\u2019t move, no matter who tries to get up a fight with him. It is hard on\nhim, for Giant Water-bugs have gay times. They fly away from the pond in\nsuch numbers to dance about those great shining balls that hang over the\nvillage that men have changed their names to \u2018electric-light\u2019 bugs. But\nwhat a time I have been gossiping here! I think I shall go for a swim.\u201d\n\nThe tree-toad sat sunning himself on the log, but ever on the outlook for\na new acquaintance.\n\n\u201cFaugh!\u201d exclaimed the Hyla at last, \u201cthere is one of those horrid things\nthat used to frighten me most out of my wits when I was a timid little\npolliwog wriggling through the water. She can\u2019t hurt me now, so I will\nspeak to her. Good-morning, my friend! May I ask who you are, and where\nyou are going?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am not quite sure either,\u201d replied the queer-looking creature as it\ndragged itself painfully up a water-weed. \u201cI was once a larva much feared\nin this pool. I fed upon the juiciest polliwogs and other delicacies. But\na strange change came over me. I couldn\u2019t eat, and I fell half asleep,\nand to-day I feel that I just _must_ climb out of the water; I cannot\ntell why. I think another change is going to take place in me. So I can\nonly bid the world good-bye. Perhaps this is death.\u201d And fixing herself\nfirmly to the weed by means of two little hooks on each of her six feet\nshe hung perfectly motionless.\n\n\u201cBless me,\u201d gasped the tree-toad, after he had watched the creature\npatiently for a few minutes. \u201cHer eyes are certainly growing brighter,\nand what is the matter with her back? A crack, as I am a tree-toad!\u201d\n\nSlowly the queer thing drew herself out of her case. She had a soft body\nnow, and damp, closely-folded wings. But the kind sunshine and the gentle\nbreeze came to help, and, little by little, she began to unfurl her\nwonderful wings,\u2014great filmy wings that shimmered with blue and green,\nbrown and yellow, delicate pink and violet, and she had large eyes that\nglittered with twenty thousand facets.\n\n\u201cOh! oh!\u201d cried the Hyla. \u201cHow beautiful you are, you great dragon fly!\u201d\n\nBut away she flew without a word, zigzagging back and forth across the\npool; a living gem, emerald, sapphire, and topaz, knitting the flecked\nsunshine with loops of light.\n\n\u201cWell, well,\u201d said the tree-toad, \u201cthis is the most astonishing thing of\nall, to think of that ugly larva changing to that beautiful rainbow fly!\nBut the day is going and I really ought to accomplish something before\nsunset. So I think I shall take a little trip over to that elm and sing\nfor rain,\u201d and off he hopped, leaving the pool sparkling in the sunshine,\ndappled with cloud-shadows, cool, silent, and sweet with drifting lilies.\n\n\n\n\nMR. MAPLE AND MR. PINE\n\nWARREN JUDSON BRIER\n\n\nOnce upon a time, many years ago, a little maple seed, with its two gauzy\nwings, became lodged among the feathers of a wood pigeon, and was by\nthat swift flying bird carried far away into the pine forest. It fell to\nthe ground, and the rains soon beat it into the earth. It was not sorry\nto get out of sight, for the Pine Family, into whose domain it had been\ncarried, seemed displeased to see it among them. Anyway, they all looked\nblack and threatening to the little seed.\n\nYears afterward there stood upon the spot where the seed had fallen,\na hardy tree which we can make no mistake in calling Mr. Rock Maple.\nIn all that part of the forest Mr. Maple had no relatives. As he grew\nstronger and stronger, the dislike of the Pines, particularly of the\nPine boys, grew likewise stronger. As he pushed his limbs farther in\nevery direction, the Pine boys seemed to look more darkly upon him.\nThey begrudged him the very ground he stood on. The younger Pine boys\nspread out their arms to try to prevent Rock Maple from getting the light\nand moisture which he so much needed in that sandy soil. At times they\nshowered great quantities of needles upon him, and at certain seasons\nof the year they pelted him unmercifully with their cones, sharp rough\nweapons that played havoc with Mr. Maple\u2019s garments of green, yellow and\nred.\n\nOld Mr. Pine, who waved his green head in the air nearly a hundred and\nfifty feet above the earth, did not seem to have very good control over\nhis boys, for though he himself did not often deign to pelt Mr. Maple\nwith the few cones he possessed, he never rebuked the boys for their\nimpoliteness.\n\nOne day the Pine boys were unusually rough, made so by the strong wind.\nThey knew Mr. Maple was not to blame, but there was no one else to lay\nthe blame on, so they pelted him with cones until he lost his temper.\nHe was just wondering what he would do to prevent the annoyance, when,\nlooking down, he saw that some little creatures had appeared upon the\nscene, and were striking right and left at the Pines with a sharp tool,\nagainst which needles and cones were of no use whatever.\n\n\u201cHow good of those little things to take my part,\u201d said Mr. Maple to\nhimself.\n\nIn a very short time hundreds of the Pines were lying prone upon the\nearth. Some were formed into a house, while others were drawn away to\na small stream, rolled into its sluggish waters, and soon disappeared\nforever from the gaze of Mr. Pine, who grieved for them, and of Mr.\nMaple, who did not.\n\n\u201cNobody here now of any consequence,\u201d exclaimed Mr. Pine with a\ncontemptuous look at Mr. Maple. Mr. Maple paid no attention. \u201cIf you were\nnot such a dwarf, I\u2019d talk to you sometimes, even if you _don\u2019t_ amount\nto much,\u201d he finally said with an air of great condescension. \u201cIt makes\nme hoarse to talk down so far.\u201d\n\nFor a long time after that Mr. Maple kept silent, wondering why Mr. Pine\nand himself had been spared.\n\nBut great surprises were in store for these two enemies. A family came to\nlive in the log house, and among them was the smallest human being that\nthe trees had ever seen,\u2014a little girl named Camilla. She soon got into\nthe habit of coming out and playing under the two large trees.\n\nOne day her father brought home a small box, at sight of which she went\ninto a transport of joy, screaming, \u201cMy kit, my darling kit! I never\nthought to see you again!\u201d The box was soon opened, and she lifted a\nqueer-shaped little instrument from it; then, taking it by its long neck,\nshe drew a small wand across it, and it gave forth a sound that thrilled\nevery fibre of both Pine and Maple through and through.\n\nIt is too long a story to tell how both trees came to love Camilla very\ndearly; how delighted Mr. Pine was when she took some resin which he held\nout to her; how pleased Camilla looked, how white were her teeth, and how\nshe loved him for the gift; how Mr. Maple had his reward when the passing\nfrost touched him and gave him a beautiful garment, much to the delight\nof Little Camilla, or how when the long winter was nearly done the little\nviolinist fairly hugged him for the sugar he had yielded her.\n\nA fatal day came at last. Men appeared with sharp axes and heavy wagons\nand attacked Mr. Maple. They had not cut into him very deeply before one\nof them exclaimed to the others, \u201cCurly Maple, as I live!\u201d\n\nMr. Pine laughed, but before night he had met the same fate. The man who\nfelled him remarked to the others, \u201cWell on to ten thousand feet in that\nold fellow!\u201d\n\nCamilla looked on while the trees were loaded and drawn away, tears\nfilling her blue eyes. \u201cGood-bye, old friends,\u201d she exclaimed.\n\nAway to a noisy place they went. Soon they were cut up into small\nstrips by a monster with very sharp teeth. These strips were carried in\ndifferent directions, some of the best pieces being loaded upon cars and\nhurried away to a distant city. From this place they took a long journey\nin the deep, dark hold of a great ship; again upon the cars, until at\nlast they rested in a dry house.\n\nOne day one of the Maple boards and one of the Pine boards were taken\nout, carefully inspected and then made smooth and even on the outside.\nThen a skilful workman cut them up into small pieces, and made them into\ncurious shapes. He took great pains not to leave the scratch of knife or\nchisel upon any of the pieces. He finally glued them all together, and\nbehold, they were of the same shape as Camilla\u2019s kit, but somewhat larger.\n\nThe workman explained to an observer, \u201cI use pine for the front, or\nsounding-board, as it is light and vibrant. The more porous it is the\nbetter. Maple is the best wood I can get for the other parts, because it\nis so dense, vibrates slowly, and holds the vibrations made by the pine\nfor a long time, thus prolonging the sound.\u201d\n\nAfter the slow process of finishing and varnishing was completed the\nviolin was placed in a dark box, and there it lay for a long time.\n\nPine and Maple said little to each other. They were not very comfortable\nnor very happy. The strings that had been stretched over them were very\ncruel and pressed upon the Pine, which pressed upon the soundpost, and\nthat pressed upon the Maple. Sometimes a string broke, and gave them\ntemporary relief, but soon some one would come and put on another.\n\nAfter passing through two or three small stores the violin finally came\nto rest in a large one, in a city distant from the one in which it had\nbeen made, and all was quiet for a long time. Still Pine and Maple said\nbut little to each other. Shut up in their dark box they didn\u2019t feel very\ncheerful.\n\n\u201cA living death, this!\u201d grumbled Pine.\n\n\u201cWe must make the best of it,\u201d replied Maple.\n\nOne evening a stranger came into the store and asked, \u201cHave you a\nfirst-class violin in stock?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, just one. I got it several months ago by the merest chance. We\ndon\u2019t keep such instruments usually,\u201d said the dealer, taking out the\nviolin. \u201cIt is wonderful for an instrument not ten years old.\u201d\n\n\u201cI want one for the evening, only,\u201d said the stranger. \u201cMadame Camilla is\nhere in the city, and to-night plays for the Orphans\u2019 Home. One of her\nviolins is under treatment, and her Cremona has been broken.\u201d\n\n\u201cMadame Camilla!\u201d exclaimed Pine, with a quiver of delight.\n\n\u201cCan it be our little Camilla?\u201d asked Maple in a trembling voice.\n\nIn a few minutes the violin was taken from its case by Camilla\u2019s own\nhand. She ran her fingers gently over the strings, looked at the varnish,\ntightened the bow and rosined it carefully and finally placed the violin\nagainst her shoulder, and drew the bow smoothly across the strings.\n\nShe played an air in which the coming of a storm was represented, and\nPine and Maple heard once more the sighing of the wind as it once had\nswept through their branches.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s the sound of the wind in the pine and maple that stood near my\nlog cabin home when I was a little girl,\u201d said the musician to the people\nstanding near.\n\nThen for the first time both Pine and Maple felt certain that this was\nreally their Camilla.\n\nThe curtain rose, the manager stepped to the front and in a few words\nexplained the accident, and stated that a new and untried violin must be\nused.\n\n\u201cLet us lay aside all discord, and act in perfect harmony to-night,\u201d said\nthe forgiving Maple.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll do it,\u201d answered Pine, more cheerfully than he had ever spoken\nbefore.\n\nPine and Maple beat and throbbed under the wonderful strokes and\nlong-drawn sweeps of the bow. When the piece was finished a storm of\napplause burst upon them like a tempest. Again the curtain went up and\nthe violin found itself in the glare of the footlights once more. This\ntime the performer touched the strings gently, and played a tune that\nmany people who had come to the store had tried to play, the words to the\nfirst line being, \u201cWay down upon de Suwanee Ribber.\u201d\n\nWhen it was finished the people were silent, and tears glistened in many\neyes.\n\n\u201cMaple, forgive me,\u201d said the now humble Pine. \u201cI\u2019ve learned a great\nlesson, though a very simple one. The best results in life are\naccomplished through harmony and not through discord.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ll live in harmony hereafter,\u201d said Maple.\n\nThe great soul of the artist had breathed into the instrument and made it\nglorious.\n\n\n\n\nA GARDEN OF EASTER STORIES\n\n\n\n\n My garden is a lovesome thing.\n Rose plot,\n Fringed grot:\n The veriest school of Peace.\n And yet the fool contends\n That God is not in gardens.\n Not in gardens\u2014when the eve is cool?\n Nay, but I have a sign:\n \u2019Tis very sure God walks in mine.\n\n _Old English Verse._\n\n\n\n\nTHE EASTER RABBIT\n\nGERMAN LEGEND\n\n\nShrill and sharp North Wind whistled through the forest where the trees\nand flowers were patiently awaiting the arrival of My Lady Spring. Jack\nFrost was delighted. Perched on the topmost branches of the great trees\nhe laughed gleefully. \u201cHa! ha! ha! surely Old Father Winter has forgotten\nthat April is almost here,\u201d said he. \u201cI shall not remind him, not I. They\nsay My Lady Spring who is waiting in Wild-Flower Hollow is growing most\nimpatient!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd so am I,\u201d whispered Mother Maple to her neighbour Dame Oak. \u201cI\u2019ve\ntold my babies many pleasant stories about My Lady Spring and her\ncompanion Merry Sunshine. I\u2019m afraid I shall be unable to keep them in\ntheir dark cradles much longer.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! do hold them back a few days,\u201d said Dame Oak. \u201cYou remember what\ntrouble that rude rollicking fellow Jack-Frost made last year. So long\nas he is here he insists on playing with all the babies of the forest. I\ndo wish Lady Spring would come and tell him to be off.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe\u2019ll never go so long as his bold brother North Wind remains,\u201d sighed\nSilver Beech.\n\n\u201cNever mind,\u201d said Dame Oak. \u201cI feel sure we shall not have to wait much\nlonger. Indeed I saw Merry Sunshine dancing near the edge of the forest\nyesterday. I feel quite hopeful.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, how happy I shall be to hear Thrush\u2019s song again,\u201d said Silver Beech.\n\n\u201cAnd the happy children\u2019s voices! They haven\u2019t been to the forest since\nnutting season,\u201d said Dame Oak. \u201cI\u2019m sure they are longing to come again.\u201d\n\nFor some time Lady Spring had been waiting in Wild-Flower Hollow near the\nedge of the forest. Only a few days ago the children had come there to\ngather flowers.\n\n\u201cNot a bird or blossom anywhere. See how brown and bare that bank is!\u201d\nsaid one.\n\n\u201cAnd Easter is almost here. I wonder why Lady Spring is so late!\u201d said\nanother.\n\n\u201cMaybe she has forgotten us,\u201d said a tiny companion.\n\n\u201cI am very disappointed. Last year at this time that bank was blue with\nviolets. Come, let us go home!\u201d And away ran the children.\n\n\u201cI shall wait no longer,\u201d said Lady Spring. \u201cCome, Merry Sunshine.\u201d\n\nAway danced Merry Sunshine and Lady Spring followed in trailing robes of\ngreen and white.\n\nWaving her silver wand over the bank of Wild-Flower Hollow she whispered,\n\u201cReady, Violets; come, Starry Bluet; my sweet Anemone, you need wait no\nlonger. Ah, brave Arbutus, I see you were expecting me. Did you think I\nwas never coming, my dainty Spring Beauty?\u201d\n\nHow graceful Lady Spring looked waving her magic wand here and there\nthrough the forest. Wherever she stooped and touched the brown earth the\nfresh grass leaped forth; when she tapped the great tree trunks the bare\nbranches above instantly veiled themselves in tender green. She waved at\nthe brooklet and away it ran over the moss and pebbles.\n\n\u201cSing, Merry Sunshine, dance and sing!\u201d Lady Spring called to her\ncompanion.\n\nMerry Sunshine trilled the gayest song. It rang sweetly through forest\nand echoed far away over the hills to the South where the birds were\nwaiting patiently for the call. How gladly they came! Bluebird and\nBobolink, Cardinal and Chickadee, Blackbird and Thrush and Wren,\u2014all the\nforest warblers answered Merry Sunshine\u2019s Song of Spring.\n\n\u201cAt last my work is done!\u201d said Lady Spring joyously.\n\n\u201cWhen are the children coming?\u201d asked Dame Oak.\n\n\u201cOh, to be sure! I must not forget to send them word that I am here.\nRobin Redbreast, will you take a message of Spring to the children? I\u2019m\nsure they will want to see the lovely blossoms and hear the sweet birds\u2019\nsongs.\u201d\n\n\u201cLady Spring,\u201d said Robin, \u201cI\u2019m afraid I cannot go to-day. You see my\nmate and I are building a soft warm nest in Oak-Tree. We are very late\nthis year.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo be sure, Robin. I wonder where I can find a messenger.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think Red Fox would go for you,\u201d answered Robin Redbreast. \u201cSee, here\nhe comes now.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill you take word to the children that I have come, Reynard?\u201d asked\nLady Spring.\n\n\u201cOh, I should be glad to go, but the people might think I came to steal\ntheir chickens. I believe Black Bear would be a better messenger than any\nof us. I\u2019ll run and ask him to go.\u201d\n\nBut Reynard brought back the answer that Black Bear was afraid he would\nfrighten the children too much.\n\n\u201cWhat shall I do for a messenger,\u201d sighed Lady Spring.\n\nRobin cocked his head on one side and looked very thoughtful. Then he\nsaid, \u201cI have it, I believe Bunny Rabbit would go; I saw him hop past but\na moment ago. I\u2019ll call him.\u201d\n\nAt Robin\u2019s whistle Bunny came leaping out of the bushes.\n\n\u201cBunny Rabbit, I want you to take a message to the children in the city.\nPlease go and tell them Spring has come.\u201d\n\n\u201cA message to the city, Lady Spring!\u201d exclaimed Bunny, raising his ears\nupright. \u201cPlease ask me to do anything but that! Dear me! The dogs\nmight catch me! They bark so fiercely! And naughty boys might chase me!\nI\u2019m sure I should never come back!\u201d Bunny dropped his voice and looked\nquickly about in all directions. Lady Spring was puzzled.\n\n\u201cBunny,\u201d said Robin, \u201ccouldn\u2019t you go at night? You know the dogs and\nboys go to sleep then and you can hop so softly that I\u2019m sure they would\nnot hear you. Besides, your ears are very sharp.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, perhaps I could go at midnight,\u201d said Bunny, thoughtfully. \u201cBut\nhow could I take a message to the children without wakening them?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I can manage that,\u201d said Lady Spring. \u201cMeet me in Wild-Flower Hollow\na little before twelve o\u2019clock. Then you shall know all about my plan.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will come,\u201d said Bunny.\n\nLady Spring made a beautiful basket out of twigs and leaves and grasses.\nShe lined it with the softest moss. Around the top she placed a garland\nof choicest wild flowers. And, when the birds knew that she was sending a\nmessage to the children, each one wished to help her. So they sent lovely\nlittle eggs of all colours\u2014greenish blue, brown, white and spotted. How\nbeautiful they looked lying on the bed of moss wreathed with flowers.\n\nA little before midnight Bunny came to Wild-Flower Hollow.\n\n\u201cI am ready,\u201d said Lady Spring. \u201cSee, Bunny, here is plenty of moss. Do\nbe careful with these precious eggs. When you come to a house where a\nlittle child lives take out a bit of moss and form it into a wee nest\nlike this,\u201d said Lady Spring, weaving quickly a moss nest. \u201cThen put into\neach one a wild flower and an egg,\u2014so. Leave an egg for each child in the\nhouse.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, yes, I understand, Lady Spring,\u201d said Bunny. \u201cHow pretty the nest\nis!\u201d\n\nOff he started as gaily as could be.\n\nOn Easter morning Merry Sunshine wakened the children early.\n\n\u201cSee! see! I found this little moss nest on the door-step,\u201d cried one\nof them. \u201cThere is a wild-flower and three coloured eggs in it. How\nbeautiful!\u201d\n\n\u201cAn egg for each of us!\u201d said another. \u201cI wonder what it means.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know, I know,\u201d said little brother. \u201cThere are Bunny tracks on the\npath. He must have brought the nest to us. Perhaps he came to tell us\nSpring is here.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course he did!\u201d cried the children, clapping their tiny hands in\nglee. \u201cBunny was Spring\u2019s messenger.\u201d\n\nAway to the woods ran the children, crying out, \u201cSpring is here, Spring\nis here. Bunny Rabbit brought us the message.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE BOY WHO DISCOVERED THE SPRING[15]\n\nRAYMOND MACDONALD ALDEN\n\n\nThere came once a little Elf Boy to live on this earth, and he was so\nmuch pleased with it that he stayed, never caring to go back to his\nown world. I do not know where his own world was, or just how he came\nto leave it. Some thought that he was dropped by accident from some\nfalling star, and some that he had flown away, thinking that he could\nfly back again whenever he chose, because he did not know that children\nalways lose their wings when they come into this world. But no one knew\ncertainly, as he never told any one; and, after all, it did not matter,\nsince, as I have already said, he liked the earth so much that he did not\ncare to leave it.\n\nThere was a Hermit who lived in the valley where the little Boy had\nfirst come, and, as he had a room in his house for a visitor, he took him\nin, and they grew to like each other so well that again the little Boy\ndid not care to go away, nor did the Hermit care to have him. The Hermit\nhad not always been a Hermit, but he had become a sorrowful man, and\ndid not care to live where other people lived, or to share any of their\npleasures. The reason he had become a sorrowful man was that his only\nchild had died, and it seemed to him that there was nothing worth living\nfor after that. So he moved to the lonely valley, and I suppose would\nhave spent the rest of his life by himself, if it had not been for the\nlittle Elf Boy.\n\nIt was a very lovely valley, with great, green meadows that sloped down\nto a rippling brook, and in summer-time were full of red and white and\nyellow blossoms. Over the brook there hung green trees, whose roots made\npleasant places to rest when one was tired; and along the water\u2019s edge\nthere grew blue flowers, while many little frogs and other live creatures\nplayed there. It was summer-time when the little Elf Boy came, and the\nflowers and the trees and the brook and the frogs made him very happy. I\nthink that in the world from which he came they did not have such things:\nit was made chiefly of gold and silver and precious stones, instead of\nthings that grow and blossom and keep one company. So the Elf Boy was\nvery happy. He did not ask to go to play in the village over the hill,\nbut was quite content with the meadows and the brook-side. The only thing\nthat did not please him was that the old Hermit still remained sorrowful,\nthinking always of his child who had died and this the Elf Boy did not\nunderstand, for in the world from which he came nothing ever died, and\nhe thought it strange that if the Hermit\u2019s child had died he did not\npatiently wait for him to come back again.\n\nSo the summer went merrily on, and the Elf Boy learned to know the names\nof all the flowers in the meadow, and to love them dearly. He also became\nso well acquainted with the birds that they would come to him for crumbs,\nand sit on the branches close by to sing to him; the frogs would do the\nsame thing, and although the Elf Boy did not think their voices as sweet\nas those of the birds, he was too polite to let them know it.\n\nBut when September came, there began to be a sad change. The first thing\nthe Elf Boy noticed was that the birds began to disappear from the\nmeadows. When he complained of this, the Hermit told him they had gone to\nmake their visit to the Southland, and would come back again; and this he\neasily believed. But as time went on, and the air became more and more\nstill as the last of them took their flight, he began to lose heart.\n\nWhat was worse, at the same time the flowers began to disappear from the\nmeadows. They were dead, the Hermit said, and in this way the Elf Boy\nlearned what that meant. At first others came to take their places, and\nhe tried to learn to like the flowers of autumn as well as those which\nhe had known first. But as these faded and dropped off, none came after\nthem. The mornings grew colder, and the leaves on the trees were changing\nin a strange way. When they grew red and yellow, instead of green, the\nElf Boy thought it was a queer thing for them to put on different\ncolours, and wondered how long it would last. But when they began to\nfall, he was very sad indeed. At last there came a day when every limb\nwas bare, except for a few dried leaves at the top of one of the tallest\ntrees. The Elf Boy was almost broken-hearted.\n\nOne morning he went out early to see what new and dreadful thing had\nhappened in the night, for it seemed now that every night took something\nbeautiful out of the world. He made his way toward the brook, but when\nhe reached the place where he usually heard it calling to him as it\nran merrily over the stones, he could not hear a sound. He stopped and\nlistened, but everything was wonderfully still. Then he ran as fast as\nhis feet would carry him to the border of the brook. Sure enough, it had\nstopped running. It was covered with a hard sheet of ice.\n\nThe Elf Boy turned and went to the Hermit\u2019s house. By the time he had\nreached it, the tears were running down his cheeks.\n\n\u201cWhy, what is the matter?\u201d asked the Hermit.\n\n\u201cThe brook is dead,\u201d said the Elf Boy.\n\n\u201cI think not,\u201d said the Hermit. \u201cIt is frozen over, but that will not\nhurt it. Be patient, and it will sing to you again.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said the Elf Boy. \u201cYou told me that the birds would come back, and\nthey have not come. You told me that the trees were not dead, but their\nleaves have every one gone, and I am sure they are. You told me that the\nflowers had seeds that did not die, but would make other flowers but I\ncan not find them, and the meadow is bare and dark. Even the grass is not\ngreen any more. It is a dead world. In the summer-time I did not see how\nyou could be sorrowful; but now I do not see how any one can be happy.\u201d\n\nThe Hermit thought it would be of no use to try to explain anything more\nto the Elf Boy, so he said again, \u201cBe patient,\u201d and tried to find some\nbooks in which he could teach the Boy to read, and make him forget the\noutside world.\n\nThe next time they went for a walk to the village over the hill, the Elf\nBoy was very curious to see whether the same thing had happened there\nthat had happened in their valley. Of course it had: the trees there\nseemed dead, too, and the flowers were all gone from the door-yards. The\nBoy expected that every one in the village would now be as sorrowful as\nthe Hermit, and he was very much surprised when he saw them looking as\ncheerful as ever. There were some boys playing on the street-corner, who\nseemed to be as happy as boys could be. One of them spoke to the Elf Boy,\nand he answered:\n\n\u201cHow can you play so happily, when such a dreadful thing has happened to\nthe world?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, what has happened?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe flowers and trees are dead,\u201d said the Elf Boy, \u201cthe birds are gone,\nand the brook is frozen, and the meadow is bare and grey. And it is so on\nthis side of the hill also.\u201d\n\nThen the boys in the street laughed merrily, and did not answer the\nElf Boy, for they remembered that he was a stranger in the world, and\nsupposed he would not understand if they should try to talk to him. And\nhe went on through the village, not daring to speak to any others, but\nall the time wondering that the people could still be so happy.\n\nAs the winter came on, the Hermit taught him many things from the books\nin his house, and the Elf Boy grew interested in them and was not always\nsad. When the snow came he found ways to play in it, and even saw that\nthe meadow was beautiful again, though in a different way from what it\nhad been in summer. Yet still he could not think the world by any means\nso pleasant a place as it had been in the time of flowers and birds; and\nif it were not that he had become very fond of the Hermit, who was now\nthe only friend he could remember, he would have wished to go back to the\nworld from which he had come. It seemed to him now that the Hermit must\nmiss him very much if he should go away, since they two were the only\npeople who seemed really to understand how sorrowful a place the earth is.\n\nSo the weeks went by. One day in March, as he and the Hermit sat at their\nbooks, drops of water began to fall from the eaves of the roof, and they\nsaw that the snow was melting in the sunshine.\n\n\u201cDo you want to take a little walk down toward the brook?\u201d asked the\nHermit. \u201cI should not wonder if I could prove to you to-day that it has\nnot forgotten how to talk to you.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the Elf Boy, though he did not think the Hermit could be\nright. It was months since he had cared to visit the brook, it made him\nso sad to find it still and cold.\n\nWhen they reached the foot of the hillside the sheet of ice was still\nthere, as he had expected.\n\n\u201cNever mind,\u201d said the Hermit. \u201cCome out on the ice with me, and put down\nyour ear and listen.\u201d\n\nSo the Elf Boy put down his ear and listened; and he heard, as plainly as\nthough there were no ice between, the voice of the brook gurgling in the\nbottom of its bed. He clapped his hands for joy.\n\n\u201cIt is waking up, you see,\u201d said the Hermit. \u201cOther things will waken\ntoo, if you will be patient.\u201d\n\nThe Elf Boy did not know quite what to think, but he waited day after day\nwith his eyes and ears wide open to see if anything else might happen;\nand wonderful things did happen all the time. The brook sang more and\nmore distinctly, and at last broke through its cold coverlet and went\ndancing along in full sight. One morning, while the snow was still around\nthe house, the Elf Boy heard a chirping sound, and looking from his\nwindow, saw a red robin outside asking for his breakfast.\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d cried the Boy, \u201chave you really come back agin?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly,\u201d said the robin, \u201cdon\u2019t you know it is almost spring?\u201d\n\nBut the Elf Boy did not understand what he said.\n\nThere was a pussy-willow growing by the brook, and the Boy\u2019s next\ndiscovery was that hundreds of little grey buds were coming out. He\nwatched them grow bigger from day to day, and while he was doing this the\nsnow was melting away in great patches where the sun shone warmest on\nthe meadow, and the blades of grass that came up into the daylight were\ngreener than anything the Elf Boy had ever seen.\n\nThen the pink buds came on the maple trees, and unfolded day by day. And\nthe fruit trees in the Hermit\u2019s orchard were as white with blossoms as\nthey had lately been with snow.\n\n\u201cNot a single tree is dead,\u201d said the Elf Boy.\n\nLast of all came the wild flowers\u2014blue and white violets near the brook,\ndandelions around the house, and a little later, yellow buttercups all\nover the meadow. Slowly but steadily the world was made over, until it\nglowed with white and green and gold.\n\nThe Elf Boy was wild with joy. One by one his old friends came back, and\nhe could not bear to stay in the house for many minutes from morning\nto night. Now he knew what the wise Hermit had meant by saying, \u201cBe\npatient,\u201d and he began to wonder again that the Hermit could be sorrowful\nin so beautiful a world.\n\nOne morning the church bells in the village\u2014whose ringing was the only\nsound that ever came from the village over the hill\u2014rang so much longer\nand more joyfully than usual, that the Elf Boy asked the Hermit why they\ndid so. The Hermit looked in one of his books, and answered:\n\n\u201cIt is Easter Day. The village people celebrate it on one Sunday every\nspring.\u201d\n\n\u201cMay we not go also?\u201d asked the Elf Boy, and as it was the first time he\nhad ever asked to go to the village, the Hermit could not refuse to take\nhim.\n\nThe village was glowing with flowers. There were many fruit trees, and\nthey, too, were in bloom. Every one who passed along the street seemed\neither to wear flowers or to carry them in his hand. The people were all\nentering the churchyard; and here the graves, which had looked so grey\nand cold when the Hermit and the Boy had last seen them, were beautiful\nwith flowers that the village people had planted or had strewn over them\nfor Easter.\n\nThe people all passed into the church. But the Hermit and the Elf\nBoy, who never went where there was a crowd, stayed outside where the\nhumming-birds and bees were flying happily among the flowers. Suddenly\nthere came from the church a burst of music. To the Elf Boy it seemed\nthe most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He put his finger on his lip\nto show the Hermit that he wanted to listen. These were the words they\nsang:\n\n\u201c_I am He that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for\nevermore!_\u201d\n\nThe Boy took hold of the Hermit\u2019s hand and led him to the church door,\nthat they might hear still better. He was very happy.\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d he cried, \u201cI do not believe that anything ever really dies.\u201d\n\nThe Hermit looked down at him and smiled.\n\n\u201cPerhaps not,\u201d he said.\n\nWhen the music began again, a strange thing happened. The Hermit sang the\nEaster song with the others. It was the first time he had sung for many\nyears.\n\n All silently, and soft as sleep,\n The snow fell, flake on flake.\n Slumber, spent Earth, and dream of flowers,\n Till springtime bids you wake.\n Again the deadened bough shall bend\n With blooms of sweetest breath.\n Oh, miracle of miracles,\n This life that follows death!\n\n\n\n\nSHEEP AND LAMBS\n\nKATHARINE TYNAN\n\n\n All in the April morning\n April airs were abroad,\n The sheep with their little lambs,\n Passed me by on the road.\n\n The sheep with their little lambs\n Passed me by on the road;\n All in an April evening\n I thought on the Lamb of God.\n\n The lambs were weary, and crying\n With a weak human cry,\n I thought on the Lamb of God\n Going meekly to die.\n\n Up in the blue, blue mountains\n Dewy pastures are sweet;\n Rest for the little bodies,\n Rest for the little feet.\n\n All in the April evening\n April airs were abroad;\n I saw the sheep with their lambs,\n And thought on the Lamb of God.\n\n\n\n\nROBIN REDBREAST\u2014A CHRIST LEGEND[16]\n\nSELMA LAGERL\u00d6F\n\n\nIt happened one day when our Lord sat in His Paradise creating and\npainting little birds that He conceived the idea of making a little grey\nbird.\n\n\u201cRemember your name is Robin Redbreast,\u201d said our Lord to the bird, as\nsoon as it was finished. Then He held it in the palm of His open hand and\nlet it fly.\n\nAfter the bird had been testing his wings a while, and had seen something\nof the beautiful world in which he was destined to live, he became\ncurious to see what he himself was like. He noticed that he was entirely\ngrey, and that his breast was just as grey as all the rest of him. Robin\nRedbreast twisted and turned in all directions as he viewed himself in\nthe mirror of a clear lake, but he couldn\u2019t find a single red feather.\nThen he flew back to our Lord.\n\nOur Lord sat there on His throne, big and gentle. Out of His hands came\nbutterflies that fluttered about His head; doves cooed on His shoulders;\nand out of the earth beneath Him grew the rose, the lily, and the daisy.\n\nThe little bird\u2019s heart beat heavily with fright, but with easy curves\nhe flew nearer and nearer our Lord, till at last he rested on our Lord\u2019s\nhand. Then our Lord asked what the little bird wanted. \u201cI only wish to\nask you about one thing,\u201d said the little bird. \u201cWhat is it you wish\nto know?\u201d said our Lord. \u201cWhy should I be called Redbreast, when I am\nall grey from the bill to the very end of my tail? Why am I called\nRedbreast when I do not possess one single red feather?\u201d The bird looked\nbeseechingly on our Lord with his tiny black eyes\u2014then turned his head.\nAbout him he saw pheasants all red under a sprinkle of gold dust, parrots\nwith marvellous red neckbands, cocks with red combs, to say nothing about\nthe butterflies, the goldfinches, and the roses! And naturally he thought\nhow little he needed\u2014just one tiny drop of colour on his breast and he,\ntoo, would be a beautiful bird, and his name would fit him. \u201cWhy should\nI be called Redbreast when I am so entirely grey?\u201d asked the bird once\nagain, and waited for our Lord to say: \u201cAh, my friend, I see that I have\nforgotten to paint your breast feathers red, but wait a moment and it\nshall be done.\u201d\n\nBut our Lord only smiled a little and said: \u201cI have called you Robin\nRedbreast, and Robin Redbreast shall your name be, but you must look to\nit that you yourself earn your red breast feathers.\u201d Then our Lord lifted\nHis hand and let the bird fly once more\u2014out into the world.\n\nThe bird flew down into Paradise, meditating deeply.\n\nWhat could a little bird like him do to earn for himself red feathers?\nThe only thing he could think of was to make his nest in a brier bush.\nHe built it in among the thorns in the close thicket. It looked as if he\nwaited for a rose leaf to cling to his throat and give him colour.\n\nAfter many years there dawned a new day, one that will long be remembered\nin the world\u2019s history. On the morning of this day Robin Redbreast sat\nupon a little naked hillock outside of Jerusalem\u2019s walls, and sang to his\nyoung ones, who rested in a tiny nest in a brier bush.\n\nRobin Redbreast told the little ones all about that wonderful day of\ncreation, and how the Lord had given names to everything, just as each\nRedbreast had told it ever since the first Redbreast had heard God\u2019s\nword, and gone out of God\u2019s hand. \u201cAnd mark you,\u201d he ended sorrowfully,\n\u201cso many years have gone, so many roses have bloomed, so many little\nbirds have come out of their eggs since Creation Day, but Robin Redbreast\nis still a little grey bird. He has not yet succeeded in gaining his red\nfeathers.\u201d\n\nThe little young ones opened wide their tiny bills, and asked if their\nforebears had never tried to do any great thing to earn the priceless red\ncolour.\n\n\u201cWe have all done what we could,\u201d said the little bird, \u201cbut we have\nall gone amiss. Even the first Robin Redbreast met one day another bird\nexactly like himself, and he began immediately to love it with such a\nmighty love that he could feel his breast turn. \u2018Ah!\u2019 he thought then,\n\u2018now I understand! It was our Lord\u2019s meaning that I should love with so\nmuch ardour that my breast should grow red in colour from the very warmth\nof the love that lives in my heart.\u2019 But he missed it, as all those who\ncame after him have missed it, and as even you shall miss it.\u201d\n\nThe little young ones twittered, utterly bewildered, and already began\nto mourn because the red colour would not come to beautify their little,\ndowny grey breasts.\n\n\u201cWe had also hoped that song would help us,\u201d said the grown-up bird,\nspeaking in long-drawn-out tones\u2014\u201cthe first Robin Redbreast sang until\nhis heart swelled within him, he was so carried away, and he dared to\nhope anew. \u2018Ah!\u2019 he thought, \u2018it is the glow of the song which lives in\nmy soul that will colour my breast feathers red.\u2019 But he missed it, as\nall the others have missed it and as even you shall miss it.\u201d Again was\nheard a sad \u201cpeep\u201d from the young ones\u2019 half-naked throats.\n\n\u201cWe had also counted on our courage and our valour,\u201d said the bird. \u201cThe\nfirst Robin Redbreast fought bravely with other birds, until his breast\nflamed with the pride of conquest. \u2018Ah!\u2019 he thought, \u2018my breast feathers\nshall become red from the love of battle which burns in my heart.\u2019 He,\ntoo, missed it, as all those who came after him have missed it, and as\neven you shall miss it.\u201d The little young ones peeped courageously that\nthey still wished to try and win the much-sought-for prize, but the bird\nanswered them sorrowfully that it would be impossible. What could they\ndo when all other robins had missed the mark? What could they do more\nthan love, sing, and fight? What could\u2014the little bird stopped short, for\nout of one of the gates of Jerusalem came a crowd of people marching,\nand the whole procession rushed toward the hillock, where the bird had\nits nest. There were riders on proud horses, soldiers with long spears,\nexecutioners with nails and hammers. There were judges and priests in\nthe procession, weeping women, and above all a mob of mad, loose people\nrunning about\u2014a filthy, howling mob of loiterers.\n\nThe little grey bird sat trembling on the edge of his nest. He feared\neach instant that the little brier bush would be trampled down and his\nyoung ones killed!\n\n\u201cBe careful!\u201d he cried to the little defenceless young ones. \u201cCreep\ntogether and remain quiet. Here comes a horse that will ride right over\nus! Here comes a warrior with iron-shod sandals! Here comes the whole\nwild, storming mob!\u201d Immediately the bird ceased his cry of warning and\ngrew calm and quiet. He almost forgot the danger hovering over him.\nFinally he hopped down into the nest and spread his wings over the young\nones.\n\n\u201cOh! this is too terrible,\u201d said he. \u201cI don\u2019t wish you to witness this\nawful sight! There are three miscreants who are going to be crucified!\u201d\nAnd he spread his wings so that the little ones could see nothing.\n\nRobin Redbreast followed the whole spectacle with his eyes, which\ngrew big with terror. He could not take his glance from the three\nunfortunates.\n\n\u201cHow terrible!\u201d said the bird after a little while. \u201cThey have placed a\ncrown of piercing thorns upon the head of one of them. I see that the\nthorns have wounded his brow so that the blood flows,\u201d he continued. \u201cAnd\nthis man is so beautiful, and looks about him with such mild glances that\nevery one ought to love him. I feel as if an arrow were shooting through\nmy heart, when I see him suffer!\u201d\n\nThe little bird began to feel a stronger and stronger pity for the\nthorn-crowned sufferer. \u201cOh! if I were only my brother the eagle,\u201d\nthought he, \u201cI would draw the nails from his hands, and with my strong\nclaws I would drive away all those who harm him!\u201d He saw how the blood\ntrickled down from the brow of the Crucified One, and he could no longer\nremain quiet in his nest. \u201cEven if I am little and weak, I can still\ndo something for this poor suffering one,\u201d thought the bird. Then he\nleft his nest and flew out into the air, striking wide circles around\nthe Crucified One. He flew around him several times without daring to\napproach, for he was a shy little bird, who had never dared to go near a\nhuman being. But little by little he gained courage, flew close to him,\nand drew with his little bill a thorn that had become imbedded in the\nbrow of the Crucified One. And as he did this there fell on his breast a\ndrop of blood from the face of the Crucified One;\u2014it spread quickly and\nfloated out and coloured all the little fine breast feathers.\n\nThen the Crucified One opened his lips and whispered to the bird:\n\u201cBecause of thy compassion, thou hast won all that thy kind have been\nstriving after, ever since the world was created.\u201d\n\nAs soon as the bird had returned to his nest his young ones cried to him:\n\u201cThy breast is red! Thy breast feathers are redder than the roses!\u201d\n\nAnd even unto this day the blood-red colour shines on every Robin\nRedbreast\u2019s throat and breast.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MAPLE SEED\n\n\nOn the topmost twig of a maple tree there grew a seed. In the springtime\nthe gentle movement of the sap and the soft rustle of the leaves\nwhispering among themselves had awakened him; then, day by day, half\nsleeping and half conscious, he had fed upon what the roots provided,\nstretching himself lazily in the sunshine. Presently his wing began to\nunfold.\n\n\u201cThat is very curious,\u201d said he, stirring a little. \u201cIt must be a\nmistake. I don\u2019t flutter about like the bees.\u201d That bit of wing, which\nseemed his and not his, puzzled him. \u201cIt must belong to something else,\u201d\nhe thought. And afterward he was always on the lookout for a bee or a\ndragon fly with only one wing. But none came.\n\nThe hot summer noons and the long moonlit nights became sultrier and the\nleaves dropped. \u201cHow withered I am!\u201d said the seed to his most intimate\nfriend, a leaf that hung from a near bough. \u201cIt makes me feel quite\nbrittle.\u201d But the leaf did not answer, for just then it fell from the\ntwig with a queer, reluctant shiver to the ground.\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d murmured the maple seed, \u201cI understand.\u201d So he was not surprised\nwhen a rude breeze twisted him off one day, and sent him spinning into\nspace.\n\n\u201cHere I go,\u201d thought he, \u201cand this is the end of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cPuff!\u201d said the breeze, who had seen much of the world, and looked with\ncontempt upon the untravelled. \u201cPuff! how ignorant!\u201d and he blew the seed\nright into a crack in the earth.\n\n\u201cIt must be the end, for all that,\u201d insisted the seed. No wonder he\nthought so, for it was cold and dark where he lay. A troubled cloud\nleaned down and wept over him. Then he began to grow amazingly in the\nwarmth and moisture.\n\n\u201cIf this goes on,\u201d he thought, \u201cI shall certainly burst, and then I must\ndie. How is one to live, with a crack in his sides?\u201d\n\nBut the maple seed was wrong. He did not die. An unsuspected, mysterious\nstrength sustained him. His roots found food in the brown earth, and he\nlifted up a slender stem into the pure sunlight and warm air. Through\nspring, summer, autumn and winter, year after year, this lived and grew,\nuntil the tiny sapling had become a beautiful tree, with spreading\nbranches.\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d said the tree, \u201chow stupid I was.\u201d\n\nIt was very pleasant on the lawn. An old couple from the house near by\ncame out in good weather to sit under the tree. They reminded him of some\nfragile leaves he had seen fluttering somewhere in the past. He was glad\nto have them come, and he kept his coolest shade for them. Partly for\ntheir sakes, he liked to have the robins sing in his branches.\n\nThe years went by. The old man tottered out alone to sit in the cool\nshadow. He was bent and sorrowful.\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d sighed the tree, \u201cI know! I know! He has lost his leaf, and feels\nbrittle. If I could only tell him this is not the end!\u201d\n\nAfter this, many sunny days came, but not the old man, and the tree\nconcluded that he had been blown away. \u201cIf he only knew that he would\ngrow again!\u201d he said to himself. \u201cUnless one knows that, it is so\nuncomfortable to lie in the dark.\u201d\n\nA great storm came. The sky blackened, the winds blew with might, and the\nheavy rain fell. The maple was uprooted and broken. The next day there\ncame men with axes who cut the tree in pieces, and drew it to the house.\n\n\u201cIs this the end?\u201d he questioned. But no,\u2014the logs were piled one day in\nthe fireplace in a large, sunny room. The old man leaned from his chair\nto warm his hands by the cheerful heat the crimson flame gave out. \u201cIs it\nthe maple?\u201d he said. \u201cAh! this goes with the rest.\u201d\n\nThe fire grew brighter, burned duller, turned to embers, smouldered to\nashes. The hearth was cold. The figure was sitting still in the armchair,\nbut the old man himself had gone away.\n\nThe spirit of the maple whispered, \u201cDoes he know? There is _no_ end.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nWHY THE IVY IS ALWAYS GREEN[17]\n\nMADGE BINGHAM\n\n\nThere were once two small plants that grew on the edge of a rough, red\nditch. One of them was an ivy plant and the other a tiny fig tree.\n\nIt was early in the morning when they first awoke and looked around to\nsee how they liked the world.\n\n\u201cI think it is an ugly old world,\u201d said the young fig tree. \u201cI see only a\nrough, red ditch with dirty water flowing below.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, it is a beautiful world,\u201d replied the ivy vine. \u201cI see clouds\nfloating on high, and sunshine, and such lovely trees and flowers growing\nover on the other side of the ditch! Let us try to make this side\nbeautiful, too.\n\n\u201cI will cover the rough, red places with pretty, green leaves, and you\ncan decorate with your wonderful pink blossoms. Come, let us try.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said the small fig tree, \u201cI would not waste my time trying to make\nthis ugly old place beautiful.\n\n\u201cNow if, like my mother, I could have grown in the soft, rich earth of\nthe garden, I would have tried to do something, but here there is no use.\u201d\n\nSo, from day to day, the little fig tree grumbled. Nothing pleased her.\nIf the sun shone she said it was too hot; if the rain fell she said it\nwas too wet; and if the wind blew she said it was too cold.\n\nBut with the little ivy vine it was very different, and she was as happy\nas a lark from early morning until night.\n\n\u201cWhether the sun shines or whether the rains fall, it is God\u2019s will,\u201d\nsaid the little vine, \u201cand I am well pleased. I shall do all I can to\nmake my side of this ditch beautiful, and I shall begin to-day.\u201d\n\nAnd so she did. Though she lived only on the edge of the red ditch, she\nspread out her leaves day by day, running here and there and yonder,\nhiding this red spot and that red spot, until by and by nothing could\nbe seen but the beautiful green leaves of the ivy, and she did not stop\nuntil every ugly spot was hidden by her graceful garlands.\n\n\u201cOh, it is beautiful, beautiful, now,\u201d cried the ivy; \u201conly look!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the fig tree, crossly, \u201cbut no one sees it. What are you\ngoing to do now? Dry up, I suppose, since you can never cross the ditch.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, but I shall cross the ditch,\u201d said the ivy vine. \u201cI shall keep on\ntrying until I do. There is so much on the other side I can do to help\nmake the earth-world beautiful. Surely there is a way to cross.\u201d\n\nSo she ran out little tendrils, reaching here and there, searching\neverywhere for a way to cross the ditch. And at last, by climbing down to\nthe edge of the muddy water, she reached a rock half way across, where\nshe stopped for a moment to rest and wonder what next to do.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll never get across,\u201d laughed the fig tree. \u201cI told you so! You\nmight as well make up your mind to dry up and stop trying.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall never stop trying,\u201d called back the ivy vine. \u201cThere is a way to\ncross all ditches, and I shall cross this one. Wait and see.\u201d\n\n\u201cBravo, my pretty one!\u201d said the voice of the old oak tree close by.\n\u201cCling to my roots there. I am old and worn, but it is a joy to help one\nlike you; reach out and I will pull you up.\u201d\n\nSo with one huge stretch the ivy vine clung tightly to the twisted roots\nof the old oak, and was soon laughing merrily on the other side.\n\n\u201cDear me, but you are a brave little vine,\u201d said the old oak. \u201cI have\nbeen watching you across the ditch all these months, and you have changed\nits ugly, red banks into a real thing of beauty.\n\n\u201cNow there was a time, once, when flowers and grasses grew there, and\nferns fringed the edge of the brook, and it was beautiful, indeed. Every\nfall I shook armfuls of crimson and yellow leaves upon the bank, but that\nwas long ago, before the great forest fire which robbed me of my limbs\nand leaves and left me old and worn.\n\n\u201cWhat a joy it would be to me if only I might have my branches decked\nin leaves one more time,\u2014especially do I long for this in the glad\nspringtime, when trees and flowers are robing themselves for the joyous\nEaster Day.\n\n\u201cSad, indeed, it is to me, to know that I shall be clothed no more in a\nfresh dress of delicate green, like your own pretty leaves, dear Ivy.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you shall,\u201d said the ivy vine, clapping her hands; \u201cyou have helped\nme cross the ditch to-day, and I mean to give you an Easter dress. Watch\nme.\u201d\n\nNow vines had never climbed high before this. They had only run along\nthe ground and down the hill, and over walls, but this little ivy vine\nwrapped her delicate arms around the rough bark of the old oak, and began\nto climb her first tree.\n\nShe pulled and stretched, and stretched and pulled, until little by\nlittle, up, up, higher and higher she went, leaving a trail of rich,\ngreen leaves behind her. It was a lovely sight.\n\n\u201cSee!\u201d she called to the old oak; \u201cI am bringing you a most beautiful\nEaster dress,\u2014how do you like it?\u201d\n\n\u201cBeautiful, beautiful!\u201d laughed the old oak. \u201cYou make me feel young\nagain. But what will you do when you reach my branches?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, I shall keep on climbing,\u201d replied the ivy vine. \u201cWhen I give a\ndress at all, it must be a whole dress, don\u2019t you know? I shall not stop\nuntil I have covered every branch, as I did the bare spots on the ditch.\u201d\n\nAnd so she did. Every day she climbed a little higher, until by and by\nevery limb on the great, old oak was completely hidden by the beautiful\nleaves of the ivy. The old oak laughed in delight, as she looked on her\nbeautiful Easter dress of fresh, rich green.\n\nNow the queen of the fairies who, I told you, was always on the watch for\nbeautiful deeds, stood under the old oak on Easter Day and wondered at\nthe beautiful sight. It made her glad to see the joy of the old oak in\nher new dress, and of course she knew who had given it.\n\nSo, turning with a smile to the ivy vine, she said, \u201cBecause you have\ntried to make others happy and to make the earth beautiful your leaves\nshall never fade. Forever and forever they shall stay beautiful and\ngreen. Cold shall not hurt them nor summer\u2019s heat destroy them, and\nwherever you go you shall gladden the hearts of men with your freshness\nand beauty.\u201d\n\nVery happy, indeed, did these words make the pretty ivy vine, and ever\nsince she has been climbing over the earth-world, hunting bare places to\nmake more beautiful.\n\nStone walls and churches and houses,\u2014no place seems too high for her to\nclimb, and never does she weary in making fresh Easter dresses for the\ntrees that are old and worn and cannot make them for themselves.\n\n\n\n\nJONQUILS\n\nMARGARET DELAND\n\n\n Blow golden trumpets, sweet and clear,\n Blow soft upon the perfumed air:\n Bid the sad earth to join your song,\n \u201cTo Christ does victory belong!\u201d\n\n Oh, let the winds your message bear\n To every heart of grief and care:\n Sound through the world the joyful lay,\n \u201cOur Christ has conquered Death to-day.\u201d\n\n On cloudy wings let glad words fly\n Through the soft blue of echoing sky:\n Ring out,\u2014O trumpets, sweet and clear,\n \u201cThrough Death, immortal Life is here!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nWHEN THOU COMEST INTO THY KINGDOM\n\nMARY STEWART\n\n\nMany years ago, in a rocky cave half way up a steep mountain, there\nlived a band of robbers. From the mouth of their cave they could look\nfar out over the villages of white houses which dotted the green valley\nbelow to the blue waters of the sea beyond, and between the villages and\nthe sea there ran a straight white road. It was there that the robbers\nwaylaid travellers, robbing them of money, bales of rich stuff or jewels,\nuntil the band became a terror to the neighbourhood and the very name of\nTibeous, their leader, was whispered fearfully among travellers.\n\nOne clear bright morning Tibeous climbed down the mountain path alone and\nmingled, unrecognised, among the villagers. He was young and strong and\ndid not look very differently from the fishermen who, returning from a\nnight\u2019s work, were carrying their nets of shining fish across the beach\nand through the narrow streets. Only the eyes of Tibeous were as keen and\nsuspicious as those of a wild animal, and often his hand went to his belt\nwhere beneath his cloak of skins he carried, for protection this time, a\nsharp dagger.\n\nThrough the streets he walked down to the seashore. There had been heavy\nrains during the night, and in the morning sunshine the tall beach grass\nsparkled as if hung with diamonds, the sky was blue and cloudless, and\nthe dancing waves broke merrily upon the glittering beach. Watching the\npeaceful scene Tibeous forgot for a moment the errand which had drawn\nhim from his safe retreat. By listening, unnoticed, to the talk of the\nvillage, he had hoped to learn whether any rich merchants were expected,\nso that he and his men could be ready to waylay them upon the road.\nBut as he stood upon the beach watching the barefooted boys play in\nthe waves, a picture of his own boyhood rose in his mind. He, too, had\nlived beside the sea and had helped his fisherman father draw in nets\nand carry strings of silvery fish. How happy he had been, he thought,\nand now for the last five years the sun seemed to have ceased shining in\nhis life. His parents had died, and not content with the small, though\nhonest, living he made at the fishing, he had fallen in with the band\nof robbers. They soon made him their leader and although younger than\nany of them, he was a very good one, for he did not know what fear was,\nwas ready for any wild adventure and cared so little for the treasure he\nrisked his life to steal that he divided it up among his followers.\n\nBut that golden morning Tibeous had forgotten all this, and as he gazed\nat a woman walking toward him with a boy clinging to one hand and a baby\nnestled against her shoulder, he thought only of his own boyhood, and of\nthe mother who had loved and guarded him. So intently was he watching\nthe woman that he did not notice a crowd which was collecting behind\nhim until, warned by a sudden murmur of many voices, he turned sharply,\nhis dagger half drawn. But the men and women had not noticed him, they\nwere all clustering around a white-robed man, and as Tibeous turned\ntheir murmurs died away and they stood motionless, eagerly listening to\nthe voice of the figure in their midst. Tibeous could not see his face,\ncould not at first catch his words, but the tones of the speaker\u2019s voice\nreached him, and like the ripples of the waves and the glimmer of the\nsunshine they reminded him afresh of his own joyous boyhood.\n\nHe saw the little boy\u2019s hand tighten in his mother\u2019s clasp as he urged\nher forward, and Tibeous was not surprised; that thrilling voice seemed\nto draw all toward it and he, too, followed the lad. And then, as they\nreached the outskirts of the crowd, the men drew back, making a pathway\nup to the Master, who, Tibeous now saw, was already surrounded with\nchildren. The boys and girls were looking up at him admiringly and even\nthe baby in its mother\u2019s arms held out its arms, as though to one to whom\nit belonged.\n\nAgain the Master was speaking, and as Tibeous gazed, half startled at\nthat beautiful face, he heard the words:\n\n\u201cVerily, I say unto you, whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God\nas a little child shall in no wise enter therein.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe kingdom of God,\u201d thought Tibeous with a shudder, how far that was\nfrom the kingdom of robbers over which he ruled on the wild mountain\nside. And as far asunder as those two kingdoms was he, an outlaw and a\nthief, from the gracious white-robed man whose words stirred every heart\nupon that shining beach.\n\nFrom that day Tibeous surprised even his own rough followers by his\nrecklessness. He risked capture and death over and over again, attacking\ntravellers in the daytime as well as under cover of the night, robbing\nnot only merchants, but priests and wealthy Pharisees, men whose power\nwas so great that if the band was caught, one word would suffice to hang\nthem all to the nearest trees. But instead of being captured they only\nmade themselves hated and feared more than ever. At length a proclamation\nwent forth promising a large reward to any man who could bring Tibeous\na prisoner to Jerusalem. As a warning to all robbers the thief, if\ncaptured, would be crucified outside the city walls.\n\nNone knew that since that one glorious morning upon the beach, the pain\nin the heart of Tibeous had been well-nigh unbearable.\n\n\u201cSuch gentle scenes have no place in my wild life,\u201d he would cry bitterly\nto himself, and with the hope of forgetting the picture of the lad in the\nMaster\u2019s arms he dashed wildly into every dangerous adventure.\n\nOne morning the robber band, looking out from the cave, saw a multitude\nof people journeying toward the mountain, which sloped down to the far\nend of the blue sea. Some came by boat, others rode, while many, who\nseemed to be quite poor people, walked.\n\nWhat could draw them to that out of the way spot, the robbers wondered,\nand only Tibeous suspected the truth. They had probably travelled so far\nto meet again the Master whom he had seen upon the beach. He did not\ntell the others of his surmise, but when they planned to ride around the\nlandward side of the mountain and rob these people as they journeyed\nhome, he refused to go with them.\n\n\u201cIn any dangerous attack,\u201d he said, \u201cI am always ready to lead you,\nbut as to robbing poor men and women and children\u201d ... he turned away\ndisgusted, while again there rose before him the picture of the mother\nupon the beach, bringing her children to that marvellous man who talked\nabout the kingdom of God.\n\nSlowly the day passed and the sun sank behind the mountains while Tibeous\nsat alone, at the entrance of the cave, pondering deeply. He remembered\nthat his mother had often spoken of a King who would some day come into\nthe world, a great Deliverer she had called him, before whom all the\nnations of the world would bow and called Him blessed.\n\nTibeous had wondered at times during the last weeks whether the glorious\nwhite robed figure could be that King, but this day, as he sat watching\nthe sun sink, he decided that it was impossible.\n\nBeautiful the man was and tender and stirring, but surely, Tibeous\nthought, no one could be a King and a Deliverer without courage and\nstrength a thousand times greater than even he, a lion among his\nfollowers, possessed. Could that gracious, gentle figure possess such\nmiraculous power? \u201cAnd yet if I thought for an instant,\u201d he murmured,\n\u201cthat that wonderful man was the King of whom my mother dreamed, I would\nforsake this lawless life and become his loyal follower.\u201d\n\nAt that moment he saw a dark cloud rising out of the west, the sign of\none of the sudden storms which come so often in that country. Quickly\nit spread across the sky, the waves of the sea grew black and in a few\nmoments they rose high crested with white foam, and the wind tore over\nthem, while above the thunder pealed and the lightning flashed across the\ndarkness.\n\nTibeous stood in the cave watching intently. \u201cVerily,\u201d he exclaimed, \u201cto\nconquer and subdue his foes, a great Deliverer must have power stronger\neven than this mighty storm.\u201d\n\nA flash of vivid lightning lit up the whole scene, and in the midst of\nthe furious sea Tibeous saw a tiny boat. He saw the desperate men within\nit and guessed at their terror. \u201cSurely,\u201d he thought, \u201cthe next wave will\nengulf them,\u201d and then walking upon the storm-tossed waters toward the\nboat he saw a figure, his white robes fluttering in the wind.\n\nAgain all was darkness while Tibeous stood before the cave unheeding the\ntorrents of rain which drenched him, his gaze fixed intently upon the\nsea, longing, almost praying, for the lightning to flash once more and\nshow him again that mysterious figure.\n\nAnother flash, and standing in the stern of the boat Tibeous saw the\nwhite robed man while the others knelt before him as if in reverence,\nand then\u2014there was perfect peace. The storm died away, the waves were\nstilled, and the moon breaking out from behind the jagged clouds, threw\nits silvery light upon the boat sailing quietly across the sea.\n\n\u201cEven the winds and the waves obey him!\u201d cried Tibeous. \u201cSurely this is\nthe King all powerful, whom I vowed, if I ever found, to follow forever.\u201d\n\nTwo days later Tibeous was taken prisoner, carried bound to Jerusalem,\nand thrown into a dark dungeon. With his usual fearlessness he had\nsearched undisguised, through the villages for the Deliverer, but before\nhe had found the Master he was recognised and captured. Many a weary\nmonth he lay in the prison. At times his restless energy drove him almost\ncrazy, and he would rush up and down his narrow cell like a caged beast.\nAt other times, when the first beams of early dawn pierced the narrow\nslit in the stone wall, which was his only window, or when a silvery\nray of moonlight struggled through, the scenes of his wild life seemed\nblotted out, and he thought only of the Christ, and of his kingdom to\nwhich now, alas, he could never belong.\n\nHe supposed first it was an earthly kingdom, full of brave soldiers who\nwould fight for the great King, to whom at last all the nations of the\nworld would bow. But one morning, after nearly a year of imprisonment,\nhe was taken out of his dark cell and led, his hands bound with leathern\nthongs, toward a green hill outside the city walls. Beside him walked\nanother prisoner, a coarse, savage-looking man, well known for his brutal\ndeeds, and upon the shoulders of each of them was laid a heavy cross.\nUpon those crosses they were to be crucified.\n\nTibeous was wan and pale from his long imprisonment, but in his eyes,\nwhich gleamed out of his white face, there was no look of fear or hate.\nHe was as willing to die as to linger on hopeless in the dungeon. The\nvision of the great Deliverer on which he had dwelt for so long seemed\nto fill his soul, his one longing was to serve him, and as that was\nimpossible he had nothing else to live for.\n\nWhen they left the prison the sky was blue and clear, but as they\nreached the foot of the green hill dark, threatening clouds hung over\nthem. The two prisoners paused there, resting upon the ground the heavy\ncrosses under which they had staggered, and then up the road from the\ncity-gate another procession came toward them. There were priests in long\nrobes, soldiers in red cloaks and shining armour, women\u2014sobbing, many\nof them\u2014and fishermen and peasants walking side by side with wealthy\npublicans and Pharisees.\n\nIn the midst of the crowd walked a white-robed figure, and Tibeous\ncaught his breath in astonished wonder. Could it be, yes it was, the\nKing, the great Deliverer, who had drawn crowds to him upon the sunlit\nbeach, and who by his great power had stilled the raging storm. And yet\nhe was here to-day as a prisoner, his hands bound and his garments torn,\nwhile before him walked a man bearing the cross on which the Christ, like\na common thief or murderer, was to be crucified.\n\n\u201cBut he looks more like a King than ever,\u201d thought the bewildered\nTibeous, and then he understood!\n\nAround the Master pressed those who belonged to the kingdom of this\nworld, their faces cruel, or evil, or merely weak, and among them the\nLord whom they had bound walked as fearlessly and graciously as a young\nking on his way to be crowned. But others, the poor fishermen and many of\nthe women, seem to have caught his look of perfect goodness. They were\nfrightened and heartbroken as they gazed at their King who was so soon to\nbe taken from them, but they belonged to him, to his kingdom which was\nnot of this world, and their faces, in spite of their sorrow, were full\nof childlike faith and trust.\n\nUp the hill streamed the procession, Tibeous and his companion, with\ntheir guard of soldiers, walking slowly behind.\n\nAnd then followed the deed at which through all the centuries that have\npassed since then men and women have shuddered with awestruck horror.\n\nJesus Christ, the Deliverer of the world, was nailed upon a cross, while\nupon two other crosses, one on his right and one on his left, hung the\ndying robbers. \u201cWith righteous wrath will he not denounce his murderers?\u201d\nthought Tibeous, and then Jesus spoke: \u201cFather, forgive them,\u201d he said,\n\u201cfor they know not what they do.\u201d And during the following hours of\nanguish he uttered no word of anger or condemnation. \u201cHow like a king\nhe is even here,\u201d thought Tibeous. \u201cAbove the mocking, cruel crowd he\nhangs, unmoved by pain, glorious, noble, kingly to the end. Soon my life\nwill be over and I shall never see that wonderful face again. Ah! if for\none moment only I might feel that I have belonged to his kingdom. I, a\nmiserable dying thief, who richly deserves this bitter agony.\u201d\n\nThen as the crowd jeered at the Master, crying, \u201cHe saved others, let him\nsave himself if he be Christ, the chosen one of God!\u201d, the other robber\nmocked him also.\n\n\u201cIf thou be Christ save thyself and us!\u201d he said.\n\nBut Jesus answered not a word, and Tibeous cried to the robber:\n\n\u201cDost thou not fear God, seeing thou art in the same condemnation? And\nwe, indeed, justly, for we receive the due reward of our deeds, but this\nman hath done nothing amiss.\u201d\n\nThen turning his pain-dimmed eyes toward Jesus he gazed with adoration\nand longing upon the face of the glorious dying Master.\n\n\u201cJesus,\u201d he said, his voice trembling with wistful entreaty, \u201cLord,\nremember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.\u201d\n\nAnd Jesus, gazing back at him with tender compassion, answered slowly:\n\n\u201cVerily I say unto thee, to-day shalt thou be with me in paradise.\u201d\n\nThe terrible hours wore away and then\u2014we know no more, but can we not\npicture to ourselves a faint glimmer of the glory into which that very\nday Tibeous entered?\n\nJesus had said, \u201cWhosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a\nlittle child shall in no wise enter therein.\u201d And it seems to me that\nwhen, in the twilight, the spirit of Tibeous entered the kingdom of\nheaven, all his wild and selfish life was forgotten, and he was like a\nlittle lad again at his mother\u2019s side. Surely his mother was waiting for\nhim there, her arms outstretched with tender longing, and we know that\nhe was with Jesus, the glorious King, the Light of Life, the Joy of the\nWorld.\n\nAnd so to Tibeous, the dying thief, there came the glory of Easter.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LEGEND OF THE EASTER LILY\n\n\nWhen Jesus grew to be a man He went about teaching the people how to\nlive. Many loved Jesus and believed what He told them. But some doubted\nHis words, while others were unkind and even cruel. At last some wicked\npeople believed it was unwise to let Jesus live and teach; and they\nhanged Him upon a cross. All His friends were very sad after they had\nseen Him die. They wrapped His body in linen clothes and laid Him in\na tomb in a garden. A great rock was rolled in front of the tomb and\nsoldiers were placed to guard the way day and night; for the wicked\npeople who had killed Jesus did not wish any of His friends to take His\nbody away.\n\nAll night and all the next day the soldiers watched at the tomb. The\nsecond night a strange and wonderful light came slowly in the east and\nsome little birds began to sing beautiful songs. Suddenly, there was a\ngreat noise and a shaking of the ground and a beautiful angel came down\nfrom heaven, rolled the stone away from the tomb and Jesus came forth!\nTwo beautiful angels stood at the door to meet Him and with them He\nwalked away through the garden.\n\nWhen the friends of Jesus came to the tomb early in the morning they saw\na wonderful sight. \u201cBehold,\u201d said one, pointing to the garden near the\ntomb, \u201cpure white lilies have come forth.\u201d \u201cAnd behold!\u201d said the other,\n\u201cwhere pure white lilies mark the footsteps of Jesus and the angels.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nSONG\n\nHENRY NEVILLE MAUGHAN\n\n\n There was a knight of Bethlehem;\n Whose wealth was tears and sorrows:\n His men-at-arms were little lambs,\n His trumpeters were sparrows;\n His castle was a wooden cross,\n Whereon He hung so high;\n His helmet was a crown of thorns\n Whose crest did touch the sky.\n\n\n\n\nIN THE GARDEN\n\nAN EASTER PRELUDE\n\nW. M. L. JAY\n\n\nPART I\n\n Deep down in the garden closes,\n In the wildering April weather,\n The embryo lilies and roses\n Whispered and wondered together:\u2014\n \u201cWhat doth it mean, this thrill\n And stir in the mould about us?\n Will it prophecies sweet fulfil,\n Or cometh it but to flout us?\u201d\n\n _A Lily_\n\n It may be a downward drift\n From that unknown world above us,\n Some mystical stir or lift\n Of beings that know and love us,\u2014\n That world of wonderful things,\n Ineffable tints and glories,\n And blossoms that wander on wings\u2014\n\n _A Red Rose_\n\n Now, _do_ you believe those stories!\n That world and its wings and its glow,\n I fear me are only fancies\n Why, barely a fortnight ago,\n Went thither our friends, the pansies!\n\n _A Lily_\n\n Did any return to tell\n How the blindfold journey ended,\u2014\n If joy at the last befell,\n Or a deadly frost descended?\n\n _A White Rose_\n\n Nathless, it is pleasant to stray\n In limitless dream and vision.\n\n _A Red Rose_\n\n Nay, better be senseless as clay\n And feel not the walls that imprison!\n\n _A Pink Rose_\n\n What more than this warm brown nest\n Need any one dream or desire?\n\n _A Lily_\n\n Ah, me! in my aching breast\n Is a thirst for something higher!\n I may surely trust I go\n To some lovely goal unknowing,\n To some better thing I grow\u2014\n At least, I think I am growing.\n\n\nPART II\n\n Out in the garden closes,\n In the shining, summery weather,\n Blossoming lilies and roses\n Wondered and laughed together:\u2014\n \u201cWhat a wide, wide world of bliss,\n Of loveliest gleams and glowings!\n We had never a vision like this,\n In the fairest of hope\u2019s foreshowings.\u201d\n\n _A White Rose_\n\n What a beautiful thing is light!\n What marvellous thing is motion!\n The sunbeams in followless flight,\n The shimmer and swell of the ocean!\n\n _A Pink Rose_\n\n And the sky, what a wonder of blue!\n And the dawn, what a dazzle of splendour!\n\n _A Red Rose_\n\n How light is the fall of the dew,\n And the kiss of the breezes, how tender!\n\n _A Pink Rose_\n\n So blithe is the brown birds\u2019 song,\n So clear is the ether they swim in!\n\n _A Lily_\n\n So kindly are men and so strong\n So gentle and gracious are women!\n\n _A White Rose_\n\n Such gladness to bud and to bloom\n Sweet odour and honey outgiving!\u2014\n How could we, down here in that gloom,\n Conceive of this rapture of living?\n\n _A Lily_\n\n And yet, I was ever at strife\n With a hope\u2014that was half a sorrow;\n So vain, in that underground life\n Seemed thought of a radiant morrow!\n\n _Lilies and Roses_\n\n On lines that to us were unknown!\n For written was all our story;\n To the Lord of the garden alone\n Be honour and praise and glory.\n For had He not planted with care,\n And loosened the earth from around us,\n We never had grown to be fair,\n Nor blossom nor blessing had crowned us!\n\n\n\n\n\u201cSPIRIT\u201d AND \u201cLIFE\u201d[18]\n\nMARGARET EMMA DITTO\n\n\nTwo little souls were speeding their outward way from God. Angels folded\ntheir white wings in wondering silence, and watched the little ones go\nforth upon their unknown mission. The sky parted to let them pass, and\n\u201ctrailing clouds of glory\u201d the two souls swept on into that unmeasured\nspace where there is no light but the stars, and no sound but the voice\nof their harmonies. Then the two little souls spoke. \u201cWho are you?\u201d\n\n\u201cWho are you?\u201d asked each of the other.\n\n\u201cI am Spirit,\u201d \u201cI am Life,\u201d they made answer.\n\n\u201cIt is all one,\u201d sang the little souls together. \u201cWe are the same. We\ncame from God; we are going to dwell with men.\u201d\n\nSo they sang very happily as they sped along, and their voices were\nattuned to the music of the great spheres.\n\nWhen the little souls reached the earth they said good-bye to each other,\nfor each little soul had a house of his own. Not an immovable house made\nof wood and stone, but a tiny tabernacle that could be moved about. It\nwas made of flesh and blood and skin and soft bones. It was the form of a\nlittle child.\n\n\u201cOh, how nice!\u201d cried each little soul, quickly speeding through the\nhouse from top to toe, and pulling the strings which set the breath\nto coming and going, and the little fingers and toes to quirking and\nnestling.\n\n\u201cI must take a peep out of the windows,\u201d cried each little soul, as he\npulled up the curtains and looked out. \u201cOho! our baby has blue eyes like\nthe violets,\u201d shouted the noisy children.\n\n\u201cAh, the Prince looks upon us; his Royal Highness has eyes like his\nfather the King,\u201d said the grand courtiers, speaking low, with deep\nreverence, for one of the little souls had found its home in a peasant\u2019s\nhut, the other in the palace of a great king.\n\nThe little souls never saw one another again until they had spent their\ntime on earth and were flying back to God. Again they were speeding their\nway through the unmeasured spaces of the stars.\n\nThe souls knew each other, remembering the time when they had gone out\nfrom God to dwell among men. They gazed with joy at each other, for these\nreturning souls were full of gracious loveliness, such as earthly eyes\nhave not seen.\n\n\u201cSweet Life, you are no longer a little soul,\u201d said Spirit; \u201cyou are\nstrong and beautiful; you must have dwelt in a great house.\u201d \u201cAy,\u201d\nreplied Life, serenely, \u201cit was a perfect house, for the greatest of\nbuilders made it for me.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen it was spacious and lofty and beautiful, and it stood in a high and\nsunny space?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh no; it was none of these,\u201d replied Life. \u201cIt was narrow and infirm,\nand it trembled in the blast. No one who saw it desired it. But I loved\nit because it was the Gift of God, and I was so thankful. It stood in\na deep valley, the shadows of the mountains made it dark, and I could\nnot look far away. I could not look down: there was only one way to\nlook, and that was up, and my light came not from this side or that, but\nstraight down from the Father of Lights, and so I was a shining one,\nthough I lived in a dark place.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat did you do in your house?\u201d\n\n\u201cAlways I toiled and served and suffered and loved, for some needed me\nwho were poorer and weaker than I. Sometimes I was hungry and thirsty\nand in pain, but oftener I shared my loaf and cup, and helped the pain\nof others, and I kept the door ajar so that the poor and troubled ones,\nthose who were cast down and ashamed, could come in without knocking\nand rest in a warm place; and they loved me\u2014the poor, the weak, and\nthe little ones. They are weeping now because my house is empty, and I\nshall look out of the windows no more: it is cold, the hearth fire can\nnever glow again. But my house was weak and crumbling down upon me. I\ncould stay no longer. So I came away and left it fallen, prone upon the\nground\u2014earth to earth.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy house,\u201d said the Spirit, \u201cwas not like that; it was noble and\nstrong. It stood on high among the kings of the earth, and looked over my\nbroad dominions. My house had towers of strength and halls of bounty and\nfair gardens with pleasant fruits. Every one who saw it desired it for\nits beauty and feared it for its strength. It could not be shaken in the\nrudest blasts, and the shock of war could not make it tremble or force\nits gates.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat did you do in your house?\u201d\n\n\u201cAlways, like you, I toiled and served and suffered and loved, but not\nlike you in the way of doing, for I was a king with sceptre and crown,\nand what I did was done in the royal manner. I could not share my cup and\nloaf with the hungry, nor lay my hand on the brow of pain as you did, but\nI could make laws and find out wisdom that would strengthen the land and\nbring bread and meat and health to my poor people. I could not take the\nsuffering ones into my own house as you did, for they were many and my\nhouse was but one; but my house should stand a castle in their behalf\u2014a\nstronghold and defence\u2014and so standing it met its doom; in the prime of\nits glory it reeled, turret and foundation, beneath the onslaught of\nthe oppressor, and with a great fall it lay prone on the battle-ground,\ncrumbling back to earth.\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\nA herald went through the land crying, \u201cThe King is dead! the King is\ndead!\u201d\n\n\u201cSo is good Barbara,\u201d answered the peasants. \u201cShe was born the same night\nas the King, and she died the same day.\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe two souls swept on through the wide spaces of the stars, on and on\nthrough the pearly gates of heaven. Angels folded their wings, and looked\nwith tender awe upon these gracious beings who had come from the earth.\n\n\u201cWe cannot tell who they are,\u201d said the angels.\n\n\u201cOne was a King. One was a peasant. But one cannot tell which was the\nKing and which was the peasant,\u201d said the angels: \u201cthese beings are alike\nwondrous fair and noble.\u201d\n\nThe two souls swept on, with equal stroke of their shining wings, through\nthe serried ranks of the heavenly host, and God did not welcome these\nhome-coming souls as king or peasant, but He gave to each a new name\u2014the\nnew name which He has promised to him that overcometh.\n\n\n\n\nA CHILD\u2019S EASTER\n\nANNIE TRUMBULL SLOSSON\n\n\n Had I been there when Christ, our Lord, lay sleeping\n Within that tomb in Joseph\u2019s garden fair,\n I would have watched all night beside my Saviour\u2014\n Had I been there.\n\n Close to the hard, cold stone my soft cheek pressing,\n I should have thought my head lay on His breast;\n And dreaming that His dear arms were about me,\n Have sunk to rest.\n\n All through the long, dark night when others slumbered,\n Close, close beside Him still I would have stayed,\n And, knowing how He loved the little children,\n Ne\u2019er felt afraid.\n\n \u201cTo-morrow,\u201d to my heart I would have whispered,\n \u201cI will rise early in the morning hours,\n And wand\u2019ring o\u2019er the hillside I will gather\n The fairest flowers;\n\n \u201cTall, slender lilies (for my Saviour loved them,\n And tender words about their beauty spake),\n And golden buttercups, and glad-eyed daisies,\n But just awake:\n\n \u201c\u2018Grass of the field\u2019 in waving, feath\u2019ry beauty,\n He clothed it with that grace, so fair but brief,\n Mosses all soft and green, and crimson berry,\n With glossy leaf.\n\n \u201cWhile yet the dew is sparkling on the blossoms,\n I\u2019ll gather them and lay them at His feet,\n And make the blessed place where He is sleeping\n All fair and sweet.\n\n \u201cThe birds will come, I know, and sing above Him,\n The sparrows whom He cared for when awake,\n And they will fill the air with joyous music\n For His dear sake!\u201d\n\n And, thinking thus, the night would soon be passing,\n Fast drawing near that first glad Easter light.\n Ah, Lord, if I could but have seen Thee leaving\n The grave\u2019s dark night!\n\n I would have kept so still, so still, and clasping\n My hands together as I do in prayer,\n I would have knelt, reverent, but oh, so happy\n Had I been there.\n\n Perhaps He would have bent one look upon me;\n Perhaps in pity for that weary night,\n He would have laid on my uplifted forehead\n A touch so light;\n\n And all the rest of life I should have felt it,\n A sacred sign upon my brow imprest,\n And ne\u2019er forgot that precious, lonely vigil,\n So richly blest.\n\n Dear Lord, through death and night I was not near Thee;\n But in Thy risen glory can rejoice,\n So, loud and glad in song this Easter morning,\n Thou\u2019lt hear my voice.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SPIRIT OF EASTER\n\nHELEN KELLER\n\n\nOh, give thanks unto the Lord, for He is good, and His mercy endureth\nforever. Sing unto Him a new song, for He causeth the desert to put forth\nblossoms, and the valleys He covereth with greenness. Out of the night\nHe bringeth day, and out of death life everlasting. On this day a new\nlight is upon the mountains; for life and the resurrection are proclaimed\nforever.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe bands of winter are broken in sunder, and the land is made soft with\nshowers. Easter day bringeth the children of men near to the source of\nall light; for on this day the Lord declareth the permanence of His\nworld, and maketh known the immortality of the soul. He hath revealed the\nlife everlasting and His goodness endureth forever. Easter is the promise\nof the Lord that all the best and noblest in man shall be renewed, even\nas growth and bloom and ripening shall not cease. The bars of winter are\nbroken, and the iron bands of death are riven. The bird is on the wing\nand the flight of the soul shall know no weariness. The lilies lift their\nholy white grails brimmed with the sunshine of God\u2019s love. For, has not\nthe Lord manifested His love in flowers and in the upspringing of green\nthings? They are sweet interpreters of large certainties. Each year the\nwinter cuts them down and each spring they put forth again. Each spring\nis a new page in the book of revelation, wherever we read that life is an\neternal genesis, and its end is not; for it endureth forever.\n\n\n\n\nTHERE ARE NO DEAD\n\nMAURICE MAETERLINCK\n\nAdapted from \u201cThe Blue Bird\u201d\n\n\n\u201cTyltyl,\u201d said Light one morning, \u201cI have received a note from the Fairy\nBerlyune telling me that the Bluebird is probably in the graveyard.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat shall we do?\u201d asked Tyltyl.\n\n\u201cIt is very simple,\u201d answered Light. \u201cThe fairy gave strict orders. You\nand Mytyl are to go into the graveyard alone. At midnight you will turn\nthe diamond, and the dead will come out of the ground.\u201d\n\nTyltyl did not feel pleased. \u201cAren\u2019t you coming with us?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said Light, \u201cI shall stay at the gate of the graveyard. There is\nnothing to fear. I shall not be far away, and those who love me and whom\nI love always find me again.\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\nLight had scarcely done speaking when everything changed. The shining\nTemple, the glowing flowers, the splendid gardens vanished to make way\nfor a little country graveyard lying in the soft moonlight. Tyltyl and\nMytyl clung to one another.\n\n\u201cI am frightened,\u201d said Mytyl.\n\n\u201cI am never frightened,\u201d said Tyltyl, shaking with fear.\n\n\u201cAre the dead alive?\u201d asked Mytyl.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said Tyltyl, \u201cthey\u2019re not alive.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre we going to see them?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course; Light said so.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere are they?\u201d asked Mytyl.\n\n\u201cHere, under the grass or under those big stones, Mytyl.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre those the stones of their houses?\u201d asked Mytyl.\n\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen will you turn the diamond, Tyltyl?\u201d\n\n\u201cLight said I was to wait until midnight.\u201d\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t it midnight yet?\u201d\n\nTyltyl looked at the church clock. \u201cListen, it is going to strike.\u201d\n\nAbove the children the tones of the clock boomed out as it started to\nstrike twelve.\n\n\u201cI want to go away, Tyltyl! I want to go away!\u201d\n\n\u201cNot now, Mytyl; I am going to turn the diamond.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no,\u201d cried Mytyl. \u201cDon\u2019t! I\u2019m so frightened, Brother! I want to go\naway.\u201d\n\nTyltyl tried vainly to lift his hand; he could not reach the diamond with\nMytyl clinging to him.\n\n\u201cI am so frightened.\u201d\n\nPoor Tyltyl was quite as frightened as she, but at each trial his courage\nhad grown greater.\n\nThe eleventh stroke rang out. \u201cThe hour is passing. It is time,\u201d and,\nreleasing himself from Mytyl\u2019s arms he turned the diamond.\n\nA moment of suspense followed for the poor children, Mytyl hid her face\nin Tyltyl\u2019s breast.\n\n\u201cThey\u2019re coming,\u201d she cried. \u201cThey\u2019re coming.\u201d\n\nTyltyl shut his eyes and leaned against a heavy stone beside him. The\nchildren remained in that position for a minute, hardly daring to\nbreathe. Then they heard birds singing, a warm scented breeze fanned\ntheir faces and on hands and neck they felt the soft heat of the balmy\nsummer sun. Reassured, but finding it hard to believe in so great a\nmiracle, they opened their eyes and looked about them. From all the open\ntombs were rising thousands of delicate flowers gradually growing more\nand more tall and plentiful and marvellous. Little by little they spread\neverywhere, over the paths, over the grass, transforming the rude little\ngraveyard into a fairylike garden. Its sweet-scented breeze was murmuring\nin the young and tender leaves, the birds were singing and the bees\nhumming gaily above glittering dew and opening flowers.\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t believe it! It\u2019s not possible!\u201d cried Tyltyl.\n\nThe two children, holding each other by the hand, walked through what had\nbeen the graveyard, but where now no graveyard was to be seen. Vainly\nthey searched among the flowers for a trace of the low mounds, stone\nslabs, and wooden crosses so lately there. In the presence of the truth\nthey saw that all their fears of the dead were foolish. They saw that\nthere are no dead; but that life goes on always only under fresh form.\nThe fading rose sheds its pollen only to give birth to other roses, and\nits scattered petals scent the air. The fruits come when the blossoms\nfall from the trees; when the grub dies the brilliant butterfly is born.\nNothing perishes; there are only changes.\n\nBeautiful birds circled about Tyltyl and Mytyl. There were no blue ones\namong them, but the two children were so happy over their discovery that\nthey asked for nothing more.\n\nRelieved and delighted they kept repeating:\n\n\u201cThere are no dead! There are no dead!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nLITTLE BOY BLUE\n\nALFRED NOYES\n\n\n Little Boy Blue, come blow up your horn,\n Summon the day of deliverance in;\n We are weary of bearing the burden of scorn,\n As we yearn for the home that we never shall win;\n For here there is weeping and sorrow and sin,\n And the poor and the weak are a spoil for the strong!\n Ah! when shall the song of the ransomed begin?\n The world is grown weary with waiting so long.\n\n Little Boy Blue, you are gallant and brave,\n There was never a doubt in those clear bright eyes:\n Come, challenge the grim dark Gates of the Grave\n As the skylark sings to those infinite skies!\n This world is a dream, say the old and the wise,\n And its rainbows arise o\u2019er the false and the true\n But the mists of the morning are made of our sighs,\u2014\n Ah, shatter them, scatter them, Little Boy Blue!\n\n Little Boy Blue, if the child-heart knows,\n Sound but a note as a little one may,\n And the thorns of the desert shall bloom with the rose,\n And the Healer shall wipe all tears away;\n Little Boy Blue, we are all astray,\n The sheep\u2019s in the meadow, the cows in the corn,\n Ah, set the world right, as a little one may;\n Little Boy Blue, come blow up your horn!\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\nFOOTNOTES\n\n\n[1] By special permission of Pilgrim Press.\n\n[2] From \u201cA Little Book of Profitable Tales,\u201d by Eugene Field, copyright\n1889; published by Charles Scribner\u2019s Sons.\n\n[3] Taken from \u201cThe Child\u2019s Book of Saints,\u201d by permission of the\npublishers, E. P. Dutton & Co.\n\n[4] By special permission The Oxford Press, London.\n\n[5] By special permission The Pilgrim Press.\n\n[6] By courtesy of The Ben. H. Sanborn Co.\n\n[7] By special permission of Charles Scribner\u2019s Sons.\n\n[8] From \u201cSchool Reading by Grades, Third Year,\u201d by James Baldwin.\nCopyright American Book Co.\n\n[9] Courtesy of Milton Bradly Co. From \u201cMore Mother Stories.\u201d\n\n[10] \u201cThe Little Brown Wren,\u201d by Clinton Scollard.\n\n[11] By courtesy of the author.\n\n[12] From \u201cPyle\u2019s Prose and Verse For Children.\u201d Copyright 1899, by\nKatherine Pyle, American Book Co.\n\n[13] By permission of The Macmillan Co.\n\n[14] Found in England.\n\n[15] From \u201cWhy the Chimes Rang,\u201d by Raymond MacDonald Alden. Copyright\n1908. Used by special permission of The Bobbs-Merrill Co.\n\n[16] Reprinted by permission. Copyright 1908, by Henry Holt & Co.\n\n[17] By special permission. Copyright 1910, Little, Brown Co.\n\n[18] By permission. Copyright 1889, by Harper & Brothers.","title":"The Emerald Story Book: Stories and legends of spring, nature and Easter","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":62899}