Chapter XCV

A pious heathen who was currying favour with his wooden deity by sitting for some years motionless in a treeless plain, observed a young ivy putting forth her tender shoots at his feet. He thought he could endure the additional martyrdom of a little shade, and begged her to make herself quite at home.

"Exactly," said the plant; "it is my mission to adorn venerable ruins."

She lapped her clinging tendrils about his wasted shanks, and in six months had mantled him in green.

"It is now time," said the devotee, a year later, "for me to fulfil the remainder of my religious vow. I must put in a few seasons of howling and leaping. You have been very good, but I no longer require your gentle ministrations."

"But I require yours," replied the vine; "you have become a second nature to me. Let others indulge in the delights of gymnastic worship; you and I will 'surfer and be strong'--respectively."

The devotee muttered something about the division of labour, and his bones are still pointed out to the pilgrim.