Chapter D: Bethune Duffield (1)

Hurrah for the school-boy's happy lot,
The school-girl's sunny hours,
And the holidays that fill with praise
This happy land of ours;

Hurrah for the old year rolling out,
The new year rolling in,
For tasks well done and a race well run,
And sports we now begin;

Hurrah for the winter's frosty days,
And stormy winds that blow
In echoes loud from the driving cloud,
That sheds the Christmas snow;

Hurrah, once more for the school-boy's lot,
The school-girl's sunny hours,
And the holidays that fill with praise
This happy land of ours.

A QUEER DUCKLING.

How beautiful looked everything out in the fields! It was summer, and the corn was yellow, the oats were green, the hay-ricks were standing in the verdant meadows, and the stork was walking about on his long, red legs, chattering away in Egyptian--the language he had learned from his lady-mother. The corn-fields and meadows were surrounded by large forests, in the middle of which lay deep lakes. Oh! it was lovely indeed to walk abroad in the country just then.

In a sunny spot stood an old country-house, encircled by canals. Between the wall and the water's edge there grew huge burdock-leaves, that had shot up to such a height that a little child might have stood upright under the tallest of them; and this spot was as wild as though it had been situated in the depths of a wood.

In this snug retirement a duck was sitting on her nest to hatch her young: but she began to think it a wearisome task, as the little ones seemed very backward in making their appearance; besides, she had but few visitors; for the other ducks preferred swimming about in the canals, instead of being at the trouble of climbing up the slope, and then sitting under a burdock leaf to gossip with her.

At length one egg cracked, and then another. "Peep! peep!" cried they, as each yolk became a live thing, and popped out its head.

"Quack! quack!" said the mother, and they tried to cackle like her, while they looked all about them under the green leaves; and she allowed them to look to their hearts' content, because green is good for the eyes.

"How large the world is, to be sure!" said the young ones. And truly enough, they had rather more room than when they were still in the egg-shell.

"Do you fancy this is the whole world?" cried the mother. "Why, it reaches far away beyond the other side of the garden, down to the parson's field; though I never went such a distance as that! but are you all there?" continued she, rising. "No, faith! you are not; for there still lies the largest egg. I wonder how long this business is to last--I really begin to grow quite tired of it." And she sat down once more.

"Well, how are you getting on?" inquired an old duck, who came to pay her a visit.

"This egg takes a deal of hatching," answered the sitting duck, "it won't break; but just look at the others, are they not the prettiest ducklings ever seen? They are the image of their father, who, by-the-bye, does not trouble himself to come and see me."

"Let me look at the egg that won't break," quoth the old duck. "Take my word for it, it must be a guinea-fowl's egg. I was once deceived in the same way, and I bestowed a deal of care and anxiety on the youngsters, for they are afraid of water. I could not make them take to it. I stormed and raved, but it was of no use. Let's see the egg. Sure enough, it is a guinea-fowl's egg. Leave it alone, and set about teaching the other children to swim."

"I'll just sit upon it a bit longer," said the duck; "for since I have sat so long, a few days more won't make much odds."

"Please yourself," said the old duck, as she went away.

At length the large egg cracked. "Peep! peep!" squeaked the youngster, as he crept out. How big and ugly he was, to be sure! The duck looked at him, saying: "Really this is a most enormous duckling! None of the others are like him. I wonder whether he is a guinea-chick after all? Well, we shall soon see when we get down to the water; for in he shall go, though I push him in myself."

On the following morning the weather was most delightful, and the sun was shining brightly on the green burdock-leaves. The mother duck took her young brood down to the canal. Splash into the water she went. "Quack! quack!" cried she, and forthwith one duckling after another jumped in. The water closed over their heads for a moment; but they soon rose to the surface again, and swam about so nicely, just as if their legs paddled them about of their own accord; and they had all taken to the water; even the ugly, gray-coated youngster swam about with the rest.

"Nay, he is no guinea-chick," said she, "only look how capitally he uses his legs, and how steady he keeps himself--he's every inch my own child! And really he's very pretty when one comes to look at him attentively. Quack! quack!" added she; "now come along, and I'll take you into high society, and introduce you to the duck-yard; but mind you keep close to me, that nobody may tread upon you; and above all, beware of the cat."

They now reached the farm-yard, where there was a great hubbub. Two families were fighting for an eel's head, which, in the end, was carried off by the cat.

"See, children, that's the way with the world!" remarked the mother of the ducklings, licking her beak, for she would have been very glad to have had the eel's head for herself. "Now, move on!" said she, "and mind you cackle properly, and bow your head before that old duck yonder; she is the noblest born of them all, and is of Spanish descent, and that's why she is so dignified; and look! she has a red rag tied to her leg, which is the greatest mark of distinction that can be bestowed upon a duck, as it shows an anxiety not to lose her, and that she should be recognized by both beast and man. Now cackle--and don't turn in your toes; a well-bred duckling spreads his feet wide apart, like papa and mamma, in this sort of way. Now bend your neck and say 'Quack!'"

The ducklings did as they were bid; but the other ducks, after looking at them, only said aloud; "Now look! here comes another set, as if we were not numerous enough already. And bless me! what a queer looking chap one of the ducklings is to be sure--we can't put up with him!" And one of the throng darted forward and bit him in the neck.

"Leave him alone," said the mother, "he did no harm to anyone."

"No; but he is too big and uncouth," said the biting duck, "and therefore he wants a thrashing."

"Mamma has a sweet little family," said the old duck with the rag about her leg; "they are all pretty except one, who is rather ill-favored. I wish mamma could polish him a bit."

"I'm afraid that will be impossible, your grace," said the mother of the ducklings. "Its true, he is not pretty, but he has a very good disposition, and swims as well, or perhaps better than all the others put together. However, he may grow prettier, and perhaps become smaller; he remained too long in the egg-shell, and therefore his figure is not properly formed." And with this she smoothed down the ruffled feathers of his neck, adding: "At all events, as he is a male duck, it won't matter so much. I think he'll prove strong, and be able to fight his way through the world."

"The other ducklings are elegant little creatures," said the old duck. "Now, make yourself at home; and if you should happen to find an eel's head, you can bring it to me."

And so the family made themselves comfortable.

But the poor duckling who had been the last to creep out of his egg-shell, and looked so ugly, was bitten, pushed about, and made game of, not only by the ducks, but by the hens. They all declared he was much too big; and a guinea-fowl who fancied himself at least an emperor, because he had come into the world with spurs, now puffed himself up like a vessel in full sail and flew at the duckling, and blustered till his head turned completely red, so that the poor little thing did not know where he could walk or stand, and was quite grieved at being so ugly that the whole farm-yard scouted him.

Nor did matters mend the next day, or the following ones, but rather grew worse and worse. The poor duckling was hunted down by everybody. Even his sisters were so unkind to him, that they were continually saying, "I wish the cat would run away with you, you ugly creature!" While his mother added: "I wish you had never been born!" And the ducks pecked at him, the hens struck him, and the girl who fed the poultry used to kick him.

So he ran away, and flew over the palings. The little birds in the bushes were startled, and took wing. "That is because I am so ugly," thought the duckling as he closed his eyes, though he ran on further till he came to a large marsh inhabited by wild ducks. Here he spent the whole night--and tired and sorrowful enough he was.

On the following morning when the wild ducks rose and saw their new comrade, they said: "What sort of a creature are you?" Upon which the duckling greeted them all round as civilly as he knew how.

"You are remarkably ugly," observed the wild ducks, "but we don't care about that so long as you do not want to marry into our family." Poor, forlorn creature! He had truly no such thoughts in his head. All he wanted was to obtain leave to lie among the rushes, and drink a little of the marsh water.

He remained there for two whole days, at the end of which there came two wild geese, or more properly speaking, goslings, who were only just out of the egg-shell, and consequently very pert.

"I say, friend," quoth they, "you are so ugly, that we should have no objection to take you with us for a traveling companion. In the neighboring marsh there dwell some sweet, pretty female geese, all of them unmarried, and who cackle most charmingly. Perhaps you may have a chance to pick up a wife amongst them, ugly as you are."

Pop! pop! sounded through the air, and the two wild goslings fell dead amongst the rushes, while the water turned as red as blood. Pop! pop! again echoed around, and whole flocks of wild geese flew up from the rushes. Again and again the same alarming noise was heard.

It was a shooting party and the sportsmen surrounded the whole marsh, while others had climbed into the branches of the trees that overshadowed the rushes. A blue mist rose in clouds and mingled with the green leaves, and sailed far away across the water; a pack of dogs next flounced into the marsh. Splash, splash they went, while the reeds and rushes bent beneath them on all sides.

What a fright they occasioned the poor duckling! He turned away his head to hide it under his wing, when lo! a tremendous looking dog, with his tongue lolling out, and his eyes glaring fearfully, stood right before him, opening his jaws and showing his sharp teeth, as though he would gobble up the poor little duckling at a mouthful!--but splash! splash! on he went without touching him.

"Thank goodness!" sighed the duckling, "I am so ugly that even a dog won't bite me."

And he lay quite still, while the shot rattled through the rushes, and pop after pop echoed through the air.

It was not till late in the day that all became quiet, but the poor youngster did not yet venture to rise, but waited several hours before he looked about him, and then hastened out of the marsh as fast as he could go. He ran across fields and meadows 'till there arose such a storm that he could scarcely get on at all.

Towards evening he reached a wretched little cottage, that was in such a tumble-down condition, that if it remained standing at all, it could only be from not yet having made up its mind on which side it should fall first. The tempest was now raging to such a height, that the duckling was forced to sit down to stem the wind, when he perceived that the door hung so loosely on one of its hinges, that he could slip into the room through the crack, which he accordingly did.

The inmates of the cottage were a woman, a tom-cat, and a hen. The tom-cat, whom she called her darling, could raise his back and purr; and he could even throw out sparks, provided he were stroked against the grain. The hen had small, short legs, for which reason she was called Henny Shortlegs; she laid good eggs and her mistress loved her as if she had been her own child.

Next morning they perceived the little stranger, when the tom-cat began to purr and the hen to cluck.

"What's that?" said the woman, looking round. Not seeing very distinctly, she mistook the duckling for a fat duck that had lost its way. "Why, this is quite a prize!" added she; "I can now get duck's eggs, unless indeed it be a male! we must wait a bit and see."

So the duckling was kept on trial for three weeks, but no eggs were forthcoming. The tom-cat and the hen were the master and mistress of the house, and always said "We and the world"--for they fancied themselves to be the half, and by far the best half too, of the whole universe. The duckling thought there might be two opinions on this point; but the hen would not admit of any such doubts.

"Can you lay eggs?" asked she.

"No."

"Then have the goodness to hold your tongue."

And the tom-cat inquired: "Can you raise your back, or purr, or throw out sparks?"

"No."

"Then you have no business to have any opinion at all, when rational people are talking."

The duckling sat in a corner very much out of spirits, when in came the fresh air and the sunshine, which gave him such a strange longing to swim on the water, that he could not help saying so to the hen.

"What's this whim?" said she. "That comes of being idle. If you could either lay eggs or purr, you would not indulge in such fancies."

"But it is so delightful to swim about on the water!" observed the duckling, "and to feel it close over one's head when one dives down to the bottom."

"A great pleasure, indeed!" quoth the hen. "You must be crazy, surely! Only ask the cat--for he is the wisest creature I know--how he would like to swim on the water, or to dive under it. To say nothing of myself, just ask our old mistress, who is wiser than anybody in the world, whether she'd relish swimming and feeling the waters close above her head."

"You can't understand me!" said the duckling.

"We can't understand you? I should like to know who could. You don't suppose you are wiser than the tom-cat and our mistress--to say nothing of myself? Don't take these idle fancies into your head, child; but thank Heaven for all the kindness that has been shown you. Have you not found a warm room, and company that might improve you? But you are a mere chatterbox, and there's no pleasant intercourse to be had with you. And you may take my word for it, for I mean you well. I say disagreeable things, which is a mark of true friendship. Now, look to it, and mind that you either lay eggs, or learn to purr and emit sparks."

"I think I'll take my chance and go abroad into the wide world," said the duckling.

"Do," said the hen.

And the duckling went forth, and swam on the water, and dived beneath its surface; but he was slighted by all other animals, on account of his ugliness.

Autumn had now set in. The leaves of the forests had turned first yellow, and then brown; and the wind caught them up, and made them dance about. It began to be very cold in the higher regions of the air, and the clouds looked heavy with hail and flakes of snow; while the raven sat on a hedge, crying "Caw! caw!" from sheer cold; and one began to shiver, if one merely thought about it. The poor duckling had a bad time of it.

One evening, just as the sun was setting in all its glory, there came a whole flock of beautiful large birds from a large grove. The duckling had never seen any so lovely before. They were dazzlingly white, with long, graceful necks; they were swans. They uttered a peculiar cry, and then spread their magnificent wings, and away they flew from the cold country, to warmer lands across the open sea. They rose so high--so high that the ugly duckling felt a strange sensation come over him. He turned round and round in the water like a wheel, stretched his neck up into the air towards them, and uttered so loud and strange a cry, that he was frightened at it himself.

Oh! never could he again forget those beautiful, happy birds; and when they were quite out of sight, he dived down to the bottom of the water, and when he once more rose to the surface, he was half beside himself. He knew not how these birds were called, or whither they were bound; but he felt an affection for them, such as he had never yet experienced for any living creature. Nor did he even presume to envy them; for how could it have ever entered his head to wish himself endowed with their loveliness? He would have been glad enough if the ducks had merely suffered him to remain among them--poor, ugly animal that he was!

And the winter proved so very, very cold! The duckling was obliged to keep swimming about, for fear the water should freeze entirely; but every night, the hole in which he swam grew smaller and smaller. It now froze so hard that the surface of the ice cracked again; yet the duckling still paddled about, to prevent the hole from closing up. At last he was so exhausted, that he lay insensible, and became ice-bound.

Early next morning, a peasant came by, and seeing what had happened, broke the ice to pieces with his wooden shoe, and carried the duckling home to his wife, so the little creature was revived once more.

The children wished to play with him; but the duckling thought they meant to hurt him, and in his fright he bounced right into a bowl of milk, that was spirted all over the room. The woman clapped her hands which only frightened him still more, and drove him first into the butter-tub, then down into the meal-tub, and out again. What a scene then ensued! The woman screamed and flung the tongs at him; the children tumbled over each other in their endeavors to catch the duckling, and laughed and shrieked. Luckily, the door stood open, and he slipped through, and then over the fagots, into the newly-fallen snow, where he lay quite exhausted.

But it would be too painful to tell of all the privations and misery that the duckling endured during the hard winter. He was lying in a marsh, amongst the reeds, when the sun again began to shine. The larks were singing, and the spring had set in, in all its beauty.

The duckling now felt able to flap his wings: they rustled much louder than before, and bore him away most sturdily; and before he was well aware of it, he found himself in a large garden, where the apple-trees were in full blossom, and the fragrant elder was steeping its long, drooping branches in the waters of a winding canal. Oh, how beautiful everything looked in the first freshness of spring! Three magnificent white swans now emerged from the thicket before him; they flapped their wings, and then swam lightly on the surface of the water. The duckling recognized the beautiful creatures, and was impressed with feelings of melancholy peculiar to himself.

"I will fly towards those royal birds--and they will strike me dead for daring to approach them, so ugly as I am! But it matters not. Better to be killed by them, than to be pecked at by the ducks, beaten by the hens, pushed about by the girl that feeds the poultry, and to suffer want in the winter." And he flew into the water, and swam towards these splendid swans, who rushed to meet him with rustling wings, the moment they saw him. "Do but kill me!" said the poor animal, as he bent his head down to the surface of the water, and awaited his doom. But what did he see in the clear stream? Why, his own image, which was no longer that of a heavy-looking dark grey bird, ugly and ill-favored, but of a beautiful swan!

It matters not being born in a duck yard, when one is hatched from a swan's egg!

He now rejoiced over all the misery and the straits he had endured, as it made him feel the full depth of the happiness that awaited him. And the large swans swam around him, and stroked him with their beaks.

Some little children now came into the garden, and threw bread-crumbs and corn into the water; and the youngest cried: "There is a new one!" The other children were delighted, too, and repeated: "Yes, there is a new one just come." And they clapped their hands, and capered about, and then flew to their father and mother, and more bread and cake was flung into the water; and all said: "The new one is the prettiest. So young and so lovely!" And the elder swans bowed before him.

He then felt quite ashamed, and hid his head under his wings. He did not himself know what to do. He was more than happy, yet none the prouder; for a good heart is never proud. He remembered how he had been pursued, and made game of; and now he had heard everybody say he was the most beautiful of all beautiful birds. Even the elder-bush bent its boughs down to him in the water, and the sun appeared so warm, and so mild! He then flapped his wings, and raised his slender neck, as he cried, in the fulness of his heart: "I never dreamed of such happiness while I was an ugly duckling."

Get but the truth once uttered, and 'tis like
A star new-born, that drops into its place,
And which, once circling, in its placid round,
Not all the tumult of the earth can shake.

LOWELL: "A GLANCE BEHIND THE CURTAIN."

THE CLEARIN'.

Then why do I sell it? you ask me again,
"Big cabin an' clearin, an' all?"
Well, stranger, I'll tell you, though may be you'll think
It ain't any reason at all.

There's plenty of hardship in pioneer life,
A hard workin' stint at the best;
But I'd stick to it yet, if it wasn't for this,
A heart like a log in my breast.

D'ye see, over there by the cotton-wood tree,
A climbin' rose, close by a mound,
Inside of a fence made of rough cedar boughs?--
Prairie wolves ain't too good to come round--

Well, Hetty, my darling old woman, lies there;
Not very old either, you see;
She wa'n't more'n twenty the year we come West;
She'd a been--comin' grass--thirty-three.

What a round little face an' a cheek like a peach
She had, little Hetty, be sure!
What courage to take me--she knew all the while
I was friendless and terrible poor!

How she worked with a will at our first little hut,
In the field and among garden stuff,
Till her forehead was burned, and her poor little hand,
Through its hardships, got rugged and rough.

But many a time, when I come in the door
Quite sudden, I've found her just there,
With eyelids all red, an' her face to the east
--You see, all her own folks was there.

I cheered her, an' told her we'd go by and by,
When the clearin' and plowin' was through;
And then came the baby--he wa'n't very strong,
So that Hetty had plenty to do.

But after awhile she got gloomy again;
She would hide in the corn-field to cry.
We hadn't no meetin' to speak of, you see,
No woman to talk to was nigh.

An' she wanted to show little Joe to the folks;
She was hungry, I s'pose, for the sight
Of faces she'd seen all the days of her life.
That was natteral, stranger, an' right.

But just when she thought to go over the Plains
The devils of Sioux was about;
So poor Hetty waited a harvest or two,
Through the summer of locusts and drought.

That left us poor people. The next coming spring
Such a wearisome fever came round;
An', stranger--hold on till I tell you--there now,
It laid little Joe in the ground.

I know'd then I'd got to send Hetty off East,
If I cared about keepin' her here:
She pined to a shadder, an' moped by his grave,
Though her eyes brighter grew, and more clear.

If you'd seen her poor face, when I told her I'd go
And take her home visitin'! Well,
I'll never forget how she put out her hands
Into mine, an', fur joy, cried a spell.

She didn't feel strong though, that week or the next,
An' the cough an' the fever increased;
While softly she whispered--she couldn't speak loud--
"You'll take me by'm-by to the East?"

* * * * *

She never got East; any further than that,
You see stranger, by the tree--that mound--
But I'm goin' to take her and Joe, when I go,
To her father's old buryin'-ground.

This, stranger, 's the reason I'm willin' to sell;
You can buy at a bargain, you see;
It's mighty good land fur a settler to own,
But it looks like a graveyard to me.

PRINCE WILLFUL'S THREE LESSONS.

Many years ago there was a young prince named Willful, who was, as his name indicates, a very willful boy. He was lazy and careless, and would not go to school or learn his lessons if he could help it.

His father, whose name was Felix, was a great and good king. He had reigned many years, had filled his treasury with gold, and made many wise laws for the welfare of his people. He was very anxious that his son should grow up an educated and refined man; and he tried by kind words and wholesome advice to show him the necessity of work and the folly of idleness. But Willful paid no heed to his father's words, and daily grew more indolent.

At last the king could bear it no longer; and he said that if the prince would not learn from books, he should be taught in a way not so pleasant. Accordingly he called Willful to him one day and told him that he was going to send him away from home, and that he could not return until by watching the birds, the beasts and the insects he had learned the _three lessons_ most necessary for a prince to know.

He did not say what these lessons were, but left that for the boy to find out himself. Then he gave Willful a golden cross to protect him from harm, a magic glass to magnify even the tiniest creatures, and a curious fan-shaped instrument, by which the languages of the animal-world might be understood.

With these to assist him, Willful started on his journey. He visited many countries and saw many wonderful things, but it was a long time before he learned anything from what he saw, for he was so proud that he thought nothing could teach him.

But one day he was lying down in the shade of a tree, and was looking around for some object of interest, when he saw a number of ants going up and down the tree in great haste. He further noticed that when two ants met they would stop and touch each other with the little horns on their heads, just as people shake hands.

This amused Willful, and he wished to know its meaning, so he took out his hearing fan, and placing it to his lips he found that one ant said to the other, "Good morning, Mr. Ant; fine day. Been to breakfast?" to which the other replied pleasantly, and passed on.

While he was watching these tiny creatures, he saw one which appeared very much excited over something. It stopped one of its friends who was going up the tree, and said, "Have you seen my goats this morning? I went up to milk them a few moments ago; and can not find them anywhere." "Yes," replied the other, "They got over into my pasture; come with me and I will find them for you." Then the two went up the tree and disappeared.

Willful's curiosity was thoroughly aroused; so he climbed the tree, and, crawling out upon one of the branches, took out his magic glass and looked around to see what the ants meant by their "_goats_."

Soon he found the two ants, with a herd of tiny plant lice feeding on a large leaf. Then he knew what the ant meant by his "_goats_."

The lost goats were soon picked out, and their master proceeded to milk them.

Willful was so interested by these singular creatures that he determined to study their habits; so, descending from the tree he searched for the anthills. Then he spent hours in watching their occupants, and he learnt many things of benefit to him.

He found that they had a regular government, which was as well organized as any human kingdom; and that in some respects they surpassed mankind, for they had reached the point where everything was held in common, yet quarrels over the right of property were unknown. Each had its own labor to perform and none were allowed to be idle. In fact, Willful thought he had never seen, even in his own country, so peaceable, happy, and contented a people as were these occupants of the sand-hills.

"Surely," thought he, "I know now the value and importance of industry." After this the prince was not so proud as he once had been; but was more ready to learn from whatever he saw.

One day he had the misfortune to tear his cloak, and he was at a loss to mend it, for he had never even seen anyone sew. All his clothes were made for him by the king's tailors, and he had no thought of how it was done.

He was sore perplexed and was wondering what he should do, when he was startled by hearing a sharp, shrill voice utter these words,--

"Come here, children, you are now too large to spend your entire time in play; you must learn to make your house."

At first Willful thought it was a woman calling,--for he had forgotten that he had his magic fan in his hand--but looking around, he saw a bird perched upon a limb, and several birdlings flitting around her. At the words of their mother, they all clustered around her, and the lesson began.

She first selected some fibers, and then quickly twisted them into a good, stout thread, holding one end with her claws. Then she ran it through a little hole in her beak, and thus she had a needle and thread. With these she proceeded to sew together a few leaves, so as to form a little pocket or nest, and lining it with some moss which was gathered near by, she had a capital nest, large enough for herself and little ones.

Willful watched this queer bird with great interest, the more so because it taught him a valuable lesson.

Following the bird's example he contrived to find a needle and thread, consisting of a sharp, stout thorn, and some long, tough grass, with which he mended his torn garment. Willful thought that he had learned from the habits of these creatures, another and valuable lesson, but he was now anxious to see something of methods of warfare among animals.

He did not have to wait very long, for in a little while after the sewing lesson, he traveled over a very level country, which seemed to be mostly inhabited by large herds of buffalo.

The pest of these creatures was the prairie wolves, which were found in great numbers. Often, driven by hunger, they would scent their prey, and a large pack of them would attack the buffalo in great fury.

When the buffalo herd was approached by these hungry packs, some old bull would give a great bellow of warning and the whole mass would prepare for defense.

The cows, calves, and weaker ones would huddle together and the strong bulls would form a circle around them with their heads outward; their horns making such a defense against attack as soldiers with bayonets.

The wolves would try to break through the circle, but if one came too near, he was sure to be tossed high into the air, howling and bleeding. They would gather in a body and all rush at one bull, but many were sure to be gored by his fierce horns before they could bring him down, and no sooner was he down than his place was filled by another bull, ready to receive the next attack of the wolves.

After awhile the whole pack would get tired of such costly fighting and leave the buffaloes in peace.

Willful witnessed several of these battles, and he was much impressed with the skill and bravery of the horned tribe.

He learned much of great importance on the art of warfare; and this he thought was the last of the three lessons. So he turned his journey homewards and in due season reached his father's palace, where he was welcomed with joy.

On the day after his return he was summoned to a meeting of the wise men of the kingdom, and in their presence was asked by the king what three lessons he had learned.

Then Willful in an humble manner, unlike his former character, replied:--"These, my father, are the lessons that my observation has taught me: First,--That even a prince may learn from the smallest of God's creatures. Second--That a government is strong only when each citizen has some honest means of earning a living, and receives a suitable reward for his labor. Third--That it is best to fight only when attacked, and then to die, if need be, in defense of what we love."

Then the people applauded him, for they saw that he had grown in wisdom and had become a fit king for his people.

MISS EDITH HELPS THINGS ALONG!

F. BRET HARTE.

"My sister'll be down in a minute, and says you're to wait,
if you please;
And says I might stay till she came, if I'd promise her never to tease,
Nor speak 'till you spoke to me first,
But that's nonsense; for how would you know
What she told me to say, if I didn't?
Don't you really and truly think so?

"And then you'd feel strange here alone,
And you wouldn't know just where to sit;
For that chair isn't strong on its legs, and we never use it a bit;
We keep it to match with the sofa; but Jack says it would be like you
To flop yourself right down upon it, and knock out the very last
screw.

"Suppose you try! I won't tell. You're afraid to! Oh! you're afraid
they would think it mean!
Well, then, there's the album; that's pretty, if you're sure that
your fingers are clean.
For sister says sometime, I daub it; but she only says that when
she's cross.
That's her picture. You know it? Its like her; but she ain't
good-looking, of course.

"This is me." Its the best of 'em all. Now tell me, you'd never have
thought
That once I was as little as that? Its the only one that could be
bought;
For that was the message to pa from the photograph man when I sat,--
That he wouldn't print off any more, till he first got his money for
that.

"What? Maybe you're tired of waiting. Why, often she's longer than
this.
There's all her back hair to do up, and all her front curls to friz.
But its nice to be sitting here talking like grown people, just you
and me!
Do you think you'll be coming here often?
Oh, do! But don't come like Tom Lee,--

"Tom Lee, her last beau, why, my goodness! he used to be here day and
night,
Till the folks thought he'd be her husband; and Jack says that gave
him a fright.
You won't run away then, as he did? for you're not a rich man,
they say.
Pa says you're as poor as a church-mouse. Now, are you? and how poor
are they?

"Ain't you glad that you met me? Well, I am; for I know now your hair
isn't red;
But what there is left of it's mousy, and not what that naughty Jack
said.
But there I must go; sister's coming!
But I wish I could stay, just to see
If she ran up to you, and she kissed you, in the way that she used to
kiss Lee."

THE GIANT WHO HAD NO HEART.

There was once upon a time a king who had seven sons. He loved them all so much that he could never do without them all at once; one had always to be with him. When they were grown up, six of them set out to woo. But the father kept the youngest son at home, and for him the others were to bring back a princess to the palace. The king gave the six the finest clothes you ever set your eyes upon, and you could see the glitter of them a long way off, and each had his own horse, which cost many, many hundred dollars, and so they set out on the journey.

After having been to many royal palaces and seen all the princesses there, they came at last to a king who had six daughters; such lovely princesses they had never seen, and so each of them began wooing one of the six sisters, and when they had got them for sweethearts, they set out for home again; but they quite forgot to bring a princess with them for Ash-ie-pat-tle,[1] who was left at home, so busy were they making love to their sweethearts.

When they had journeyed a good bit of the way, they passed close to the side of a steep mountain, where there was a giant's castle. As soon as the giant saw them, he came out and turned them all, princes and princesses, into stone. But the king waited and waited for his six sons, but no sons came. He was very sad, and said that he should never be glad again.

"Had you not been left to me," he said to Ash-ie-pat-tle, "I should not care to live any longer. I am so sad because I have lost your brothers."

"But I have been thinking to ask for leave to set out and find them, I have," said Ash-ie-pat-tle.

"No, I cannot let you go," said his father; "I shall lose you as well."

But Ash-ie-pat-tle would go, and he begged and prayed till the king gave him leave to go. The king had no other horse to give him but an old jade, for his six brothers and their men had taken all the other horses, but Ash-ie-pat-tle did not mind that; he mounted the shabby old nag.

"Good-bye, father," said he to the king, "I shall come back, sure enough, and who knows but I shall have my six brothers with me as well," and off he started.

Well, when he had got a bit on his way, he came to a raven, which was lying in the road flapping his wings, and was unable to get out of his way, it was so famished. "Oh, dear friend, give me something to eat, and I will help you in your utmost need," said the raven.--"very little food have I," said the prince, "and you don't look as if you could help me much either, but a little I must give you for you want it badly, I see," and then he gave the raven some of the food he had with him.

When he had traveled some distance further he came to a stream. There he saw a big salmon, which had got ashore and was dashing and knocking itself about and could not get into the water again, "Oh, dear friend, help me into the water again," said the salmon to the prince, "and I will help you in your utmost need."--"I don't suppose it can be much of a help you can give me," said the prince, "but it is a pity you should lie there and very likely perish," so he shoved the fish into the stream again.

So he traveled a long, long way, till he met a wolf, which was so famished that he was only able to drag himself along the road. "Dear friend, give me your horse," said the wolf. "I am so hungry, I hear the wind whistling in my empty stomach. I have had nothing to eat for two years."

"No," said Ash-ie-pat-tle, "I can't do it; first I came to a raven which I had to give all my food to; then I came to a salmon which I had to help back into the water; and now you want my horse. But that is impossible, for then I should have nothing to ride upon."

"Yes, yes, my friend, but you must help me," said the wolf, "you can ride on me instead; I shall help you again in your utmost need."

"Well, the help you can give me will not be great; but I suppose you must have the horse then, since you are so needy," said the prince. And when the wolf had finished the horse Ash-ie-pat-tle took the bridle and put the bit in the wolf's mouth and the saddle on his back, and the wolf felt now so strong and well after what he had had to eat, that he set off with the prince as if he were nothing at all; Ash-ie-pat-tle had never ridden so fast before.

"When we get a little bit further I will show you a giant's castle," said the wolf, and in a little while they came there. "See, here is the giant's castle," said the wolf again, "and there you see all your six brothers, whom the giant has turned into stone, and there are their six brides. Over yonder is the door of the castle, and you must go in there."

"I dare not," said the prince, "the giant will kill me."

"Not at all," answered the wolf; "when you go in there you will meet a princess. She will tell you what to do to make an end of the giant. Only do as she tells you."

Well, Ash-ie-pat-tle went into the castle, but to tell the truth he felt rather afraid. When he got inside, he found the giant was out; but in a chamber sat the princess, just as the wolf had said. Such a lovely maiden Ash-ie-pat-tle had never seen before.

"Good heavens! what has brought you here?" said the princess as soon as she saw him. "It's sure to be your death; no one can kill the giant who lives here, for he hasn't got any heart."--"But now when I am here, I suppose I had better try my strength with him," said Ash-ie-pat-tle, "and I must see if I can't release my brothers who are standing outside here, turned into stone, and I will try to save you as well."

"Well, since you will stop, we must try and do the best we can," said the princess. "You must creep under the bed over there and listen well to what he says when I speak with him, and be sure to lie as quiet as you can."

So Ash-ie-pat-tle crept under the bed, and no sooner had he done so than the giant came home. "Ugh, what a smell of Christian blood there is here," shouted the giant.--"Yes, a magpie flew over the house with a man's bone and let it fall down the chimney," said the princess; "I made haste to throw it out, but the smell doesn't go away so soon."

So the giant said no more about it, and when evening came, they went to bed. When they had lain awhile, the princess said: "There is one thing I wanted so very much to ask you about, if I only dared."

"Well, what can that be?" asked the giant.

"I should so like to know where your heart is, since you don't carry it about you," said the princess.

"Oh, that's a thing you needn't know anything about," said the giant, "but if you must know, it's under the stone slab in front of the door."--"Ah, ha! we shall soon see if we can't find that," said Ash-ie-pat-tle to himself under the bed.

Next morning the giant got up very early and set out for the wood, but no sooner was he out of sight than Ash-ie-pat-tle and the princess commenced looking for the heart under the door-slab, but although they dug and searched all they could, they could not find anything. "He has made a fool of me this time," said the princess; "but I must try him again." So she picked all the prettiest flowers she could find and strewed them over the door-slab, which they put in its right place again.

When the time came for the giant to return home, Ash-ie-pat-tle crept under the bed, and he had scarcely got well under before the giant came in. "Ugh, what a smell of Christian blood there is here," screamed the giant.--"Yes, a magpie flew over the house and dropped a man's bone down the chimney," said the princess; "I made haste to clear it away, but I suppose the smell hasn't gone away yet."

So the giant said no more about it, but in a little while he asked who it was that had been strewing flowers around the door-slab. "Why, I, of course," said the princess.--"And what's the meaning of it?" asked the giant.--"Well, you know I am so fond of you," said the princess, "that I couldn't help doing it when I knew that your heart was lying under there."--"Ah, indeed," said the giant, "but it isn't there after all."

When they had gone to bed in the evening, the princess asked again where his heart was, because she was so very fond of him, she said, that she would so like to know it. "Oh, it's over in the cupboard on the wall there," said the giant. Ah, ha, thought both Ash-ie-pat-tle and the princess, we will soon try to find it.

Next morning the giant was early out of bed, and made for the wood again, but the moment he was gone Ash-ie-pat-tle and the princess were looking in the cupboard for the heart, but they looked and searched and found no heart.

"Well, we must try once more," said the princess. She hung flowers and garlands around the cupboard, and when the evening came Ash-ie-pat-tle crept under the bed again. Shortly the giant came in. "Ugh, Ugh!" he roared, "what a smell of Christian blood there is here."--"Yes, a magpie flew past here just now, and dropped a man's bone down the chimney," said the princess; "I made haste to throw it out, but I suppose that's what you still smell."

When the giant heard this, he said no more about it; but as soon as he saw the cupboard decked out with flowers and garlands, he asked who it was that had done that. It was the princess, of course.

"But what's the meaning of all this foolery?" asked the giant.

"Well, you know how fond I am of you," said the princess, "I couldn't help doing it, when I knew your heart was there."

"How can you be so foolish to believe it?" said the giant.--"Well, how can I help believing it when you say so?" answered the princess.--"Oh, you are a foolish creature," said the giant, "you can never go where my heart is!"

"Ah, well," said the princess.--"but I should like to know for all that where it is."--So the giant could not refuse to tell her any longer, and he said: "Far, far away in a lake lies an island,--on that island stands a church,--in that church there is a well,--in that well swims a duck,--in that duck there is an egg,--and in the egg--well, there is my heart."

Early next morning, almost before the dawn of day, the giant set out for the wood again. "Well, I suppose I had better start as well," said Ash-ie-pat-tle; "I wish I only knew the way!"

He said farewell to the princess for a time, and when he came outside the castle there was the wolf still waiting for him. He told the wolf what had happened inside, and that he was now going to set out for the well in the church, if he only knew the way. The wolf asked him to jump on his back,--he would try and find the way, sure enough, he said, and away they went over hills and mountains, over fields and valleys, while the wind whistled about them.

When they had traveled many, many days, they came at last to the lake. The prince did not know how he should get across it; but the wolf asked him only not to be afraid, and then he plunged into the water with the prince on his back and swam across to the island.

When they came to the church, they found the key for the church-door hanging high, high up on the steeple, and at first the young prince did not know how to get hold of it. "You will have to call the raven," said the wolf, which the prince did. The raven came at once, and flew up for the key, and so the prince got inside the church.

When he came to the well, the duck was there sure enough. It was swimming about just as the giant had said. He commenced calling and calling, and at last he lured her up to him and caught her. But just as he was lifting her out of the water, the duck let the egg fall in the well; and Ash-ie-pat-tle didn't know how to get it up again. "You had better call the salmon," said the wolf, which the prince did. The salmon came and fetched the egg from the bottom of the well.

The wolf then told him to squeeze the egg, and as soon as Ash-ie-pat-tle squeezed it, they heard the giant screaming. "Squeeze it once more," said the wolf, and when the prince did so, the giant screamed still more piteously, and prayed so nicely and gently for himself; he would do all the prince wished, if he only wouldn't squeeze his heart to pieces.

"Tell him, that if he will give you back again alive your six brothers and their brides, which he turned into stone, you will spare his life," said the wolf, and Ash-ie-pat-tle did so.

Yes, the giant would do that at once, and he restored the six princes and the six princesses to life.--"Now, squeeze the egg to pieces," said the wolf. Ash-ie-pat-tle squeezed it flat between his hands, and the giant burst.

So when Ash-ie-pat-tle had got rid of the giant, he rode back again on his friend, the wolf, to the giant's castle, and there stood all his six brothers and their brides, all alive, and then Ash-ie-pat-tle went into the mountain for his own bride, and they all set out for their home, the royal palace. The old king was pleased, I can tell you, when all his seven sons came back, each with his bride. "But the loveliest of all the princesses is Ash-ie-pat-tle's bride after all," said the king, "and he shall sit at the top of the table with her."