Chapter III: Part 3

Oh, children may be naughty
And monkeys may be bad,
Young fishes, too, will often do
What makes their teacher sad.
Did we expect them to behave,
We should expect too much,
But a ripple is a little wave
And should behave as such,
Yes, must behave as such.

Ah! the Zephyr was a kind teacher, and took such pains with the little ripples in her class, that in a week they were ready to go into the Upper School.

They had good playtimes, too. The old Tide let them play sea-horses on his back. Then there was "Hide and Seek" round the rocks, "Hunt the Cockle," and "Ripple-Chivy." It is no use telling you how to play those games, for children cannot play them.

One of their favourite sports was to race up the sand and see who could get farthest; Undine was very clever at that game. One day when they were doing this, a little boy and his elder sister were paddling in the water, sailing a boat. He was a bonny, little fellow, about four years old, and when Undine came running up the sand, rocking his toy boat and splashing the sails, he clapped his hands and cried out, "Look at that great, big, lovely wave!"

Undine could not help laughing at the little fellow's glee, but she liked to be called a big wave.

At that moment a nasty, rough ripple who was quite big enough for the billow class—came rushing along, and the little boy got in his way and spoiled his run up the sand.

"Knock him over!" shouted a lot of the bigger ripples. "He is spoiling the game!"

"Leave him alone," cried Undine, as she floated gracefully back again.

But several of the bigger ripples rushed up at the same time, and, knocking over the little fellow, rolled him in the wet.

"Undine! Undine!" he called out in his terror, as they tumbled over him.

Undine rushed back to help him, but she was not strong enough. He knew nothing of Undine, the ripple. It was his sister, who was also named Undine, for whom he was calling; and she had run into the water at his first cry, and, picking him up in her arms, had carried him out onto the dry sand. But the nasty, little ripples had now caught hold of his boat, and were pushing it out to sea.

"Undine, Undine," sobbed the little chap; "I want my boat, I want my boat!"

His sister could not reach it, and the two stood, hand-in-hand, helpless on the beach, while the little boat drifted away. Bravely did our Undine, when she heard the call, dash forward to do battle with the naughty little ripples, who called out angrily, "Shut up! Wash it out to sea! Swamp it! He was spoiling our game."

They were too strong for poor Undine, and would have destroyed the little boat, or washed it away, had not the kind Zephyr, hearing all the noise, swept down from the cliffs, filled the sails of the toy boat and wafted it to shore. After this she blew the naughty little ripples away, and they went into rock pools and sulked by themselves.

When the Zephyr had returned to the cliffs the big, rough ripple who had knocked over the little boy cried out fiercely: "When I am a wave I shall kill all the boys I can and swamp their boats. That is what my big brother is taught to do, and he is a wave and goes out to sea."

The Zephyr often heard this sort of talk among the ripples, and when Undine asked her why they said these things, she kissed her gently and told her not to be angry even with the ripples, who did not know what they were saying, and begged her when she grew up to be kind and good to everyone, for then she would be happy.

However, she was not altogether happy just at first, for the other ripples were not at all pleased with her, and would not speak to her. The little boy was carried off the beach by his sister, so Undine was left all alone, and hid herself under some dark brown seaweed in the cleft of a rock and cried herself to sleep, when she dreamed that the pretty little boy was a beautiful wave, and was dancing with her, hand-in-hand, over the wide ocean.

The next day she was moved into the billow class. The Master was the South Wind. He had just come home from college. He taught them cresting and breaking on rocks. He was a bright, clever fellow, but he told them nothing about being good and kind as the Zephyr had done. After a week in the billow class, Undine and several of her young friends were moved up into the wavelet class. This was taught by a young wave, and here they learned rushing, leaping, rolling, and marching in open order. The young wave told them exciting stories of wrecks and drowning men, and repeated to them all that nonsense about Britannia wanting to rule the waves, and insisted on the duty of all good waves to go about fighting men, and killing as many as possible. This he called "Patriotism," and Undine listened to his eloquent stories until she had nearly forgotten all that the kind Zephyr had tried to teach her. But the fierce young wave could not change Undine's real nature, and she remained, at heart, a kind and gentle wave. Outwardly she grew tall and strong, and her mother and father and all her brothers and sisters still called her "Undine The Beautiful."

At the end of a month she passed all her examinations, and was a first-class wave ready to go to sea. That was a great day when they all left school. Old Lobster Pot and his good wife Mora came to fetch them away. The South Wind made an oration in Latin about the duty of waves to fight for their country.

It began, _Anna virumque cano_, and old Lobster Pot said it was very original and clever. The Zephyr sighed to see all these young waves, full of bright hope and eager fancies, passing out of the quiet bay into the open Channel and the wide world.

They sailed along in open order among the fishing boats, and yachts, and steamers. The nasty, rough ripple that had knocked down the little boy, and tried to steal his boat, had grown into a handsome big wave. Surger, they called him, because of his handsome head and fine flowing surge when he broke over the sand banks. He was very fond of Undine now, and kept close to her, as they sailed up the channel. It was a glorious day. The sun shone brightly, the gulls swooped down and floated for a few moments on Undine's shoulders, and then soared away down the breeze. The boats leaped merrily in front of them.

"Shall we see any wrecks to-day?" asked Undine.

"I hope so," shouted Surger; and he shook his curly white head, and shot in front of Undine, who could not help admiring his handsome presence.

"Wrecks! Nonsense!" growled out old Lobster Pot from behind. "These are the holidays, and we are going to picnic up the river."

Then they turned aside from the channel and went past a castle on a high rock, underneath steep cliffs, across wide mudbanks, lifting up the boats which were lying asleep among the damp seaweed. Some of the waves—lazy old fellows these—went off into the harbour for a quiet snooze, others ran up the river into long creeks, forcing their way roughly among the quiet country streams. Old Lobster Pot and his wife went straight along the big river. There Undine saw many strange sights. Trees and flowers, horses and carts, men, women, and children; but not one among them so beautiful, to her thinking, as the little blue-eyed boy she had tried to rescue from the naughty ripples. There, too, along the banks of the river, she saw wide, waving fields of green turning to gold, which rustled in the breeze, and she shouted to them to join her; for she felt so happy herself she wanted everyone else to be happy, too. But they did not understand her language, so they made no answer; for they were only wheatfields.

At last they came to a big city, and ran between high walls of white stone, and saw tall buildings and the big towers of the cathedral, and here and there were crowds of people. "Oh! oh!" cried Undine and Surger together, "this is beautiful." The cathedral clock chimed four. Old Lobster Pot shook his head and called out the order for return.

"Time is up," he said; "we must be moving down again now, or the river will be on to us."

Surger laughed and cried out, "I will run another mile before I return, anyhow;" and he rushed up through the city with new force.

Undine followed him, but now she felt a faint, weary feeling coming over her. Her beauty was going, and her lovely colours changing to a gray, inky hue. The river was forcing its way down against them, and she and Surger were soon glad to follow old Lobster Pot down the river again. Back they went, past the fields, and soon they felt the pure sea breeze, and lent a hand to swing the huge ships round at their moorings under the cliffs. They were glad enough to escape from the dull, cold river that was rushing after them, and sweep round the headland into the good salt sea, where they could feel alive again, free and joyous, and afraid of no one in their own country.

Many a time did they run up rivers like that, and Undine looked out for the little blue-eyed boy; but she never saw him. Sometimes they went out to the wide ocean, or visited the coast towns with Mora, and splashed the ladies bathing, and made them scream and laugh. Always Undine was looking for her little friend, but she never saw him. Many were the journeys she made, and wonderful were the sights she saw; indeed, one could fill a book with all that Undine did and saw when she grew up and became a wave.

It was now October, and had been wonderfully warm, close weather for the time of the year. The waves were rolling lazily about out at sea some three miles from the land. They arched their huge backs and pressed silently after each other, doing "Serpent drill," as they called it, and weary work it was. The little waves were slapping at each other angrily, for no better reason than that they had been told not to, but had nothing else to do. They all seemed uneasy and troubled, yet Undine could not have told you why she felt in such a strange condition of pent-up excitement. A rumour ran round that there was to be a Storm War that evening, and almost before they had begun to discuss whether this was likely to be true, the clouds lowered, the sky grew black and dismal, the wind trumpeted out shouts of battle, huge waves bigger than old Lobster Pot rushed up the channel in answer to the summons, and the whole sea was one seething angry mass of cruel waves bent on destruction.

Now the great battalions of the Sea Wolves, as they call their fiercest fighting waves, came thundering up from the Atlantic, breaking all before them. Undine had never seen such wild, handsome fellows before. Everyone joined them, and soon the sea was nothing but a reckless mob of madly enraged waves, moaning and wailing horribly in a frenzy of rage. Down came the sleet and hail in sharp volleys, as though from a battery of artillery, which had taken up its position behind the thick clouds. A solitary storm bird was driven before the wet rushing wind, with stiff wings and bent claws, squealing miserably, as though to warn the vessels of their doom.

If you have not been a wave, you cannot understand the wild feeling that seizes you when the Storm War begins. Even gentle Undine quivered with rage, and sought about for something to destroy. As for Surger, he was leaping about and yelling like a mad thing.

The fishing smacks had hauled up their nets, or cut them adrift, and were speeding for the shore. Some few smaller boats had made for the beach earlier, suspecting danger. Old Lobster Pot hurried round among his family, giving orders in loud tones of command.

"There's for you," he shouted to Undine and Surger, as a small open boat with a single lug sail rushed through the surf. "He will be making for the little bay by the cave. Away with you! Drive him on to the rocks!"

A solitary man half-sat and half-stood in the stern of the boat, his back to the tiller, the end of the sheet in his hand. It was passed securely round a pin near to him. He stooped down to cover up with a spare sail two little children, girl and boy, who were lying frightened at the bottom of the boat. Then he set his teeth, and stared through the blinding hail into the gathering darkness, to find the opening into the little bay.

Undine and Surger rushed on to the slender little vessel with all their force. The man skilfully made way for them, and they passed under the keel of the boat, doing no harm. The wind howled and shrieked at them for their failure, and caught the boat with all its might, driving it past the two waves and nearer to the rocks. Then Undine and Surger raced on alongside the little boat until it neared the opening to the bay, and as the man tried to turn her into the safe harbour, the wind made a terrible effort, and the two waves, leaping together at the side of the boat, crashed her into the rocks.

In a moment the man had thrown back the sail and seized, from the bottom of the boat, the two children, who were lying hidden under the sail. They were the little blue-eyed boy and his sister, Undine. Bravely he struggled with them across the rocks and through the surf to gain the beach. Surger and Undine were after him, for in her rage and fury she had not seen that it was the little blue-eyed boy. Mora and Old Lobster Pot, with many other big waves, seeing what had happened, were rushing across the sea towards the bay, for fear Surger and Undine should not be strong enough to drown the man and his children. Happily they were too late; for before they arrived, the man had gained the shore and pulled himself up the slope of the beach, saving the girl in his arms, but Surger managed to knock the little boy out of his grasp, and was rolling him down again into the sea to drown him. The man and the girl were too stunned and bruised to know whether they were saved or drowned. A coastguard was running down the cliff, but he would have been too late to save the little boy, had not Undine heard him calling out in despair, as Surger dragged him underneath the waves, "Undine! Undine! Save me! Save me!"

The waters were falling on him, doing their best to choke him, when Undine heard the call, and for the first time since she had been a little ripple, remembered what the Zephyr had taught her of love and pity. In a moment she had forgotten her anger, and the fierce commands of Old Lobster Pot, and the battle shouts of the Storm War; she thought only of the beautiful little blue-eyed boy, who was being dragged under the water and drowned. She rushed past Surger, who tried his best to stop her, and, heedless of the shouts of Old Lobster Pot and Mora, who yelled out, "Kill him! Drown him!" and caring nothing for all the rage and raving of the mad waves that pressed round her, she caught up the little boy on her breast, and with all her might threw him on to the soft sand, just as the coastguard reached the edge of the sea, and was there to pull him out.

Then, half ashamed and half overjoyed at what she had done, she turned back and fled away out to sea. And there arose such a yell and a shout from the assembled waves, mingled with the groaning and howling of angry wind, that she sped on in the wildest terror like a hunted hare. And all the waves of the sea, full of rage that one of their number should turn traitor and coward and save a mortal man in a time of Storm War—gathered together and chased after her.

Away she went down the Channel, across the Bay of Biscay, round Cape Finisterre, and through the gates of Gibraltar into the warm Mediterranean; and after her in hot pursuit raced a surging crowd of fierce and angry waves. But they were not to punish her for her brave deed, for there, near the warm shores of Sicily, they say she met the good Zephyr, who saved her from her pursuers, taking her into her arms and changing her into a beautiful cloud.

And the glorious Sun heard the story of Undine, and was so pleased with what she had done that he made her one of his special evening attendants and gave her a splendid robe of amber and gold. And if you look in the sky when the sun is setting in the sea, you may see Undine even to this day, a beautiful golden cloud gazing lovingly down at the world she used to live in.

LEGEND OF THE SUN, MOON, AND
STARS

(WYANDOTTE)

There was a time when the Indians called the Little Turtle, the Keeper of the Heavens. That was when the Indians thought the earth was a Great Island, which rested upon the Big Turtle's back. It came about in this way. When the Great Island was first made there were no Sun and no Moon and no Stars. In order to know what to do the old Turtle called a meeting of all the animals. When they had all gathered together the old Turtle told them that there was no light. After a long discussion as to what could be done to mend matters the animals grew weary and were about to go home and let the Great Island continue in darkness, when the Little Turtle spoke up and said: "If I were able to climb into the sky I could gather some of the lightning and make light."

"Go," said Big Turtle. "It will do no harm to try."

Now the Little Turtle had very great powers for, as soon as he had made up his mind to go, a vast cloud full of thunder and lightning slowly rolled down toward the animals, and came so near that Little Turtle climbed into it and was soon carried into the Sky.

As soon as Little Turtle arrived there he went around and gathered as much as he could of the lightning and kindled a great round flame, which stood still in the Sky. But it did not light all of the Great Island. The Sun, as Little Turtle had made it, was not satisfactory, so another meeting of all the animals was called. To this Council Little Turtle came in the cloud.

It was decided to give the Sun life and spirit, so that he could run about the Sky by day. Some animals were told to bore a hole through the earth so that the Sun could go through it and be back in the East by night.

This the animals did. But the Sun sometimes loitered in this earth passage and too often the world was left in total darkness. Again the animals were dissatisfied, and a third meeting was called to decide the best plan and to scold the Sun for his neglect.

To this third meeting the Sun and the Little Turtle and all the other animals came. They decided then and there that the Little Turtle should make the Sun a wife, and that she should shine while he was going back to the East through the earth passage.

Then the Little Turtle made the Moon, and gave her as a wife to the Sun. She was smaller and not so powerful as he. You can see her in the Sky. The Stars that run about the Sky are their many children.

One day the Moon ran into the earth passage earlier than she should have done, and before the Sun himself had passed through. So offended was he that he robbed her of all her heat and much of her light, and she was never able to keep pace with him in the Sky.

Not knowing why her light had grown dim, or what had become of her, the Little Turtle went out to see what was the matter. He found the Moon lingering along the underground trail. There was just a little light and heat left to her, and barely a strip of her once glorious body—just as much as one sees of the new Moon nowadays.

Little Turtle brought her out and tried to mend her. But it was of no use. She would become better for a time and then relapse. Soon she would improve again until she was almost as strong as ever she had been; then again she would begin to fade away until at last only a tiny strip was left of her, and she had almost no heat. And this trick of changing has been repeated many, many times. Indeed, to this day the Moon continually changes her shape.

THE PRINCESS MOONBEAM[1]

MARY F. NIXON-ROULET

A woodman once dwelt with his wife at the edge of the forest, under the shadow of the Honorable Mountain. The two were industrious and good, but though they loved each other they were not happy. No children had come to bless them and this the wife mourned deeply. The husband pitied her and treated her very kindly, yet still she was sad. As she gazed upon the snows of Fujiyama her heart swelled within her and she prostrated herself and said, "Fuji no Yama, Honorable Mountain, my heart is heavy because no childish arms encircle my neck, no little head nestles in my bosom. From thy eternal purity send some little white soul to comfort me!"

Footnote 1:

From Nixon-Roulet's "Japanese Folk Stories and Fairy Tales."
Copyright, 1908, by American Book Company, Publishers.

The Honorable Mountain spoke not; yet as she prayed, lo, from its heights there sparkled and glowed a tiny light. Fitful and gleaming it seemed, yet it had a silver radiance as of the moon.

The woodman's wife beheld it, and she called to her husband eagerly, "Come hither, I pray you. See the strange light which comes from Fuji San. I seem to see a face smiling at me. It is the face of a little child."

Then her husband smiled at her fancy, but, because he loved her so, he said, indulgently, "I will go and see what it is."

"I thank you, my lord; go quickly!" she replied.

So, quickly he went to the forest, and as he neared a mountain stream, with Fuji gleaming cold and white in the moonlight, he saw the strange light, which seemed to hover and rest upon the branches of a tall bamboo. Hastening thither he found there a moon child, a tiny, fragile, fairy thing, more beautiful than any child he had ever seen.

"Little creature," he said, "who are you?"

"My name is Princess Moonbeam," she answered sweetly. "My mother is the Moon Lady, and she has sent me to Earth because every Moon Child must do some good thing, else will its silvery light become pale and wan and be of no avail."

"Little Princess," he said eagerly, "the best of good deeds is to comfort a sad heart. Come home with me and be a child to my wife, who weeps for children. Thus will your beams grow bright."

"I will go with you," said the little Moonbeam, and, rejoicing greatly, he bore her tenderly to his wife.

"I bring you a treasure," he said. "The Moon Lady sends you this beam of light to lighten your sad heart."

Then was his wife much overjoyed and she took the little creature to her bosom and cared for her.

Lovelier grew the Moon Child every year and much she rejoiced the hearts of her foster parents. Her hair was like a golden aureole about her face. Her eyes were deep and tender, her cheeks were pale and delicate, and about her there was a subtle and unearthly charm. Every one loved her, even the emperor's son, who, hunting in the forest, saw her lighting up the humble cottage with her heavenly light. He loved her dearly and she loved him, but alas! she could not marry him, because her life upon the earth could be but twenty years. Then she must return to her home in the moon, for so willed her mother the Moon Lady.

At last the day came when she must go. Her parents wept, and could not be consoled; and her lover, who was now the emperor, could not keep her, although he besought High Heaven to spare her.

Her mother caught her up in a silver moonbeam; and all the way to the moon the little Princess wept silvery tears. As the tears fell from her eyes, lo! they took wings and floated away looking for the form of the emperor who might see her no more.

But the silver-bright tears are seen to this day floating hither and yon about the vales and marshes of fair Nippon. The children chase them with happy cries, and say, "See the fireflies! How fair they are! Whence came they?"

Then their mothers relate to them the legend and say, "These are the tears of the little Princess, flitting to seek her beloved"; and over all, calm and eternal, smiles the Honorable Mountain.

THE MOON

That orbèd maiden, with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the moon,
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,
By the midnight breezes strewn;
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,
Which only the angels hear,
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,
The stars peep behind her and peer;
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,
Like a swarm of golden bees,
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,
Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
Are each paved with the moon and these.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

THE SPACIOUS FIRMAMENT ON
HIGH

The spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,
And spangled heaven, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim;
Th' unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display,
And publishes to every land
The work of an Almighty hand.

Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wondrous tale,
And nightly to the listening earth
Repeats the story of her birth;
While all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.

What though, in solemn silence, all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball?
What though no _real_ voice or sound
Amid their radiant orbs be found?
In _Reason's_ ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice,
Forever singing, as they shine,
"_The Hand that made us is divine!_"

JOSEPH ADDISON.

GREEN FIELDS AND MEADOWS
GAY

NATURE'S SONG

There is no rhyme that is half so sweet
As the song of the wind in the rippling wheat;
There is no meter that is half so fine
As the lilt of the brook under rock and vine;
And the loveliest lyric I ever heard
Was the wildwood strain of a forest bird.

MADISON CAWEIN.

THE GIFT OF FLAX

(NORSE LEGEND)

In a beautiful valley surrounded by mountains there once lived a shepherd with his wife and children. They were very poor, indeed, and were obliged to work hard in order to earn the scantiest living.

The good wife was most helpful to her husband. She kept the cottage spotlessly clean, and mended the children's clothes with patient skill. Every day the shepherd took his small flock of sheep to pasture on the side of a mountain, whose tall, white summit was hidden in the clouds. He often carried a crossbow, and sometimes he brought home some mountain game, which provided a fine meal for his family.

One day, while he was watching his sheep, he saw, a short distance above him, a fine reindeer drinking from a pool in the basin of a rock. The shepherd seized his crossbow and took aim to shoot the quarry, but before he could speed an arrow, the deer scented danger and leaped away up the steep slope of the mountain-side. The shepherd pursued his game with eager haste, climbing up the dangerous paths with a sureness of foot which comes only to those whose lives are spent among the mountain fastnesses.

It grew bitterly cold as the shepherd pressed on and on, and he saw the glittering ice-fields near the mountain top.

"'Tis the most fleet-footed quarry I ever followed," said the hunter, stopping for a moment's rest. "After this hard chase, I'm afraid I must give up the game."

Suddenly he saw the reindeer slacken pace, and walk into the entrance of a cavern in the glacier.

"I'll make one more effort," said the tired hunter, climbing on until he reached the opening where the reindeer disappeared. In a few moments he reached a dark passage, at the end of which he saw glittering, coloured lights. His heart beat fast, but he walked on toward the brilliant opening.

The desire to see the lighted hall at the end of the passageway now took possession of the hunter and, strange to say, he forgot all about the quarry, which had led him to this marvelous place. When he reached the threshold of the opening he was obliged to shade his eyes with both hands. Rainbow colours sparkled from the walls and ceiling, which were thickly set with precious stones. A floor of shining white marble added to the beauty of the place. The shepherd stood in silent wonder.

"Welcome to the Hall of Mists," said a queenly voice, but still he stood gazing from the entrance.

The queen repeated her words of welcome, and the shepherd walked humbly forward toward a beautiful woman, clothed in silvery white robes girdled with gold. On her bright hair was a crown of jeweled blossoms. She held a distaff in her right hand; in her left, a bunch of flowers the colour of the sky on a fair summer day. She was attended by many youthful maidens, who stood back of the queen near jeweled spinning wheels.

Filled with awe, the shepherd threw himself on his knees at the feet of this Queen of the Air.

"Have no fear, my good man," she said in a gentle voice. "Perseverance and courage led thee up a dangerous path, but thou hast not laboured in vain. Thou shalt be rewarded for thy dauntless chase. Choose anything thou wilt from my jeweled Hall of Mists."

Without hesitating a moment, the shepherd said, "Gracious Queen, there is nothing in the world I should like to have so much as the flowers your majesty holds."

The Queen of the Air smiled and put the blossoms into his hand. Then she took up a measure of small seed, which stood near her, and said: "Thou hast made a wise choice, my good man. Sow this seed in the field near your cottage. Farewell."

Suddenly a peal of thunder rang through the air, and the brilliant light in the Hall of Mists changed to total darkness. In a twinkling the bewildered man found himself once more upon the mountain-side not far from the spot where he had left his sheep grazing. At first he thought he had been dreaming, but there in one hand he held a bunch of blue flowers; in the other, a measure of seed.

He hastened home, told the marvelous adventure to his wife, and showed her the blue flowers and the measure of seed. For awhile she listened in wide-eyed wonder, but when the shepherd said the Queen bade him choose anything he wished from the jeweled hall, the good wife said impatiently: "Do not tell me that you chose a bunch of flowers when you might have had a precious stone! How could you be so foolish? One jewel would have made us rich for life."

"Let us see what the seed will bring forth," answered her husband. "I shall plant it to-morrow."

Accordingly, the next day he plowed the ground and planted the seed. He was amazed to find that the small measure held enough to sow a very large field. In a short time, tiny green shoots covered the ground. With eager interest, the shepherd watched the little plants grow and burst into blossoms exactly like those the Queen of the Air had given to him. In a few weeks he saw the star-like blossoms wither and seeds begin to form and ripen. One night the shepherd dreamed he saw a beautiful woman, clothed in silver white, float over his field and bless the ripening stalks.

The next evening an old woman knocked at the cottage door. When the shepherd invited her to come in, he noticed she carried in her hand a number of stalks from his field.

"I've come to teach you what wonderful use you can make of these stalks," she said.

Very gently and patiently she taught the shepherd and his wife how to separate delicate fibers from the woody core; how to spin them into thread and weave the thread into linen. Last of all she told them how to bleach the useful linen. It was a wonderful evening for the peasant and his wife.

When the old woman rose to leave the cottage, she said to the shepherd, "In the Queen's Hall of Mists you asked for the gift of blue flax flowers. To-night you have learned what a priceless blessing you chose. Farewell."

She left the cottage very quickly and when the shepherd and his wife went to the door to see which way she went lo! she had disappeared. In a short time all the people in the valley heard the wonderful story of making linen. For awhile they bought the linen which was made from the shepherd's first field of flax. But they bought some of his seed, too, and the next year they were able to spin their own thread and weave their linen. The blessing which came from the shepherd's choice was shared by all the people in the valley.

THE STORY OF THE DEWDROP

LUCILE CORBETT

One day as the children were coming home from school, the snowflakes began dropping lazily to the ground. One beautiful star-shaped flake fell on a little girl's hand.

"Oh, you pretty, pretty snow fairy. Where did you come from? Did you tumble off a fleecy cloud, or did you dance all the way from Frostland to show us your soft, lacy dress?"

To the little girl's surprise, a tiny voice said: "Do you really want me to tell you where I came from? I was not always a snowflake, and will not return to Frostland for a long, long time. I can stay with you but a little while; then, when the bright sun comes and the south wind calls, I must leave you, for I have much to do. Many things in the woods need my help.

"Last spring, when the earth became soft, the sky blue, and the warm breeze played with the sun, I was sent from the clouds to give the violets a drink of water. Taking the form of a sparkling dewdrop, I stooped and kissed the dark green leaves, and a violet held me in her arms until the sturdy oak called.

"A sunbeam drew me up, up, and up, then let me gently drop in the quiet pitter-patter of rain. I reached down, down to the roots, giving him new life, so that he put forth leaves which sheltered and protected the violets all summer.

"From the roots of the sturdy oak I traveled on and on and on until the babbling brook called. I turned into a tiny stream of clear water, and the brook rocked me as it went murmuring through a shady dell. The birds dipped into the cool water, then shook their wings till the drops glistened like diamonds in the sunlight. The willow tree bent and looked at herself in the mirror of water, the ferns crept nearer and nearer, and the small white pebble was worn smooth by the laughing brook, as it sang on its way to the sea.

"When I reached the big, broad waters, I found many, many dewdrops, which had been changed into rain and into streams to help the plants, the flowers, and trees. Ships, looking like great white birds, sailed on the waters. Suddenly a storm came up, the sea grew dark and angry-looking. I was turned into white foam, and the waves tossed me higher and higher until the ships went down. The seagulls flapped their wings and gave their cry of warning for all things in the forest to keep away from the wild billows.

"After the storm, I was carried up and up in the air as mist, so that I blotted out all sight of land. I drew closer and closer to the small islands, and wrapped them in a thick blanket of fog. The wind sighed, the flowers closed their beautiful petals, and the birds hid their heads under their wings in fear of this clinging white monster.

"The winter winds came along and carried me into the far Northland, where the Ice King reigns supreme. Here I found little men dressed in fur to keep them warm. Great white bears walked on huge cakes of ice. But the birds and flowers could not live in that still, cold land. The silence was broken only by the crunching of the ice. I, too, became ice, and drifted slowly out on the shining white waste.

"Then again came the sun, warm and strong, and forced back the cold north wind. Instead of being a thick white cake of ice, I became a tiny, fluffy bit of frost, as white as ermine, as soft, as soft as down. Gently the north wind, who was now a slave of the mighty sun, gathered me up and carried me into a strange land, a very strange land. The earth was hard, the trees bare, and the flowers were all dead. Dark, sullen-looking clouds took me from the north wind and sent me floating down, down through space until I reached your hand.

"When you gather up a handful of snow to make a big, round snowball, do not forget that once we were bright dewdrops sparkling in the morning sun. And when you wade in the little brook in the summer time, we will flow over your bare feet and sing you a song of the sea."

THE DEW MOTHER

The tall Dew Mother, dressed in grey,
Last night at dusk went down the way,
By winding lane and meadow deep,
And kissed each little flower to sleep.

And some sweet buds so drowsy sat,
They hardly heard her pit-a-pat,——
They scarcely knew that they were found,——
Already dreams had wrapped them round.

But she, so pale and kind and tall,
Her cool, sweet kisses laid on all,
And left each leaf a dewdrop bright
To play with in the morning light.

MAY BYRON.

ORIGIN OF THE DANDELION

(INDIAN LEGEND)

The gentle South Breeze, whom the Indians call Shawondasee, lay asleep on the soft grass in front of his wigwam. His face was turned toward the Northland, and he was dreaming of the joys and blessings he would send there to fill the summer days with gladness.

In the spring he had told the bluebird and swallow that it was time to build their nests in the budding Northland. His warm breath had melted the winter snows and enticed the brooks and rills to flow again toward the sea. Now the last days of spring were waning and summer was at hand.

Shawondasee smiled in his dream. He wafted gentle showers to the meadows of the Northland and blossoms opened their faces to the sun. Little children clapped their hands in glee when they saw the shining buttercups and the daisies with golden hearts.

The laughter which Shawondasee heard in his dream wakened him. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked dreamily at the great stretches of prairie which lay before him. In a little while the South Breeze aroused himself and gazed intently toward the Northland. There among the slender waving grasses he saw a beautiful maiden. Her tall, graceful figure was clothed in delicate green, and her moccasins were of the same color. Her hair was yellow as gold. Merrily she danced about the prairie, nodding and smiling at Shawondasee, who became enchanted with her grace and beauty.

"'Tis the loveliest vision I've ever seen," murmured the South Breeze softly. "Surely she is a daughter of the Sun, and he has made her wonderful hair out of his own beams."

All day long he watched her dancing gaily on the northern prairie, and at night when he went into his wigwam, he said, "I shall journey northward and woo the sunny-haired maiden. Gently will I woo her to be my bride."

The next day when Shawondasee came sleepily out of his wigwam, there, in the morning light, he saw the graceful maiden flitting about on the prairie. All the while she nodded her golden head and smiled gaily at him.

"There is plenty of time to woo her," sighed Shawondasee; "I'll enjoy her dancing a little longer before I journey northward and ask her to live with me in the Southland."

One morning when South Breeze came out of his wigwam to watch the dancing maiden, he noticed a great change had come to her. On her head was a fleecy white crown.

"What has happened to my golden-haired prairie maiden?" he sighed. "Can it be that my rough brother, North Wind, has crowned her with snow?"

He sprang to his feet and hastened toward the northern plains. As he drew near the maiden, he saw that her golden hair had, indeed, gone, and in its place were tresses soft and white as the snow.

Shawondasee's heart was filled with sorrow. His breath came quick and fast and, as he came very near to the maiden, he drew a deep, deep sigh.

Suddenly the strangest thing happened. All the air was filled with soft, downy fibers, which flitted over the prairie like the tiniest fairy sails and, in a little while, sank lightly among the waving grasses. Shawondasee closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, lo! the prairie maiden had vanished.

"I cannot give up my beautiful maiden," sighed South Breeze. "I shall not go back to the Southland until I have found her."

For weeks he wandered over the meadows, but no trace of the maiden could he find. One day Kabibonokka, the rough North Wind, blew sharp and shrill. His cold blast made the gentle Shawondasee shiver and hasten back to his warm wigwam in the South.

During the cold winter months while Kabibonokka, with his icy breath, stalked over the prairie, Shawondasee stayed in his wigwam and mourned the loss of his prairie maiden. But when the warm days came again and the grass sprang up on the northern plains, the South Breeze came forth and planned to journey northward.

One day he looked toward the prairie where a year ago he had seen the dancing, golden-haired maiden. A marvelous sight greeted him. Hundreds of bright yellow flowers among the waving grasses nodded and smiled at him. The prairie was shining with golden dandelions.

PRINCE BUTTERFLY AND CLOVER

In a quiet, pleasant meadow, where green old trees waved their branches as the summer winds went singing by, bloomed a sisterhood of flowers. A neighbouring brook rippled musically, and passing clouds cast shadows upon the waving grass below.

The flowers were very happy together in this pleasant spot. No cold winds came to blight them, no rude hands tore them from their stems. Warm sunbeams smiled on them all day long, and the dewdrops refreshed them at night with a cooling drink.

One morning when the flowers awoke, fragrant and fresh, a little worm came creeping by.

"Oh, pity and love me," sighed the little worm. "Give me shelter, dear flowers. I am lonely, poor, and weak. A little spot for a resting place is all I ask. Only let me lie in the deep, green moss and weave my little tomb and sleep my long, unbroken sleep until spring's first flowers come. Then will I come forth in fairy dress, and repay your gentle care for a poor worm. Kind flowers, let me stay."

But none of the proud flowers would give shelter to the poor worm. Wild Rose showed her little thorns while her soft face glowed with pride. Violet hid beneath some drooping ferns and the daisy turned her face away. Little Houstonia laughed scornfully, as she danced on her slender stem, while Cowslip bent down and whispered the tale to the brook.

A blue-eyed Grass looked down on the poor worm as she silently turned away.

"You will harm our delicate leaves," she said; "that is why you may not stay."

At that moment a sweet voice called from a distance:

"Come here, poor worm, come to me. The sun lies warm in this quiet spot. I will share my home with you."

The flowers all looked in wonder to see who had offered the worm a home. To their surprise, they found Clover Blossom, with fluttering wings, beckoning him to come. From her snug little nook where the cool winds rustled by, and the murmuring bees and butterflies loved to come, her rosy face smiled kindly down as the friendless worm drew near.

"Poor thing, you are welcome here," she said in a soft voice. "In the soft, green moss close at my side you may sleep until spring comes. I will spread my leaves over you, and guard you through the long winter."

Then, deep in a moss bed, the grateful worm spun his winter home, and lay down for his long rest.

And well did Clover Blossom keep her watch. Autumn came and took all her sister flowers. Then when it was time for her to go, she spread her withered leaves softly over the sleeping worm, and bent her faithful little head beneath the winter snow.

Spring came again and the flowers arose from their winter sleep. How gaily they danced on their slender stems, and sang their songs with the rippling waves of the brook. The warm winds kissed their cheeks, as one by one they came again to dwell in their summer homes.

Little Clover Blossom bloomed once more, and watched patiently by the mossy bed where the worm still lay quietly sleeping. Her sister flowers cried scornfully, as they waved in the summer air, "Come and dance with us, Little Clover. That ugly worm was poor and friendless. He will not come again in fairy dress. Don't believe what a worm tells you—at any rate, he lies in the green moss dead. So come and be happy with us."

But Little Clover kept watch for she did not doubt the poor worm's truth; she trusted that he would come as he had said.

At last she felt the moss at her side move, then a small cell opened wide, and out flew a glittering butterfly that soared up to the summer sky on golden wings!

Then the flowers cried out, "Clover, your watching was in vain. It is as we told you, he will never come again." And the unkind flowers danced for joy as they watched him silently soar away.

Little Clover bowed her head in silence. As she drooped she heard a Daisy say:

"O sisters look, I see him now. He is floating back from cloudland. Spread wide your leaves that he may choose the one he deems most fair."

Then Wild Rose glowed with a deep blush as she proudly waved on her stem; Cowslip bent to look at herself in the rippling brook, little Houstonia merrily danced and spread out her white leaves wide; and Daisy whispered her joy and hope to Violet, who peeped out from the tall green ferns to watch the glittering form of the butterfly that shone in the summer sky.

Nearer and nearer the bright form came, and fairer and fairer grew the blossoms. Each welcomed him in her sweetest tones and each offered him honey and dew. But in vain did they beckon and smile and call. He floated past Violet, Daisy, and Rose, and went straight to the pleasant home of Clover Blossom, the flower most truly fair.

"Dear flower," he said, "when I was alone and friendless you watched over me and cared for me. And now I will try to show the thanks the poor worm could not tell.

"Sunbeam, breeze shall come to thee,
And the coolest dews that fall;
Whate'er a flower can wish is thine,
For thou art worthy all.

"And the home thou shared with the friendless worm
The butterfly's home shall be,
And thou shalt find, dear, faithful flower,
A loving friend in me."

Then, through the long, bright summer hours, through sunshine and rain, lived happily together Clover and Prince Butterfly.

A SONG OF CLOVER

I wonder what the Clover thinks,
Intimate friend of Bobolinks,
Lover of Daisies, slim and white,
Waltzer with Buttercups at night;
Keeper of Inn for traveling Bees,
Serving to them wine dregs and lees
Left by the Royal Humming Birds
Who sip and pay with fine-spun words;
Fellow with all the lowliest,
Peer of the gayest and the best,
Comrade of winds, beloved of sun,
Kissed by the Dewdrops, one by one;
Prophet of Good-Luck mystery
By sign of four which few may see;
Emblem of comfort in the speech
Which poor men's babies early reach;
Sweet by the roadsides, sweet by rills,
Sweet in the meadows, sweet on hills,
Sweet in its every living breath,
Sweetest, perhaps, at last, in death!
Oh! who knows what the Clover thinks!
No one! unless the Bobolinks.

SAXE HOLM.

TITHONUS: A LEGEND OF THE
GRASSHOPPER

LILLIAN S. HYDE

Every day when Helios drove his wonderful horses and fiery chariot across the sky, Aurora opened the gates of pearl and drew back the dark curtains of the night; for Aurora was the Goddess of the Dawn. She was so beautiful that the whole sky flushed pink with pleasure when she appeared in the east.

On the earth lived a mortal called Tithonus, who loved Aurora so well that he never failed to leave his bed while it was still dark to watch for her coming. Aurora loved Tithonus in return, and one day she flew to the king of the gods, and begged of him that Tithonus might be given a draft of nectar, and so become immortal.

Jupiter granted this request, and Aurora took Tithonus up to Mount Olympus to live in her golden house.

The goddess had forgotten to ask that Tithonus might never grow old. Therefore, the time came when grey hairs could be seen among his golden curls. Aurora was always kind to him and continued to give him beautiful garments, and to feed him on ambrosia. Still, Tithonus grew older and older and, in time, after several hundred years, he was so very old that he could not move at all. Little was left of him but his voice, and even that had grown high and thin. Aurora felt so sorry to see him withering away in this manner that she changed him into a little insect, and sent him down to earth again where men called him the grasshopper.

Very glad to be free and active once more, Tithonus hops about in the fields all day, chirping cheerfully to Aurora.

THE GRASSHOPPER