dependence on God's gifts in Nature. It was the promise of autumnal
Thanksgivings to come.
THE MASTER OF THE HARVEST
BY MRS. ALFRED GATTY (ADAPTED)
The Master of the Harvest walked by the side of his cornfields in the
springtime. A frown was on his face, for there had been no rain for
several weeks, and the earth was hard from the parching of the east
winds. The young wheat had not been able to spring up.
So as he looked over the long ridges that stretched in rows before him,
he was vexed and began to grumble and say:--
“The harvest will be backward, and all things will go wrong.”
Then he frowned more and more, and uttered complaints against Heaven
because there was no rain; against the earth because it was so dry;
against the corn because it had not sprung up.
And the Master's discontent was whispered all over the field, and
along the ridges where the corn-seed lay. And the poor little seeds
murmured:--
“How cruel to complain! Are we not doing our best? Have we let one drop
of moisture pass by unused? Are we not striving every day to be ready
for the hour of breaking forth? Are we idle? How cruel to complain!”
But of all this the Master of the Harvest heard nothing, so the gloom
did not pass from his face. Going to his comfortable home he repeated
to his wife the dark words, that the drought would ruin the harvest, for
the corn was not yet sprung up.
Then his wife spoke cheering words, and taking her Bible she wrote some
texts upon the flyleaf, and after them the date of the day.
And the words she wrote were these: “The eyes of all wait upon Thee; and
Thou givest them their meat in due season. Thou openest Thine hand
and satisfiest the desire of every living thing. How excellent is Thy
loving-kindness, O God! therefore the children of men put their trust
under the shadow of Thy wings. Thou hast put gladness in my heart, more
than in the time that their corn and their wine increased.”
And so a few days passed as before, and the house was gloomy with the
discontent of the Master. But at last one evening there was rain all
over the land, and when the Master of the Harvest went out the next
morning for his early walk by the cornfields, the corn had sprung up at
last.
The young shoots burst out at once, and very soon all along the ridges
were to be seen rows of tender blades, tinting the whole field with a
delicate green. And day by day the Master of the Harvest saw them, and
was satisfied, but he spoke of other things and forgot to rejoice.
Then a murmur rose among the corn-blades.
“The Master was angry because we did not come up; now that we have come
forth why is he not glad? Are we not doing our best? From morning and
evening dews, from the glow of the sun, from the juices of the earth,
from the freshening breezes, even from clouds and rain, are we not
taking food and strength, warmth and life? Why does he not rejoice?”
And when the Master's wife asked him if the wheat was doing well he
answered, “Fairly well,” and nothing more.
But the wife opened her Book, and wrote again on the flyleaf: “Who hath
divided a watercourse for the overflowing of waters, or a way for the
lightning of thunder, to cause it to rain on the earth where no man is,
on the wilderness wherein there is no man, to satisfy the desolate and
waste ground, and to cause the bud of the tender herb to spring forth?
For He maketh small the drops of water; they pour down rain according
to the vapor thereof, which the clouds do drop and distil upon man
abundantly. Also can any understand the spreadings of the clouds, or the
noise of his tabernacle?”
Very peaceful were the next few weeks. All nature seemed to rejoice in
the fine weather. The corn-blades shot up strong and tall. They burst
into flowers and gradually ripened into ears of grain. But alas! the
Master of the Harvest had still some fault to find. He looked at the
ears and saw that they were small. He grumbled and said:--
“The yield will be less than it ought to be. The harvest will be bad.”
And the voice of his discontent was breathed over the cornfield where
the plants were growing and growing. They shuddered and murmured: “How
thankless to complain! Are we not growing as fast as we can? If we were
idle would we bear wheat-ears at all? How thankless to complain!”
Meanwhile a few weeks went by and a drought settled on the land. Rain
was needed, so that the corn-ears might fill. And behold, while the
wish for rain was yet on the Master's lips, the sky became full of
heavy clouds, darkness spread over the land, a wild wind arose, and the
roaring of thunder announced a storm. And such a storm! Along the ridges
of corn-plants drove the rain-laden wind, and the plants bent down
before it and rose again like the waves of the sea. They bowed down and
they rose up. Only where the whirlwind was the strongest they fell to
the ground and could not rise again.
And when the storm was over, the Master of the Harvest saw here
and there patches of over-weighted corn, yet dripping from the
thunder-shower, and he grew angry with them, and forgot to think of the
long ridges where the corn-plants were still standing tall and strong,
and where the corn-ears were swelling and rejoicing.
His face grew darker than ever. He railed against the rain. He railed
against the sun because it did not shine. He blamed the wheat because it
might perish before the harvest.
“But why does he always complain?” moaned the corn-plants. “Have we not
done our best from the first? Has not God's blessing been with us? Are
we not growing daily more beautiful in strength and hope? Why does not
the Master trust, as we do, in the future richness of the harvest?”
Of all this the Master of the Harvest heard nothing. But his wife wrote
on the flyleaf of her Book: “He watereth the hills from his chambers,
the earth is satisfied with the fruit of thy works. He causeth the grass
to grow for the cattle and herb for the service of man, that he may
bring forth food out of the earth, and wine that maketh glad the heart
of man, and oil to make his face to shine, and bread which strengtheneth
man's heart.”
And day by day the hours of sunshine were more in number. And by degrees
the green corn-ears ripened into yellow, and the yellow turned into
gold, and the abundant harvest was ready, and the laborers were not
wanting.
Then the bursting corn broke out into songs of rejoicing. “At least we
have not labored and watched in vain! Surely the earth hath yielded her
increase! Blessed be the Lord who daily loadeth us with benefits! Where
now is the Master of the Harvest? Come, let him rejoice with us!”
And the Master's wife brought out her Book and her husband read the
texts she had written even from the day when the corn-seeds were held
back by the first drought, and as he read a new heart seemed to grow
within him, a heart that was thankful to the Lord of the Great Harvest.
And he read aloud from the Book:--
“Thou visitest the earth and waterest it; thou greatly enrichest it with
the river of God which is full of water; thou preparest them corn,
when thou hast so provided for it. Thou waterest the ridges thereof
abundantly; thou settlest the furrows thereof; thou makest it soft with
showers; thou blessest the springing thereof. Thou crownest the year
with thy goodness, and thy paths drop fatness. They drop upon the
pastures of the wilderness, and the little hills rejoice on every side.
The pastures are clothed with flocks. The valleys also are covered over
with corn; they shout for joy, they also sing.--O that men would praise
the Lord for His goodness, and for his wonderful works to the children
of men!”
SAINT CUTHBERT'S EAGLE
BY THE VENERABLE BEDE (ADAPED)
Once upon a time, the good Saint Cuthbert of Lindesfarne, went forth
from his monastery to preach to the poor. He took with him a young lad
as his only attendant. Together they walked along the dusty way. The
heat of the noonday sun beat upon their heads, and fatigue overcame
them.
“Son,” said Saint Cuthbert, “do you know any one on the road, whom we
may ask for food and a place in which to rest?”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” answered the lad, “but I know
nobody on the road who will entertain us. Alas! why did we not bring
along provisions? How can we proceed on our long journey without them?”
“My son,” answered the saint, “learn to have trust in God, who never
will suffer those to perish of hunger who believe in Him.”
Then looking up and seeing an eagle flying in the air, he added, “Do you
see the eagle yonder? It is possible for God to feed us by means of this
bird.”
While they were talking thus, they came to a river, and, lo! the eagle
stood on the bank.
“Son,” said Saint Cuthbert, “run and see what provision God has made for
us by his handmaid the bird.”
The lad ran, and found a good-sized fish that the eagle had just caught.
This he brought to the saint.
“What have you done?” exclaimed the good man, “why have you not given a
part to God's handmaid? Cut the fish in two pieces, and give her one, as
her service well deserves.”
The lad did as he was bidden, and the eagle, taking the half fish in her
beak, flew away.
Then entering a neighboring village, Saint Cuthbert gave the other half
to a peasant to cook, and while the lad and the villagers feasted, the
good saint preached to them the Word of God.
THE EARS OF WHEAT
BY THE BROTHERS GRIMM (TRANSLATED)
Ages upon ages ago, says the German grandmother, when angels used to
wander on earth, the ground was more fruitful than it is now. Then
the stalks of wheat bore not fifty or sixty fold, but four times five
hundred fold. Then the wheat-ears grew from the bottom to the top of the
stalk. But the men of the earth forgot that this blessing came from God,
and they became idle and selfish.
One day a woman went through a wheat-field, and her little child, who
accompanied her, fell into a puddle and soiled her frock. The mother
tore off a handful of the wheat-ears and cleaned the child's dress with
them.
Just then an angel passed by and saw her. Wrathfully he spoke:--
“Wasteful woman, no longer shall the wheat-stalks produce ears. You
mortals are not worthy of the gifts of Heaven!”
Some peasants who were gathering wheat in the fields heard this, and
falling on their knees, prayed and entreated the angel to leave the
wheat alone, not only on their account, but for the sake of the little
birds who otherwise must perish of hunger.
The angel pitied their distress, and granted a part of the prayer. And
from that day to this the ears of wheat have grown as they do now.
HOW INDIAN CORN CAME INTO THE WORLD
AN OJIBBEWAY LEGEND
BY HENRY R. SCHOOLCRAFT (ADAPTED)
Long, long ago, in a beautiful part of this country, there lived an
Indian with his wife and children. He was poor and found it hard to
provide food enough for his family. But though needy he was kind and
contented, and always gave thanks to the Great Spirit for everything
that he received. His eldest son, Wunzh, was likewise kind and gentle
and thankful of heart, and he longed greatly to do something for his
people.
The time came that Wunzh reached the age when every Indian boy fasts so
that he may see in a vision the Spirit that is to be his guide through
life. Wunph's father built him a little lodge apart, so that the boy
might rest there undisturbed during his days of fasting. Then Wunzh
withdrew to begin the solemn rite.
On the first day he walked alone in the woods looking at the flowers and
plants, and filling his mind with the beautiful images of growing things
so that he might see them in his night-dreams. He saw how the flowers
and herbs and berries grew, and he knew that some were good for food,
and that others healed wounds and cured sickness. And his heart was
filled with even a greater longing to do something for his family and
his tribe.
“Truly,” thought he, “the Great Spirit made all things. To Him we owe
our lives. But could He not make it easier for us to get our food than
by hunting and catching fish? I must try to find this out in my vision.”
So Wunzh returned to his lodge and fasted and slept. On the third day he
became weak and faint. Soon he saw in a vision a young brave coming down
from the sky and approaching the lodge. He was clad in rich garments of
green and yellow colors. On his head was a tuft of nodding green plumes,
and all his motions were graceful and swaying.
“I am sent to you, O Wunzh,” said the sky-stranger, “by that Great
Spirit who made all things in sky and earth. He has seen your fasting,
and knows how you wish to do good to your people, and that you do not
seek for strength in war nor for the praise of warriors. I am sent to
tell you how you may do good to your kindred. Arise and wrestle with me,
for only by overcoming me may you learn the secret.”
Wunzh, though he was weak from fasting, felt courage grow in his heart,
and he arose and wrestled with the stranger. But soon he became weaker
and exhausted, and the stranger, seeing this, smiled gently on him and
said: “My friend, this is enough for once, I will come again to-morrow.”
And he vanished as suddenly as he had appeared.
The next day the stranger came, and Wunzh felt himself weaker than
before; nevertheless he rose and wrestled bravely. Then the stranger
spoke a second time. “My friend,” he said, “have courage! To-morrow will
be your last trial.” And he disappeared from Wunzh's sight.
On the third day the stranger came as before, and the struggle was
renewed. And Wunzh, though fainter in body, grew strong in mind and
will, and he determined to win or perish in the attempt. He exerted all
his powers, and, lo! in a while, he prevailed and overcame the stranger.
“O Wunzh, my friend,” said the conquered one, “you have wrestled
manfully. You have met your trial well. To-morrow I shall come again
and you must wrestle with me for the last time. You will prevail. Do you
then strip off my garments, throw me down, clean the earth of roots and
weeds, and bury me in that spot. When you have done so, leave my body in
the ground. Come often to the place and see whether I have come to life,
but be careful not to let weeds or grass grow on my grave. If you do all
this well, you will soon discover how to benefit your fellow creatures.”
Having said this the stranger disappeared.
In the morning Wunzh's father came to him with food. “My son,” he said,
“you have fasted long. It is seven days since you have tasted food, and
you must not sacrifice your life. The Master of Life does not require
that.”
“My father,” replied the boy, “wait until the sun goes down to-morrow.
For a certain reason I wish to fast until that hour.”
“Very well,” said the old man, “I shall wait until the time arrives when
you feel inclined to eat.” And he went away.
The next day, at the usual hour, the sky stranger came again. And,
though Wunzh had fasted seven days, he felt a new power arise within
him. He grasped the stranger with superhuman strength, and threw him
down. He took from him his beautiful garments, and, finding him dead,
buried him in the softened earth, and did all else as he had been
directed.
He then returned to his father's lodge, and partook sparingly of food.
There he abode for some time. But he never forgot the grave of his
friend. Daily he visited it, and pulled up the weeds and grass, and kept
the earth soft and moist. Very soon, to his great wonder, he saw the
tops of green plumes coming through the ground.
Weeks passed by, the summer was drawing to a close. One day Wunzh asked
his father to follow him. He led him to a distant meadow. There, in
the place where the stranger had been buried, stood a tall and graceful
plant, with bright-colored, silken hair, and crowned by nodding green
plumes. Its stalk was covered with waving leaves, and there grew from
its sides clusters of milk-filled ears of corn, golden and sweet, each
ear closely wrapped in its green husks.
“It is my friend!” shouted the boy joyously; “it is Mondawmin, the
Indian Corn! We need no longer depend on hunting, so long as this gift
is planted and cared for. The Great Spirit has heard my voice and has
sent us this food.”
Then the whole family feasted on the ears of corn and thanked the Great
Spirit who gave it. So Indian Corn came into the world.
THE NUTCRACKER DWARF
BY COUNT FRANZ POCCI (TRANSLATED)
Two boys gathered some hazelnuts in the woods. They sat down under a
tree and tried to eat them, but they did not have their knives, and
could not bite open the nuts with their teeth.
“Oh,” they complained, “if only some one would come and open the nuts
for us!”
Hardly had they said this when a little man came through the woods. And
such a strange little man! He had a great, great head, and from the back
of it a slender pigtail hung down to his heels. He wore a golden cap, a
red coat and yellow stockings.
As he came near he sang:--
“Hight! hight! Bite! bite!
Hans hight I! Nuts bite I!
I chase the squirrels through the trees,
I gather nuts just as I please,
I place them 'twixt my jaws so strong,
And crack and eat them all day long!”
The boys almost died of laughter when they saw this funny little man,
who they knew was a Wood Dwarf.
They called out to him: “If you know how to crack nuts, why, come here
and open ours.”
But the little man grumbled through his long white beard:--
“If I crack the nuts for you
Promise that you'll give me two.”
“Yes, yes,” cried the boys, “you shall have all the nuts you wish, only
crack some for us, and be quick about it!”
The little man stood before them, for he could not sit down because of
his long, stiff pigtail that hung down behind, and he sang:--
“Lift my pigtail, long and thin,
Place your nuts my jaws within,
Pull the pigtail down, and then
I'll crack your nuts, my little men.”
The boys did as they were told, laughing hard all the time. Whenever
they pulled down the pigtail, there was a sharp CRACK, and a broken nut
sprang out of the Nutcracker's mouth.
Soon all the hazelnuts were opened, and the little man grumbled again:--
“Hight! hight! Bite! bite!
Your nuts are cracked, and now my pay
I'll take and then I'll go away.”
Now one of the boys wished to give the little man his promised reward,
but the other, who was a bad boy, stopped him, saying:--
“Why do you give that old fellow our nuts? There are only enough for us.
As for you, Nutcracker, go away from here and find some for yourself.”
Then the little man grew angry, and he grumbled horribly:--
“If you do not pay my fee,
Why, then, you've told a lie to me!
I am hungry, you're well fed,
Quick, or I'll bite off your head!”
But the bad boy only laughed and said: “You 'll bite off my head, will
you! Go away from here just as fast as you can, or you shall feel these
nut-shells,” and he shook his fist at the little man.
The Nutcracker grew red with rage. He pulled up his pigtail, snapping
his jaws together,--CRACK,--and the bad boy's head was off.
THE PUMPKIN PIRATES
A TALE FROM LUCIAN
BY ALFRED J. CHURCH (ADAPTED)
Once upon a time, one Lucian the Greek was filled with a desire to see
strange countries, and especially to discover whether there was any
opposite shore to the ocean by which he lived.
So having purchased a vessel, he strengthened it for a voyage, that he
knew would without doubt be long and stormy. Then he chose fifty stout
young fellows having the same love of adventure as himself, and next he
hired the best captain that could be got for money, and put a store of
provisions and water on board.
All this being done, he set sail. For many days he and his companions
voyaged on deep waters and in strange seas. At times the wind was
fair and gentle, and at others it blew so hard that the sea rose in a
terrible manner.
One day there came a violent whirlwind which twisted the ship about,
and, lifting it into the air, carried it upward into the sky, until it
reached the Moon. There Lucian and his comrades disembarked and visited
the inhabitants of Moonland. They took part in a fierce battle between
the Moon-Folk, the Sun-Folk, and an army of Vulture-Horsemen; and,
after many other wonderful adventures, they departed from Moonland,
and sailing through the sky, visited the Morning Star. Then the wind
dropping, the ship settled once more upon the sea, and they sailed on
the water.
One morning the wind began to blow vehemently, and they were driven by
storm for days. On the third day they fell in with the Pumpkin Pirates.
These were savages who were wont to sally forth from the islands that
lay in the seas thereabouts, and plunder them that sailed by.
For ships they had large pumpkins, each being not less than ninety feet
in length. These pumpkins they dried, and afterward dug out all the
inner part of them till they were quite hollow. For masts they had
reeds, and for sails, in the place of canvas, pumpkin leaves.
These savages attacked Lucian's vessel with two ships' or rather two
pumpkins' crews, and wounded many of his company. For stones they used
the pumpkin-seeds, which were about the bigness of a large apple.
Lucian's company fought for some time, without gaining the advantage,
when about noon they saw coming toward them, in the rear of the Pumpkin
Pirates, the Nut-Shell Sailors. These two tribes were at war with each
other.
As soon as the Pumpkin Pirates saw the others approaching, they left
off fighting Lucian's crew, and prepared to give battle to the Nut-Shell
Sailors. When Lucian saw this he ordered the captain to set all sails;
and they departed with speed. But looking back he could see that the
Nut-Shell Sailors had the best of the battle, being superior in numbers,
having five crews against two of the Pumpkin Pirates, and also because
their ships were stronger. As for their ships, they were the shells of
nuts which had been split in half, each measuring fifteen fathoms, or
thereabouts.
As soon as the Pumpkin Pirates and the Nut-Shell Sailors were out
of sight, Lucian set himself to dressing the wounds of his injured
companions. And from that time on both Lucian and his crew wore their
armor continually, not knowing when another strange enemy might come
upon them.
THE SPIRIT OF THE CORN
AN IROQUOIS LEGEND
BY HARRIET MAXWELL CONVERSE (ADAPTED)
There was a time, says the Iroquois grandmother, when it was not needful
to plant the corn-seed nor to hoe the fields, for the corn sprang up of
itself, and filled the broad meadows. Its stalks grew strong and tall,
and were covered with leaves like waving banners, and filled with ears
of pearly grain wrapped in silken green husks.
In those days Onatah, the Spirit of the Corn, walked upon the earth. The
sun lovingly touched her dusky face with the blush of the morning,
and her eyes grew soft as the gleam of the stars on dark streams. Her
night-black hair was spread before the breeze like a wind-driven cloud.
As she walked through the fields, the corn, the Indian maize, sprang up
of itself from the earth and filled the air with its fringed tassels and
whispering leaves. With Onatah walked her two sisters, the Spirits of
the Squash and the Bean. As they passed by, squash-vines and bean-plants
grew from the corn-hills.
One day Onatah wandered away alone in search of early dew. Then the Evil
One of the earth, Hahgwehdaetgah, followed swiftly after. He grasped her
by the hair and dragged her beneath the ground down to his gloomy cave.
Then, sending out his fire-breathing monsters, he blighted Onatah's
grain. And when her sisters, the Spirits of the Squash and the Bean,
saw the flame-monsters raging through the fields, they flew far away in
terror.
As for poor Onatah, she lay a trembling captive in the dark prison-cave
of the Evil One. She mourned the blight of her cornfields, and sorrowed
over her runaway sisters.
“O warm, bright sun!” she cried, “if I may walk once more upon the
earth, never again will I leave my corn!”
And the little birds of the air heard her cry, and winging their way
upward they carried her vow and gave it to the sun as he wandered
through the blue heavens.
The sun, who loved Onatah, sent out many searching beams of light. They
pierced through the damp earth, and entering the prison-cave, guided her
back again to her fields.
And ever after that she watched her fields alone, for no more did her
sisters, the Spirits of the Squash and Bean, watch with her. If
her fields thirsted, no longer could she seek the early dew. If the
flame-monsters burned her corn, she could not search the skies for
cooling winds. And when the great rains fell and injured her harvest,
her voice grew so faint that the friendly sun could not hear it.