Many people who were in trouble had rung the bell; and in every case,
the judges had been perfectly fair, and had punished the one who had
done wrong.
"The rope had hung there so long in the sun and rain, and had been pulled
by so many hands, that it was almost worn out. Some of the strands were
untwisted; and it had grown shorter and shorter, until only the tallest
man or woman could reach it.
"'We must have a new rope,' said the judges at last. 'If a little child
should be wronged, he could not reach high enough to ring the bell. That
would never do.'
"At once the people of Atri set about to look for a new rope; but there
was none to be found in all the town of Atri. They would have to send
someone to a country across the mountains to get the rope. But that would
take quite a while; and what should they do, while they were waiting?
"One man thought of a plan. He ran to his vineyard and came back with a
grapevine. Then he tied the vine to the rope.
"'There!' he said, 'the smallest child will be able to reach it now, and
ring the bell'; for the vine, with its leaves and little tendrils, trailed
on the ground.
"The judges were pleased. 'Yes,' they said, 'that will do very well,
until we can get a new rope from the country beyond the mountains.'
"Near the village of Atri, higher up on the hillside, there lived an old
soldier. When he was a young man, he had traveled in far-distant countries,
and had fought in many wars. And he was so brave that his king had made
him a knight.
"He had had one true and faithful friend all through those hard and
dangerous years. It was his horse. Many a time the brave steed had saved
his master's life.
"But now that the knight was an old man, he no longer wished to do brave
deeds. He cared now for only one thing: gold, _gold_, GOLD. He was a miser.
"One day, as he passed his barn, he looked in and saw his faithful horse
standing in his stall. The poor creature looked almost starved.
"'Why should I keep that lazy beast any longer?' said the miser to
himself. 'His food costs more money than he is worth. I know what I will
do. I will turn him out on the hillside, and let him find his own food.
If he starves to death--why, he will be out of the way!'
"So the brave old horse was turned out to graze as best he could on the
rocky hillside. He was sick and lame, and he grew thinner every day; for
all he could find was a tiny patch of grass or a thistle now and then.
The village dogs barked at him and bit at his heels; and naughty boys
threw stones at him.
"One hot afternoon, the old horse limped into the market-place of Atri.
No one was about the streets; for the people were trying to keep as cool
as they could in the shelter of their homes. As the horse went picking
about trying to find a few blades of grass, suddenly he discovered the
long grapevine trailing on the ground at the foot of the tower. The
leaves were still green and tender, for it had been placed there only a
short time before.
"The horse did not know that the bell would ring if he pulled the vine.
He only knew that here was a juicy bit of dinner for him, and he was
hungry.
"He nibbled at the end of the vine; and suddenly, far up in the belfry,
the huge bell began to swing back and forth. From its great throat,
golden music floated down over the town of Atri. It seemed to be saying:
"'Some--one----has--done----me--wrong! Ding--dong----ding--dong!'
"The judges put on their robes, and hurried out of their cool homes into
the hot streets of the village. Who was in trouble, they wondered?
"When they reached the market-place, no one was there; but they saw the
starving old horse, nibbling at the tender grapevine.
"'Ho, ho!' cried one, 'it is the miser's brave old steed. He rings the
bell to plead for justice.'
"'And justice he shall have!' cried another.
"'See how thin he is,' said a lad with a kind heart.
"By this time, many people had gathered in the market-place. When they
saw the old horse, a murmur of astonishment swept through the crowd.
"'The miser's steed!' cried one to another. 'He has waited long; but he
shall have justice today.'
"'I have seen the old horse wandering on the hillside day after day, in
search of food,' said an old man.
"'And while the noble steed has no shelter,' said his neighbor, 'his
master sits at home, counting his gold.'
"'Bring his master to us!' cried the judges sternly.
"And so they brought him. In silence he waited to hear what the judges
would say.
"'This brave steed of yours,' they said, 'has served you faithfully for
many a long year. He has saved your life in times of danger. He has
helped you to hoard your bags of gold. Therefore, hear your sentence, O
Miser! Half of your gold shall be taken from you, and used to buy food
and shelter for your faithful horse.'
"The miser hung his head. It made him sad to lose his gold; but the
people laughed and shouted, as the old horse was led away to a comfortable
stall and a dinner fit for the steed of a king."
"Hooray!" cried Don. "Good for the brave old horse! Grandpa, I'm so glad
you aren't a miser!" He was thinking of old Ned, with his sleek, shining
black coat.
"Bedtime!" announced Grandma, as she led the way into the house.
"Good-night, children--and happy dreams to you!"
Bee Loving
[Illustration]
When the children ran down to meet the mailman in the morning, he handed
them another letter from Mother. She and Daddy were going home next
Friday, she said; and they must be there Saturday, to start school on
the following Monday.
"Only three more nights to be here," said Joyce, taking the letter in
to Grandma. "I want to go home and see Mother and Daddy, but I wish I
could stay on the farm, too."
"And only three more stories about bees," added Don. "We must remember
them all, Joyce, so we can tell them to Mother."
"What do you want to do today, children?" asked Grandma.
"After our morning work is done," said Joyce, with her most grown-up
air, "we must finish weeding the flower-bed."
"Grandma," called Don a little later, "come and see how nice it looks
where we pulled the weeds yesterday."
Grandma stood a moment thoughtfully looking down at the half-weeded bed
of flowers.
"Children," she said suddenly, "If you wanted a flower this morning,
where would you pick it--in the part of the bed that is full of weeds,
or in that patch over there that you have weeded so nicely?"
"I would pick my flower where there aren't any weeds," answered Don,
wondering why she asked. "I would take that pretty big red one right
over there."
"And so would I!" declared Joyce, pulling up a stubborn weed.
"But why wouldn't you take this one?" said Grandma, as she parted the
weeds and showed another red beauty.
"Well," answered Don, "I s'pose it's just as pretty, but some way the
weeds make it look ugly."
"That's just what I was thinking about," said Grandma. "I have seen
children who were like this flower in the weeds. They had beautiful
faces; but they let the weeds of disobedience, selfishness, deceit, and
pride grow all about them until you could not see their beauty for the
ugly weeds.
"This garden makes me think of two cousins that I knew once. One was
obedient, unselfish, and kind to everybody; and although she did not
have a beautiful face, she was loved by all who knew her. The other girl
had a beautiful face; but she had such an unlovely disposition that
nobody cared for her, and so she was left very much to herself. Her
beauty, like this lovely flower, was quite hidden by the ugly weeds
growing up all around her.
"These weeds in the flower-bed were very small in the beginning; but
they grew and grew, until now they are taller than the flowers. And the
weeds in God's child-gardens are small at first, too. To begin with,
there springs up the weed of telling a story that is not quite true. If
it is not pulled up at once, soon it grows up into a big ugly lie weed.
Other weeds--disobedience, selfishness, and unkindness--spring up around
it; and soon the beautiful flower is hidden by the tall weeds. And when
the Master of the Garden wants a lovely flower-child to do a kind deed
for Him, He never thinks of choosing one that is surrounded by weeds."
"What a nice story!" exclaimed Joyce. "But it wasn't about a bee,
Grandma."
"Yes, it was," said Don--"Don't Bee Weedy."
"But there haven't been any Don't Bee's in the stories before," said
Joyce. "Besides, I wouldn't call that Don't Bee Weedy; I'd call it Bee
Clean."
"That's a good name for it," said Grandma. "I hope you'll always keep
your lives clean from the weeds that children so often allow to grow up
around them."
Grandma went back to the house, while the children set to work weeding
the rest of the flower-bed. They were very careful not to pull up any
of the flowers with the weeds. When they had finished, the flower-bed
looked beautiful, cleared as it was of all weeds and grasses.
"I surely don't want any ugly weeds to grow in _my_ garden, so I shall
always listen to Bee Clean," said Joyce softly, as she walked slowly
toward the house.
"Will you make us a kite, Grandpa?" asked Don after dinner.
"Yes, do!" cried Joyce. "It will be such fun to fly it."
"Well," said Grandpa, "you children hunt around and find some sticks.
Then ask Grandma for some paper and paste and string; and bring them out
to the woodshed, and I'll try my hand at making a kite."
After it was made, they had to let it lie in the sun for a while, to
dry. Then they took it out to the pasture. There was a soft breeze
blowing, and Grandpa said the kite ought to fly. Don took the string and
ran along with it for quite a distance. The wind lifted it a little; but
after it had darted back and forth, it fell on the ground. This happened
several times, and at last Grandpa said, "It's too bad, children, but
my kite won't fly. But I'll see if I can make something else for you."
Then Grandpa took some thin boards and whittled out darts. He took a
short stick, and tied a string to it; and then he fitted the string in
a notch which he had cut in one end of the dart. He threw the dart up
in the air, ever so high. It came down just a few yards from Don. The
sharp end stuck fast; and there it stood, upright in the ground.
Don was as much pleased with this as he would have been with a kite that
would fly. Soon he and Joyce were shooting darts into the air, to see
whose would go the highest.
They had so much fun that the afternoon flew by very fast. It was nearly
suppertime when Don gathered up the darts and took them to the house
with him. He carefully put them away in the little trunk, saying, "I'll
show the boys how to throw darts when I get home."
That evening, as they sat on the porch in the quiet twilight, they heard
the faint tinkle of a cowbell in the distance. They talked a while, and
then they sang some songs together.
"It's story time, isn't it?" said Grandpa by and by. "And who is going
to get stung tonight?" he asked, winking at Joyce.
"I hope _I_ don't," she laughed, remembering the time the bee had stung
her on the first day of her visit.
"No one shall be stung tonight," said Grandma. "I have a very sweet
little bee to tell you about. And because the little girl in my story
listened to its buzz, it made honey for her all her life. Its name is
Bee Loving; and it can do things that nothing else in the world can do.
You know people can sometimes be _loved_ into doing things that they
could not be persuaded to do in any other way.
"Gene was a very little girl who had been left alone in the world. She
had never seen her father; and her mother had died when she was only two
and a half. Some kind people had taken care of the little girl when her
mother was ill; and when she died, they tried to find her relatives, to
ask what should be done with Gene. But they could not find any trace of
them.
"When Gene was three, these kind people wanted to go away for a couple
of weeks, and they asked a lady to take care of the child while they
were gone. The lady was very glad to do this, for she loved little
children. And so Gene came to stay in the big mansion where the lady,
her husband, and grown-up daughter lived.
"The lady's husband did not like children very well, and it always annoyed
him whenever little Gene came near him. She had a sunny disposition and
a very sweet smile, and she tried to make friends with the man; but he
would not pay any attention to her.
"He always read his paper in the morning before he went to work, and in
the evening after he came home. Little Gene would peep up at him under
the paper, with her sweetest smile. He would lay the paper down, and
walk away; but soon he would come back and pick it up and begin to read
again. And in a moment, there little Gene would be, peeping up at him
again with her lovely smile.
"One day when Gene had been living in the home about a week, the man was
reading his paper and she was peeping under it with her usual smile.
Suddenly he laid the paper aside and took her in his arms. He kissed her
on her forehead, saying tenderly, 'It doesn't matter how hard a man tries
to keep from loving you; you just love your way right into his heart.'
"Gene threw her small arms about his neck, and laid her curly head on
his shoulder, saying in her pretty baby way, 'Gene woves oo, big man.'
"That completely won his heart; and when the two weeks had passed and
Gene's friends came after her, he did not want to give her up. So he
decided to keep her and bring her up as if she had been his own little
girl. This also pleased his wife and grown-up daughter very much, for
they had loved little Gene from the beginning.
"Gene is grown now, but she still has the same sunny disposition and the
same sweet smile, which make her beloved by all who know her. Nothing
but love could have won for her the beautiful home she has had all these
years. And to this day, Bee Loving is still helping her to win her way
through life. The greatest victories are always those that are won through
love."
"I know someone that I love," said little Don, throwing his arms round
Grandma's neck.
"So do I," said Joyce as she kissed Grandma good-night.
Bee Content
[Illustration]
"Listen to the mocking bird!" exclaimed Joyce, early the next morning.
"It sounds as if he would burst his throat. Sometimes his song is loud,
and then again he whistles softly, like our canary."
As they listened, the bird whistled shrilly, like the cardinal; then he
trilled like the canary, and chirped like the sparrow. He gave a call
like the hen quail's, and sang a song exactly like the song of the
bluebird. Then he twittered like a number of smaller birds, sang the
song of the robin, and came back to the whistle of the cardinal.
"Did you ever hear such a wonderful song?" cried Joyce. "I could listen
to him all day long."
"I like to hear him sing in the daytime, too," laughed Grandma; "but
during the night I don't enjoy it so much. Last spring the mocking birds
built their nest in the same tree where that little fellow is singing
now; and such music, all night long, during the time when they were
nesting! It was beautiful, but it kept me awake many an hour when I
should have been sleeping. Mocking birds usually build their nests near
houses, to protect themselves from robbers."
"Robbers! What kind?" exclaimed Don.
"Sometimes larger birds; and sometimes cats, or snakes. You can always
tell when a robber is about, by the fuss the old birds make. Last spring
I heard a great commotion in that tree, and I went out to see what was
the trouble. I looked about for quite a while before I discovered the
nest; and all the time, the birds were darting here and there and giving
their sharp little cries of distress. When at last I found the nest, I
saw a big black snake crawling toward it. I got the garden rake and
pulled him loose from the limb; and when he fell to the ground, I killed
the cruel thief."
Joyce stepped out into the yard, to get a better look at the little
songster as he sat swinging at the top of the old apple tree. Just then
he flew across the orchard and down to the creek, alighting among the
willows along the bank.
That afternoon the children went to the creek, to see if there were any
water lilies in bloom. As they neared the clump of willows, Don said,
"Let's be quiet, and see if we can find the mocking bird." So they walked
softly, and talked in whispers; but they did not catch a glimpse of the
lovely songster. Suddenly Don stopped and pointed to a big green frog
sitting on a lily pad in the middle of the creek.
"Oh-h-h!" exclaimed Joyce. Instantly there was a splash, and the frog
was gone. There were splashes all around, as other frogs disappeared in
the water.
The children hid behind the willows, and waited quietly for some time.
Soon they saw a big green fellow swim toward the lily pad and climb up
on it. Others began to swim about in the water, and a number of them
came out along the bank.
Suddenly Joyce caught sight of something else, which made her forget the
frogs. Just beyond the spot where the frog sat perched on a lily pad,
there was a lovely water lily in bloom.
"O Don," she whispered, "do you think we can get it?"
"I'd rather have the frog than the lily," answered Don.
"Yes, but you can't get him, you know," said Joyce. "Will you help me
to get to the lily?"
Don nodded, and came out from behind the willows where he had been
crouching. Instantly there was another splash, and Mr. Froggie was gone.
In a moment there was not a frog to be seen anywhere.
To get the lily, the children had to cross the creek and then step out
on an old log. The creek was so shallow that they knew there was no
danger of drowning, even if they should fall into the water; so Joyce
steadied the log with her hands, while Don stood on it and reached for
the lily. It took him some time to get it, for it had a tough stem which
was very hard to break. But Joyce was so pleased when he handed her the
beautiful lily, that he felt repaid for all his trouble.
About three o'clock the children found some empty spools and went to the
corner of the orchard, and sat down in the cool shade of the lilac bush.
Soon they were blowing many-colored bubbles and flying them in the air.
Tabby, Grandma's pretty Maltese cat, lay curled up in the shade. One of
Don's bubbles lit on her back, and then burst. By and by another lit on
her nose, and burst immediately. The old cat jumped to her feet and began
to sneeze. Then she sat down and washed her face with her paw, as if to
say, "Thank you, I'd rather wash my face without any soap."
That evening, as they sat on the porch, Joyce said a little sadly, "It
will not be long now before we shall hear the noisy street cars again,
instead of the katydids and whippoorwills. Only one more night after
this, and we shall be home."
"Yes," added Don--"only two more stories about the bees." He clambered
up on to the arm of Grandma's rocking chair, while Joyce sat down at her
feet.
"We're ready for our story, Grandma," said Don.
"All right," answered Grandma. "I shall tell you this time about a little
bee called Bee Content. Its buzz is often heard among children at play,
when things happen that no one can help. Some will not listen to it, and
so they complain and make everyone about them miserable.
"Willie was a poor boy who lived on a farm. Although he had to work hard,
helping his father, he always went about whistling or singing. His clothes
were old and patched; and he did not have things to play with, as other
boys have. But he did not mind being poor, because he had parents who
loved him dearly.
"One day when Willie was working in the field, he looked up and saw a
great cloud of dust. A team was running away. The horses were hitched
to a buggy; and as they came rushing toward him, the thought flashed
into Willie's mind that he must try his best to stop them. A short
distance down the road, there was a bridge. If the horses should run
into the railing,' he thought, 'they would tear the buggy to pieces, and
perhaps hurt themselves.'
"The boy leaped over the fence, and braced himself; and as the horses
came near, he grabbed one by the bridle and held on tightly. This was a
very brave thing to do; for if he had missed catching hold, he might
have been thrown under the horses' hoofs and trampled to death. His
weight swinging on the horse's bridle soon stopped the team.
"Soon a man came running along the highway; and when he learned what
Willie had done, he said, 'You are a brave boy. What do I owe you for
your trouble?'
"Willie smiled his friendly smile as he answered, 'I did not stop the
horses for pay, sir. I thought of the railing on the bridge; and I was
afraid the horses would break the buggy, and hurt themselves.'
"Noticing that Willie's clothes were badly worn, the gentleman said,
'Will you not let me give you some money to buy clothes?'
"'I have a better pair of shoes than these--and a better suit of clothes,
for Sundays,' answered Willie. 'And these clothes are all right to work
in.'
"'But you will need some new books for school this fall,' said the
gentleman.
"'I have some books that were given to me,' replied the lad; 'and Mother
glued in the loose leaves, so that I can use them very well, thank you.'
"'Wouldn't you like to have a ball and bat?'
"'I made a ball from some old wool that Mother gave me,' answered Willie;
'and I whittled out a bat which answers the purpose very well.'
"The gentleman laid his hand on Willie's shoulder, saying kindly, 'My
boy, I understand now why you have that smile; for you have learned a
secret which few people know--the secret of contentment. I shall have
to call you The Contented Boy.' And with that, he drove away.
"A few days later, a large box came to the village, addressed to Willie.
The express agent sent word out to the farm, and Willie's father drove
in to the village to get it.
"When Willie opened the box, he found a large card lying on top on which
were written the words: _To the Contented Boy, From a Grateful Friend
and Debtor_. He knew then that the box had come from the man whose team
he had stopped a few days before.
"It contained a new suit of clothes, some shirts, overalls, stockings,
a warm cap and mittens, and a new baseball and bat. When he lifted out
the overcoat he felt in the pockets and discovered a five-dollar bill.
"How pleased Willie was! As he went back to his work in the field, he
whistled more cheerily than before.
"But that was not all. At Christmas time, a wonderful bicycle came from
his new friend. You will believe me when I tell you that he was the
happiest boy in the country."
"That's the best story you have told us yet," said Don. "I think Willie
was a brave boy."
"And he deserved everything he got," added Grandma; "for he had learned
the secret of being content with a very little."
Bee Prayerful
[Illustration: Bee Prayerful]
Another morning came; the morning of the last day Joyce and Don were to
spend on the farm. They followed Grandma about the house, eager to do
something to help. After the usual work was done, and they had taken
turns at the churning, Grandma said she would make cookies to pack in
their lunch-basket the next day.
So she gathered together eggs, sugar, flour, milk, butter, baking powder,
and spices. Quickly she made the dough and rolled it out on the board.
The children stood close to her watching as she cut out the dough in
different shapes.
She made quite an army of cookie men; and after they were baked, she
covered them with icing. She made their eyes out of cinnamon drops; also
the buttons down their vests.
"Aren't they lovely?" cried Joyce. "Put plenty of them in our lunch-basket
tomorrow, won't you, Grandma? Then we can take some home to Mother
and Daddy."
"Yes," said Grandma, "and there will be enough for your little friends,
too."
In the afternoon the children's trunk was brought out, and Grandma helped
them to pack. There were so many things they wanted to take home with
them, that this was quite a task. At the last moment, just as Grandma
was ready to close the trunk,
Don ran and got the kite that Grandpa had made. "Maybe Daddy will know
how to make it fly," he said. But there was no room for it in the trunk,
so he had to take it back to the woodshed.
"I can put it away in a safe place," he said. "It will be waiting for
us when we come back next summer."
That evening the children did all they could to help Grandpa with the
chores. They gathered the eggs, pumped water, filled the wood-box, and
did many other things.
"You are certainly fine little helpers," said Grandpa when they had
finished.
"When you get home," added Grandma with a smile, "you must tell Mother
and Daddy that we need you to help us on the farm."
"We will," promised the children with beaming faces.