Once upon a time, Frederick, King of Prussia, surnamed "Old Fritz," took
a ride, and saw an old laborer plowing his land by the wayside cheerily
singing his song.
"You must be well off, old man," said the king. "Does this land on which
you are working so hard belong to you?"
"No, sir," replied the laborer, who knew not that it was the king; "I am
not so rich as that; I plow for wages."
"How much do you get a day?" asked the king.
"Two dollars," said the laborer.
"That is not much," replied the king; "can you get along with that?"
"Yes; and have something left."
"How is that?"
The laborer smiled, and said, "Well, if I must tell you, fifty cents are
for myself and wife; with fifty I pay my old debts, fifty I lend, and
fifty I give away for the Lord's sake."
"That is a mystery which I cannot solve," replied the king.
"Then I will solve it for you," said the laborer. "I have two old
parents at home, who kept me when I was weak and needed help; and now,
that they are weak and need help, I keep them. This is my debt, towards
which I pay fifty cents a day. The third fifty cents, which I lend, I
spend for my children, that they may receive Christian instruction. This
will come handy to me and my wife when we get old. With the last fifty I
maintain two sick sisters. This I give for the Lord's sake."
The king, well pleased with his answer, said, "Bravely spoken, old man.
Now I will also give you something to guess. Have you ever seen me
before?"
"Never," said the laborer.
"In less than five minutes you shall see me fifty times, and carry in
your pocket fifty of my likenesses."
"That is a riddle which I cannot unravel," said the laborer.
"Then I will do it for you," replied the king. Thrusting his hand into
his pocket, and counting fifty brand-new gold pieces into his hand,
stamped with his royal likeness, he said to the astonished laborer, who
knew not what was coming, "The coin is good, for it also comes from our
Lord God, and I am his paymaster. I bid you good-day."
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Memory Gems:
The working men, whatever their task,
Who carve the stone, or bear the hod,
They wear upon their honest brows
The royal stamp and seal of God;
And worthier are their drops of sweat
Than diamonds in a coronet.
Give fools their gold, and knaves their power;
Let fortune's bubbles rise and fall;
Who sows a field, or trains a flower,
Or plants a tree, is more than all.
_Whittier_.
[Illustration: LABOR _Millet_.]
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