children had crept in, and they were sitting in the branches of the
trees. In every tree that he could see there was a little child. And
the trees were so glad to have the children back again that they had
covered themselves with blossoms, and were waving their arms gently
above the children’s heads. The birds were flying about and twittering
with delight, and the flowers were looking up through the green grass
and laughing. It was a lovely scene, only in one corner it was still
winter. It was the farthest corner of the garden, and in it was standing
a little boy. He was so small that he could not reach up to the branches
of the tree, and he was wandering all round it, crying bitterly. The poor
tree was still quite covered with frost and snow, and the North Wind was
blowing and roaring above it. “Climb up! little boy,” said the Tree, and
it bent its branches down as low as it could; but the boy was too tiny.
And the Giant’s heart melted as he looked out. “How selfish I have been!”
he said; “now I know why the Spring would not come here. I will put
that poor little boy on the top of the tree, and then I will knock down
the wall, and my garden shall be the children’s playground for ever and
ever.” He was really very sorry for what he had done.
So he crept down-stairs and opened the front door quite softly, and
went out into the garden. But when the children saw him they were so
frightened that they all ran away, and the garden became winter again.
Only the little boy did not run, for his eyes were so full of tears that
he did not see the Giant coming. And the Giant strode up behind him and
took him gently in his hand, and put him up into the tree. And the tree
broke at once into blossom, and the birds came and sang on it, and the
little boy stretched out his two arms and flung them round the Giant’s
neck, and kissed him. And the other children, when they saw that the
Giant was not wicked any longer, came running back, and with them came
the Spring. “It is your garden now, little children,” said the Giant, and
he took a great axe and knocked down the wall. And when the people were
going to market at twelve o’clock they found the Giant playing with the
children in the most beautiful garden they had ever seen.
All day long they played, and in the evening they came to the Giant to
bid him good-bye.
“But where is your little companion?” he said; “the boy I put into the
tree.” The Giant loved him the best because he had kissed him.
“We don’t know,” answered the children. “He has gone away.”
“You must tell him to be sure and come here to-morrow,” said the Giant.
But the children said that they did not know where he lived, and had
never seen him before; and the Giant felt very sad.
Every afternoon, when school was over, the children came and played with
the Giant. But the little boy whom the Giant loved was never seen again.
The Giant was very kind to all the children, yet he longed for his first
little friend, and often spoke of him. “How I would like to see him!” he
used to say.
Years went over, and the Giant grew very old and feeble. He could not
play about any more, so he sat in a huge armchair, and watched the
children at their games, and admired his garden. “I have many beautiful
flowers,” he said; “but the children are the most beautiful flowers of
all.”
One winter morning he looked out of his window as he was dressing. He did
not hate the Winter now, for he knew that it was merely Spring asleep,
and that the flowers were resting.
Suddenly he rubbed his eyes in wonder, and looked and looked. It
certainly was a marvellous sight. In the farthest corner of the garden
was a tree quite covered with lovely white blossoms. Its branches were
all golden, and silver fruit hung down from them, and underneath it stood
the little boy he had loved.
Down-stairs ran the Giant in great joy, and out into the garden. He
hastened across, and came near to the child. And when he came quite
close his face grew red with anger, and he said, “Who hath dared to wound
thee?” For on the palms of the child’s hands were the prints of two
nails, and the prints of two nails were on the little feet.
“Who hath dared to wound thee?” cried the Giant; “tell me, that I may
take my big sword and slay him.”
“Nay!” answered the child; “but these are the wounds of Love.”
“Who art thou?” said the Giant, and a strange awe fell on him, and he
knelt before the little child.
And the child smiled on the Giant, and said to him, “You let me play once
in your garden; to-day you shall come with me to my garden, which is
Paradise.”
THE PROMISED PLANT
ANDREA HOFER PROUDFOOT
There was once a promise made to all the people of the world, and every
one was waiting and had been waiting long for it to be kept.
No one could remember who had made the promise, but the little children
were told that it was made by a great King who knew everything that had
ever happened, and all things that would ever be.
And this was the promise:
A wonderful flower was to grow in a certain garden that would bring to
the one who owned the garden all the good things in the world.
Every one waited and waited for the flower to come. Years and years they
had waited—summer after summer; each new little boy and girl that came
into the world was told of the great promise, and among the very first
things they did was to go about seeking the flower and asking questions
about it.
But no one could tell them anything except to repeat the promise that
a beautiful gift-plant would some day grow upon the earth, which only
people with loving hearts could see, and they should be greatly blessed.
Every one in the whole world went about looking for this flower; even
though they did a great deal of work, and thought of other things, yet
they never quite forgot the wonderful promise.
Many of them prepared the soil and made beautiful gardens to receive it.
Some sought far and wide for rare seeds and bulbs which they planted and
watered, but only such plants grew as every one had seen before, and so
they still waited and searched.
Many others wished and wished, and some prayed and prayed, but the
precious seed did not come.
The rich men of the land had great parks laid out; the ground was tilled
and everything kept ready for the plant to find root. Many gardeners and
watchers were hired to stay there and watch for this wondrous flower and
guard it—but it did not come.
Yet no one ever doubted the promise, for every one wished very much to
have all the good things which were to come with this flower.
Among all these people there was one very kind woman, who did many good
deeds. She loved and cared for little children who had no one to help
them. One night when she came home from her work what did she see in a
little broken flower-pot that stood in her window?
A tiny plant which she had never noticed before! She watered it and it
grew and grew, and she learned to love it.
One day while she was looking at the tiny plant she remembered the
promise, and said quietly to herself: “Can it be that this is the
beautiful flower the whole world is waiting for! I think it is, for it
has made me so happy.”
And it was the flower.
She knew the promise had come because it made her so happy.
Every one, far and near, came to see it; and they begged pieces and seeds
to plant. And though the good woman gave of her plant, it grew larger
and larger, and she became happier and happier.
One day it blossomed wide and beautiful.
The rich men who had made great parks and gardens for the flower would
not believe the woman had received the real promised plant. They shook
their heads and laughed at it all, and went on seeking after other seeds
and plants.
But the people who believed because they saw how happy it made the woman
to whom the flower came, brought rich gifts to her and begged for the
seed, and they took it home and planted it everywhere, that the whole
world might be filled with joy and peace.
BRIER ROSE
KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN AND NORA ARCHIBALD SMITH
A long time ago there lived a king and a queen, who said every day, “If
only we had a child”; but for a long time they had none.
It fell out once, as the Queen was bathing, that a frog crept out of the
water on to the land and said to her: “Your wish shall be fulfilled;
before a year has passed you shall bring a daughter into the world.”
The frog’s words came true. The Queen had a little girl who was
so beautiful that the King could not contain himself for joy, and
prepared a great feast. He invited not only his relations, friends and
acquaintances, but the fairies, in order that they might be favourably
and kindly disposed toward the child. There were thirteen of them in the
kingdom, but as the King had only twelve golden plates for them to eat
off, one of the fairies had to stay at home.
The feast was held with all splendour, and when it came to an end the
fairies all presented the child with magic gifts. One gave her virtue,
another beauty, a third riches, and so on, with everything in the world
that she could wish for.
When eleven of the fairies had said their say, the thirteenth suddenly
appeared. She wanted to revenge herself for not having been invited.
Without greeting any one, or even glancing at the company, she called out
in a loud voice, “The Princess shall prick herself with a distaff in her
fifteenth year and shall fall dead”; and without another word she turned
and left the hall.
Every one was terror-stricken, but the twelfth fairy, whose wish was
still unspoken, stepped forward. She could not cancel the curse, but
could only soften it, so she said: “It shall not be death, but a deep
sleep lasting a hundred years, into which your daughter shall fall.”
The King was so anxious to guard his dear child from the misfortune that
he sent out a command that all the distaffs in the whole kingdom should
be burned.
All the promises of the fairies came true.
The Princess grew up so beautiful, modest, kind, and clever that every
one who saw her could not but love her. Now it happened that on the very
day when she was fifteen years old the King and Queen were away from
home, and the Princess was left alone in the castle. She wandered about
over the whole place, looking at rooms and halls as she pleased, and at
last she came to an old tower. She ascended a narrow winding staircase
and reached a little door. A rusty key was sticking in the lock, and when
she turned it the door flew open. In a little room sat an old woman with
a spindle busily spinning her flax.
“Good day, Granny,” said the Princess; “what are you doing?”
“I am spinning,” said the old woman, and nodded her head. “What is the
thing that whirls round so merrily?” asked the Princess; and she took the
spindle and tried to spin too.
But she had scarcely touched it before the curse was fulfilled, and she
pricked her finger with the spindle. The instant she felt the prick she
fell upon the bed which was standing near, and lay still in a deep sleep
which spread over the whole castle.
The King and Queen, who had just come home and had stepped into the hall,
went to sleep, and all their courtiers with them. The horses went to
sleep in the stable, the dogs in the yard, the doves on the roof, the
flies on the wall; yes, even the fire flickering on the hearth grew still
and went to sleep, and the roast meat stopped crackling; and the cook,
who was pulling the scullion’s hair because he had made some mistake, let
him go and went to sleep. And the wind dropped, and on the trees in front
of the castle not a leaf stirred.
But round the castle a hedge of brier roses began to grow up; every year
it grew higher, till at last it surrounded the whole castle so that
nothing could be seen of it, not even the flags on the roof.
But there was a legend in the land about the lovely sleeping Brier Rose,
as the King’s daughter was called, and from time to time princes came
and tried to force a way through the hedge into the castle. But they
found it impossible, for the thorns, as though they had hands, held them
fast, and the princes remained caught in them without being able to free
themselves.
After many, many years a prince came again to the country and heard an
old man tell of the castle which stood behind the brier hedge, in which
a most beautiful maiden called Brier Rose had been asleep for the last
hundred years, and with her slept the King, Queen, and all her courtiers.
He knew also, from his grandfather, that many princes had already come
and sought to pierce through the brier hedge, and had remained caught in
it and died a sad death.
Then the young Prince said: “I am not afraid; I am determined to go and
look upon the lovely Brier Rose.”
The good old man did all in his power to dissuade him, but the Prince
would not listen to his words.
Now, however, the hundred years were just ended, and the day had come
when Brier Rose was to wake up again. When the Prince approached the
brier hedge it was in blossom, and was covered with beautiful large
flowers which made way for him of their own accord and let him pass
unharmed, and then closed up again into a hedge behind him.
In the courtyard he saw the horses and dappled hounds lying asleep, on
the roof sat the doves with their heads under their wings, and when he
went into the house the flies were asleep on the walls, and near the
throne lay the King and Queen; in the kitchen was the cook, with his hand
raised as though about to strike the scullion, and the maid sat with the
black fowl before her which she was about to pluck.
He went on farther, and all was so still that he could hear his own
breathing. At last he reached the tower, and opened the door into the
little room where Brier Rose was asleep. There she lay, looking so
beautiful that he could not take his eyes off her; he bent down and gave
her a kiss. As he touched her, Brier Rose opened her eyes and looked
quite sweetly at him. Then they went down together; and the King and
Queen and all the courtiers woke up, and looked at each other with
astonished eyes. The horses in the stable stood up and shook themselves,
the hounds leaped about and wagged their tails, the doves on the roof
lifted their heads from under their wings, looked around and flew into
the fields; the flies on the walls began to crawl again, the fire in
the kitchen roused itself and blazed up and cooked the food, the meat
began to crackle, and the cook boxed the scullion’s ears so soundly that
he screamed aloud, while the maid finished plucking the fowl. Then the
wedding of the Prince and Brier Rose was celebrated with all splendour,
and they lived happily till they died.
PICCIOLA
ADAPTED FROM ST. SAINTINE
Many years ago a good man, who lived in France, was thrown into prison
because the King suspected him of having plotted against the government.
Within four grey stone walls, with only one small window through which
the little stream of sunshine came, the poor man was kept captive for
months and years. He was not allowed to speak to a living soul except
his jailer who at best was but a cross old fellow. He had no work to do.
There were no books to read, and his only source of amusement during many
long tedious hours was drawing pictures with a bit of charcoal on the
bare stone walls of his prison cell.
Fortunately, however, the poor captive was permitted to leave his cell
for one hour each morning and go up a narrow winding stairway which led
him into a small courtyard on all sides of which rose high, strong
prison walls. There was no roof overhead. Here the prisoner could breathe
the fresh air and feel the warm sun and by looking up he could see a bit
of the blue sky above.
Day after day the prison life went on in the same round without any
change or hope of change. The bitterness and loneliness of the poor
man’s lot grew upon him as months and years passed without a word from
his family or friends and without hope of ever seeing one of them again.
And by and by a time came when he could no longer even find amusement in
sketching upon the walls of his cell, for not one vacant spot was left
in all that space where he could draw a picture. He was a very unhappy
man indeed, and it is hard to say how it might have ended. But one day a
new interest came into his life—an interest which changed the poor fellow
from an unhappy bitter man who had come to hate everybody and everything,
into one who forgot all wrong and who learned to see only the good and
the beautiful in all around him. And this interest came about through the
growing up of a tiny stray seed which had been blown into the courtyard
by the wind and had taken root between two of the great stones with which
the courtyard was paved.
It happened that one day as the prisoner was taking his daily walk his
eyes caught sight of the bright green of the little seedling just in time
to save it from being crushed beneath his foot. He stopped and looked
closer. Then he saw how a little plant had sent down its rootlets into
the crevice between the stones and had struggled to push its head up
where its green leaves might catch what they could of the scant sunshine.
He thought how wonderful it was that the little seed had found courage
to take root and struggle for life in the dark and gloomy courtyard of
the prison. “Brave little plant,” he said. “You deserve to live. I shall
watch over you and guard you, for the wind and the hail are hard enemies.”
Day by day he noticed how bravely it grew higher and higher and unfolded
one leaf after another to the dull sunshine. He became more and more
interested in the little nursling which in time was like a dear friend
and companion to him. He called it Picciola, which means, “little one,”
and before many days had passed, it had taken root and grown in his own
heart so that there was no longer room for bitterness or memory of any
wrongs.
At one time when a great hailstorm sent its cruel hail into the
courtyard, the prisoner bent over Picciola to protect it and the driving
hailstones fell upon his own head until the storm was over.
“My poor little Picciola,” he said, “I shall not always be here to guard
you from harm. Much can happen to my little plant when I am in my cell. I
will build a little fence around you, then the wind cannot blow you down
nor the hail cut you with sharp stones.”
The cross jailer, too, took an interest in Picciola when he saw how happy
the prisoner had become and he was glad to help take care of the little
plant. Somehow, the jailer did not seem to be such a cross fellow as
before; indeed he seemed to be quite a gentle and kind hearted man.
Now the prisoner was very happy and the days were no longer weary and
without interest for Picciola was always waiting for him in the courtyard
and he was sure to see something new about the little plant each morning
he visited it. And Picciola grew and grew and in time put forth two
beautiful blossoms and sent perfume to make glad the heart of her friend.
But one morning alas! when the prisoner went to look at Picciola he
found that, in spite of all his care, she had begun to droop and wither.
What could be the matter? In a moment he was on the ground examining
the little plant to find out what was causing all the trouble. He soon
discovered that Picciola had grown so large that there was no longer room
enough for it to grow in the crevice between the stones. The sharp edges
of the stones cut into the delicate stem and the poor prisoner could see
that his little companion would die unless the stones could be lifted.
He was in great distress. He tried with all the strength he had to lift
the stones himself; but he could not move them. He begged the jailer to
help him.
“I can do nothing for you,” said the jailer. “You must ask the King; he
alone has the power to say that the stones should be lifted.”
“But the King is far away,” said the prisoner. “There is but one way to
reach him—I must write.”
The poor fellow in despair sent a letter to the King begging him to save
the life of his little friend, Picciola. The letter was written on a
white handkerchief with a bit of charcoal. He begged the King, not for
his own freedom and life, but for the life of Picciola. As soon as the
King finished reading the prisoner’s letter he said:
“This man is not really wicked at heart or he could not care so much
for a little plant. The stones shall be raised that the little plant
may live, and I will pardon this prisoner because of his great love and
sacrifice for so helpless a thing as Picciola.” So the prisoner was
released and when he left his lonely prison cell he took Picciola with
him, for she had been the beginning for him of a new happiness.
ST. FRANCIS, THE LITTLE BEDESMAN OF CHRIST[3]
WILLIAM CANTON
To all living things on earth and air and water St. Francis was most
gracious and loving. They were all his little brothers and sisters, and
he forgot them not, still less scorned or slighted them, but spoke to
them often and blessed them, and in return they showed him great love
and sought to be of his fellowship. He bade his companions keep plots
of ground for their little sisters the flowers, and to these lovely and
speechless creatures he spoke, with no great fear that they would not
understand his words. And all this was a marvellous thing in a cruel
time, when human life was accounted of slight worth by fierce barons and
ruffling marauders.
For the bees he set honey and wine in the winter, lest they should feel
the nip of the cold too keenly; and bread for the birds, that they all,
but especially “my brother Lark,” should have joy of Christmastide; and
when a youth gave St. Francis the turtle-doves he had snared, the Saint
had nests made for them, and there they laid their eggs and hatched them,
and fed from the hands of the brethren.
Out of affection a fisherman once gave him a great tench, but he put it
back into the clear water of the lake, bidding it love God; and the fish
played about the boat till St. Francis blessed it and bade it go.
“Why dost thou torment my little brothers the Lambs,” he asked of a
shepherd, “carrying them bound thus and hanging from a staff, so that
they cry piteously?” And in exchange for the lambs he gave the shepherd
his cloak. And at another time seeing amid a flock of goats one white
lamb feeding, he was concerned that he had nothing but his brown robe to
offer for it; but a merchant came up and paid for it and gave it him, and
he took it with him to the city and preached about it so that the hearts
of those hearing him were melted.
Fain would I tell of the coneys that took refuge in the folds of his
habit, and of the swifts which flew screaming in their glee while he was
preaching; but now it is time to speak of the sermon which he preached
to a great multitude of birds in a field by the roadside. Down from the
trees flew the birds to hear him, and they nestled in the grassy bosom
of the field, and listened till he had done. And these were the words he
spoke to them:
“Little birds, little sisters mine, much are you holden to God your
Creator; and at all times and in every place you ought to praise Him.
Freedom He has given you to fly everywhere; and raiment He has given you,
double and threefold. More than this, He preserved your kind in the Ark,
so that your race might not come to an end. Still more do you owe Him for
the element of air, which He has made your portion. Over and above, you
sow not, neither do you reap; but God feeds you, and gives you streams
and springs for your thirst; the mountains He gives you, and the valleys
for your refuge, and the tall trees wherein to build your nests. And
because you cannot sew or spin God takes thought to clothe you, you and
your little ones. It must be, then, that your Creator loves you much,
since He has granted you so many benefits. Be on your guard then against
the sin of ingratitude, and strive always to give God praise.”
And when the Saint ceased speaking, the birds made such signs as they
might, by spreading their wings and opening their beaks, to show their
love and pleasure; and when he had blessed them, they sprang up, and
singing songs of unspeakable sweetness, away they streamed in a great
cross to the four quarters of heaven.
PROSERPINA AND KING PLUTO
Little Proserpina and Mother Ceres lived in the beautiful valley of Enna
where the warm sun shone all the year round. Mother Ceres had plenty
of work to do. Each day she made a journey to the meadows, orchards,
and fields all over the earth. Indeed it was through her watchful care
that the grass grew, and flowers bloomed, that the fruit ripened, and
the precious crops of barley, wheat, and rye brought forth a bountiful
harvest.
One day at dawn a shining car and a pair of restless winged dragons
stood waiting to take Mother Ceres on her daily journey. The dragons
were impatient to start, for they knew how much work had to be done each
day. Very soon Ceres glided forth and mounted her splendid car. She was
clothed in flowing robes of the softest grey and on her head she wore a
crown of scarlet poppies and golden wheat.