dew falls. Do not venture out of the valley to-day. Farewell!” Off sped
the winged dragons with Mother Ceres. Little Proserpina did not mind
being left in the valley for she found a good deal of amusement there.
Her friends the naiads—beautiful water nymphs—sported about in the cool
fountains. Proserpina loved to spend a quiet hour with these gentle
maidens. She often played a merry game with Echo, a nymph who lived on a
far-off wooded hillside; sometimes she danced in the sunshine with her
little playmates.
Mother Ceres’ shining car soon disappeared and little Proserpina ran to
some of her companions and said, “Come, come! I hear Pan, the shepherd
boy, playing the sweetest music on his reed-pipes! Let us dance in the
sunshine! Come!”
In her gayest mood she led the dance to the very edge of a deep wood
which bordered the valley. Then the train of little maidens stopped
suddenly and listened. Peals of boisterous laughter broke the silence. In
the depths of the forest the queerest youths were rollicking about. They
had snub noses, hairy ears, and tiny sprouting horns; their hips were
covered with shaggy hair and their feet were exactly like a goat’s.
“Hush,” whispered Proserpina, “the madcap satyrs are dancing too. Let us
hasten away.”
“We will gather flowers and make garlands,” said one of the maidens.
They slipped quietly away from the noisy wood and ran about in all
directions to search for fragrant blossoms,—lilies and violets, hyacinth
bells and pinks. The little maidens soon filled their arms with flowers
and sat down on a mossy bank to weave garlands.
In her eagerness to find the loveliest blossoms Proserpina had sauntered
off a long way from her companions. She could hear the faint echo of
their merry voices in the distance.
“Oh, I have wandered out of the valley,” she thought. “I must hasten back
with these lovely flowers. What beauties I have found!”
She turned to run toward the bank where her companions were sitting, when
she heard a queer rumbling noise. What could it be! It sounded exactly
like distant thunder, yet there was not a cloud in the blue sky overhead.
There was another rumbling. Was it coming nearer? The earth beneath her
feet quivered! Then in breathless fear she saw a great crack in the
field! She was too frightened to move or speak. The flowers she had
gathered dropped from her trembling hands. Out of the great cavity which
seemed to widen every moment Proserpina saw dashing toward her four jet
black horses with flashing eyes and quivering nostrils. At their heels
whirled a wonderful golden chariot with jewelled wheels. Standing in this
splendid car was a dark-browed man whose iron-crown was studded with
precious stones of many colours. In one hand he lightly held the reins
and guided the fiery steeds; in the other, he held a two-pronged fork.
“King Pluto!” gasped Proserpina. In a twinkling the King of the
Underworld leaped from his chariot, seized Proserpina in his arms,
mounted his chariot again and sped away over the hills.
Proserpina’s low cry of “Help! help! Mother! Mother Ceres!” was too faint
to reach the ears of the merry companions who were very busy with their
flowers.
“What has become of Proserpina?” cried one of them when she had finished
her garland.
They looked in the direction where but a moment ago Proserpina was
gathering flowers, but they could not see her.
“I wonder where she has gone,” said another. “Surely she has not wandered
out of the valley!”
“Proserpina! Proserpina!” called the little companions becoming alarmed.
But no answer could come from the captured maiden who was whirling along
beyond the distant hills. In vain did the dark-browed King try to calm
his captive by declaring that no harm should come to her. In vain did he
promise that she should share his throne and his riches.
“I want to go home to Mother Ceres,” sobbed Proserpina.
But King Pluto was deaf to her pleading; he urged his horses to go faster
and faster until finally they came to the River Cyane whose waters began
to seethe and foam in a very threatening manner. Little Proserpina knew
the waters of this river were angry because she was made a captive.
Quickly she loosened her girdle and flung it into the raging flood. Now
King Pluto was afraid to risk his fiery steeds in the angry stream, so
he determined to plunge at once into the depths of his kingdom. With his
two-pronged fork he struck a mighty blow on the earth. Instantly a great
crevice opened and gave him passage to the Underworld.
Phœbus Apollo had almost finished his day’s journey and was driving his
beautiful sun-car down the steep slope of the western sky. Mother Ceres’
winged dragons were hastening to the valley of Enna. Proserpina always
bounded forth with a cry of welcome, so when Mother Ceres missed her
little daughter’s joyous words she called, “Proserpina! Proserpina!”
There was no answer. What could be the matter! Mother Ceres’ heart beat
fast! She sought the little maidens of the valley who were her daughter’s
playmates and listened in trembling fear to the story they told about
Proserpina’s sudden disappearance. Ceres lighted a torch and continued
her search all night. At dawn the distracted mother was in despair, for
she could find no trace of her lost child. She questioned the Naiads, the
Nymphs, Pan, the shepherd boy, and Echo, but not one of them could give
her tidings of Proserpina. For a long time the poor mother continued her
wanderings from dawn until eventide all the world over.
One day she happened to wander near the River Cyane and there floating
near the water’s edge she saw Proserpina’s girdle. Eagerly she grasped
it in her hands and stood in breathless silence. A low murmuring sound
reached her ears. Did it come from a nearby fountain? Ceres listened very
carefully. “Proserpina! King Pluto!” whispered a voice from the cool
depths of the clear water. In a moment Mother Ceres knew the truth about
her little daughter’s disappearance. She had been captured by the King
of the Underworld! Ceres could take no comfort in this knowledge for she
knew King Pluto would do all in his power to keep his captive. In despair
the poor mother withdrew to a dark cave to nurse her grief.
“Until Proserpina is returned to me no vegetation shall grow on the
earth,” vowed Mother Ceres.
The gentle rain no longer refreshed the grass and drooping flowers; the
withered leaves dropped from the trees; the fruit became parched and dry,
and the precious grain failed to ripen! Alas! Famine spread throughout
the land!
“Mother Ceres,” cried the people, “we implore you to give us your aid.
Bring back the flowers and the fruit, and the grain. We shall starve
without your help.”
“Not until my child is returned to me,” answered Ceres.
Finally Jupiter’s heart was touched by the distress of the people. He
sent for Mother Ceres and said, “If your daughter Proserpina has refused
to eat any of King Pluto’s pomegranate seeds during her stay in the
underworld she shall return to the earth and never again disappear. My
swift-footed messenger Mercury shall go at once to Pluto’s palace and
state my will in this matter.”
Mercury put on his wonderful cap and winged sandals and sped away to
deliver Jupiter’s message. At first King Pluto was angry when he heard
that his merry little companion was to be taken from him, but of course
he could not disregard Jupiter’s command, so Proserpina was led back into
the sunlight.
How happy Mother Ceres was! She could not keep back tears of joy.
“Now the fields shall be covered with verdure; the soft showers shall
fall and earth shall bring forth a bountiful harvest!” she declared.
“Proserpina, my child, you shall never again leave me. King Pluto cannot
demand your return unless you have eaten some of his pomegranate seeds.”
Then little Proserpina looked up into her mother’s face and said, “Mother
dear, I must tell you the truth. A little while before Mercury came with
his message I ate six of King Pluto’s pomegranate seeds. I was very, very
hungry, mother.”
“Alas! Alas!” cried Ceres, feeling alarmed again. She hastened to Jupiter
and asked him what could be done. Jupiter looked very serious, and
finally decreed that for each pomegranate seed which Proserpina had eaten
she should spend one month of each year in King Pluto’s Kingdom.
“Six months of each year my child must spend in that dark underworld! It
is dreadful!” declared Ceres.
“Do not grieve, mother,” said Proserpina cheerily. “At first the
dark-browed King frightened me very much but I soon found that he is kind
and gracious. Let us be happy because I am to spend six months of each
year here with you. During my stay with King Pluto you shall take a long
rest from your hard work in the fields.”
So it happened that Proserpina spent half of each year in the dark
underworld. But every springtime when the warm sun gladdened the earth,
Mercury was sent to bring Proserpina back to Mother Ceres. And at the
coming of the joyous little maiden the grass leaped forth in the brown
fields, flowers gay brightened the meadows and from the tops of the
budding trees the birds carolled songs of welcome.
THE WONDER—A PARABLE
FRIEDRICH ADOLPH KRUMMACHER
One day in the springtime, a youth was sitting under the palm trees in
the garden of his father, the King. He was deep in thought. There came to
him Nathan, the Prophet, saying, “Prince, why musest thou so earnestly
under the palm trees?”
The Prince lifted his head and answered, “Nathan, I would see a wonder.”
The Prophet smiled and answered: “The same wish had I also in the days of
my youth.”
“And was it fulfilled?” asked the King’s son, hastily.
“A Man of God came to me,” said Nathan, “having a pomegranate seed in
his hand. Behold,’ he said, ‘what will come from this seed.’ Then with
his finger he made a hole in the earth, planted the seed and covered it.
When he withdrew his hands the clods parted one from another and I saw
two small leaves coming forth. But scarcely had I beheld them, when they
joined together and became a round stem wrapped in bark, and the stem
increased before my eyes and grew higher and thicker. Then the Man of
God said to me, ‘Give heed!’ And as I looked, I saw many branches spread
forth from the stem like great arms. I marvelled but the Man of God
motioned me to keep silence. ‘Give heed,’ he said, ‘new creations begin.’
“Then he took water in the hollow of his hand from the rivulet by the
wayside, and sprinkled the branches three times, and, lo, the branches
were covered with green leaves, so that a cool shade spread over us and
sweet odours filled the air.
“‘From whence comes this perfume and this reviving shade?’ cried I.
“‘Dost thou not see,’ said the Man of God, ‘these crimson flowers
bursting from among the green leaves and hanging in clusters?’ I was
about to speak but a gentle breeze moved the leaves, scattering the
flowers among us, as when snow descendeth from the clouds. Scarcely had
the falling flowers reached the ground when I saw the ruddy pomegranates
hanging between the leaves like the almonds on Aaron’s rod. Then the Man
of God left me lost in wonder.”
“What is the name of this Man of God? Is he yet alive?”
“Son of David,” answered the Prophet, “I have spoken to thee of a vision.”
When the Prince heard these words he was grieved in his heart.
“How couldst thou deceive me thus?” he asked.
But the Prophet replied, “I have not deceived thee. Behold in thy
father’s garden thou mayest see in reality what I have told thee. Dost
not this same wonder happen to the pomegranate trees and all the other
trees in the garden?”
“Yes,” answered the Prince, “but you cannot see it, and it comes to pass
through a long time.”
“Is it less wonderful because it cometh to pass in silence and unheeded?
Learn to know nature and her workings, then wilt thou long no more for a
wonder performed by the hand of man.”
NATURE STORIES AND LEGENDS
GREEN THINGS GROWING
Oh, the green things growing, the green things growing,
The faint sweet smell of the green things growing!
I should love to live, whether I smile or grieve,
Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing.
Oh, the fluttering and the pattering of those green things growing,
How they talk to each other, when none of us are knowing.
In the wonderful white by the weird moonlight,
Of the dim dreamy dawn when the cocks are crowing.
I love them so—my green things growing,
And I think they love me without any knowing;
For by many a tender touch, they comfort me so much,
With the soft mute comfort of green things growing.
_Dinah Mulock Craik._
THE STORY OF A LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT[4]
MAY BRYON
Once upon a time there was a little grain of Wheat. It was a tiny brown
thing, quite hard and dry. It looked like somebody who had wrapped
himself up in a cloak and gone to sleep, with his head and feet and all
covered up. That was really what had happened. The grain of Wheat was
fast asleep.
It lay outside a farm-yard gate, and a little black ant came along and
saw it. “Dear me!” said the little black ant, “that will do nicely for
my dinner.” He was carrying it off—which was hard work, because it was
nearly as big as he was—when another little black ant came along.
“I’ll help you to carry that if you’ll give me half,” said the second
ant. “Shan’t!” said the first. Then, I am sorry to say, they fought
about it.
While they were biting and kicking, and the grain of Wheat was rolling
about between them, a third person came along.
The third person was a little Elf-man. He was looking about for winter
lodgings: and he had just found a capital place in a hollow tree at the
edge of a field.
“Shocking! shocking!” said he to the two fighting ants. “Do stop, for
goodness’ sake!” But they did not take the least notice of him.
Then the little Elf-man thought, “If I take that grain of Wheat away,
they won’t have anything left to quarrel about!” And so he did.
* * * * *
The little Elf-man took the grain of Wheat very carefully home to his
hollow tree. But when he arrived, it was all dark, because his tame
glow-worm, that he kept for a candle, had felt lonely and gone out for a
walk. He bumped his head trying to find things in the dark, and dropped
the grain of Wheat; and it rolled out of the tree and down into a tiny
chink of the earth.
The little Elf-man was dreadfully sorry at losing it, and scolded the
glow-worm when it came home. He spent many hours searching for the grain
next morning.
“What are you looking for?” said his friend the Dormouse. The Dormouse
lived in a hole in the hedge-bank.
“For a grain I’ve lost,” said the Elf.
“There’s a Barley grain under that loose sod,” remarked the Dormouse.
“That’s not it, thank you,” said the Elf-man. And he went on hunting; but
he had no success. It was ever so deep down.
A good many days went by, and several things happened,—rain, and wind,
and sunshine, and more rain, and snow, and frost, and rain again.
They all came down to where the little grain lay underground; and its
nice brown cloak did not remain smooth and dry. It became damp and sodden
and dirty. Its appearance was certainly not improved.
Now, if you got all wet and cold while you were asleep, supposing the
wind and rain blew in on you, it would wake you up, most likely. So it
fell out to the little grain of Wheat.
It woke up one day, inside its wet ragged cloak, and thrust out its small
white feet. They were not like your feet, they were more like little
roots—but they did very well for the Wheat. Its legs grew longer, week by
week, and it grew more and more awake every day.
The more it waked, the less it liked being down there in the dark and
cold. It thought, “Really, I can’t stay here all my life! There’s nothing
to look at!”
But whenever it wanted to poke its head up and peep out, the wind made
it shiver and feel miserable. So it stayed where it was, and tried to be
contented. One can always _try_, anyhow.
Meanwhile the little Barley-corn under the loose sod was getting on
rather badly. You see, it had not been tucked cosily into the soil like
the Wheat. It was like a poor little vagrant with no proper place to
sleep in. It grew, but very slowly.
“Hullo! is that you?” said the Dormouse, peeping in one day under the
sod; “are you awake?”
“I don’t think I’ve been properly to sleep,” said the Barley-corn.
“Make haste and grow a little faster, and come out of that,” said the
Dormouse. “I should be rather fond of you if I thought you were taking
trouble to get on.”
“I think if any one were fond of me,” whispered the Barley-corn, “I
_should grow_.”
But the Dormouse was not listening.
* * * * *
At last a sunbeam came along the field—several sunbeams, in fact. They
were quite bright and warm, and the little Elf-man, who had kept close
indoors all the bad weather, opened his door and sat on the threshold
basking. Then the sunbeams burrowed right down into the earth, and said:
“Hurry up! Is anybody here for out-of-doors?”
You could not have heard them; their voices were not like ours. But the
grain of Wheat heard them. At once it threw off the last rags of its
tattered old cloak; and it was as clean and white as possible underneath.
Then it pushed up its little green head, with a two-horned peaked cap on,
and looked out curiously upon the world.
Everything was clear, and warm, and sunny, and perfectly delightful. And
there was the little Elf-man sitting on his threshold, in a _one_-horned
peaky green cap.
“Well, I never!” said the Elf-man. “Who’s this?”
“My name’s Wheat,” said the little green head.
“Then you’ve changed very much, let me tell you,” said the Elf-man; “you
are not a bit like what you were; but ever so much better.”
“I hope I shall go on improving,” said the Wheat politely. And that is
just what it actually did.
But the poor Barley-corn was only beginning to push through under the
loose sod by the time the Wheat was six inches high. It was thin and
stunted, just as you would be if you had no proper food, and nobody to
be fond of you.
The Wheat took no notice of it. But the Dormouse came now and then and
said, “How slow you are!” The little Elf-man was rather sorry for it, but
it did not occur to him to say so.
* * * * *
The little Elf-man came out every day, and talked to the Wheat while it
grew. Very soon it was much bigger than he was; but this did not make him
conceited.
“Did you have nice dreams while you were down below there?” he asked it.
“I only had one dream,” said the Wheat, “but that went on all the time. I
dreamed I was very tall and golden-yellow, and lived along with a crowd
of brothers and sisters.”
“Oh, but you didn’t,” said the Elf-man; “I found you all by yourself. You
were a poor little lonely brown thing.”
“I can’t help it,” said the Wheat: “that was my dream. And I have it now,
sometimes, if I shut my eyes.”
The little Elf-man was greatly puzzled: but the Wheat was now so tall
that he did not like to contradict.
As for the little Barley-corn, nobody took the least interest in _his_
dreams. He had very delightful ones, too. But they were the kind that
never come true.
The summer went on, and all sorts of friends came and talked to the
Wheat—birds, bees, and butterflies. He enjoyed himself more and more. The
taller he grew, the better view he had of the rest of the world.
He had very pretty green clothes, which grew bigger as he did. This was
a really useful arrangement: he never required to be measured for a new
suit.
One day he said to the little Elf-man, “Do your clothes change colour?”
“No,” replied the Elf-man, “I always wear green. Even in the winter I can
find some blades of grass to weave together, or a few leaves to stitch up
into a coat.”
“You don’t understand me,” said the Wheat. “I mean, do they turn to a
different colour while you’re wearing them?”
“Not that I know of,” said the Elf-man.
“Well, mine do,” said the Wheat. “Just look!”
Sure enough, his green clothes were turning yellow, and he was changing
colour all over, too. He was very much altered altogether. It was most
surprising.
“Goodness me!” said the little Elf-man.
“That’s exactly what I think,” said the Wheat.
* * * * *
About a month after this, the Elf-man was getting his breakfast ready,—an
acorn-cup full of dew, and a drop of wild honey,—when he heard a loud,
eager voice calling him. It was the Wheat, very much excited.
“I’ve had that dream several times lately,” said the Wheat, rocking to
and fro, “and now it has come true!”
“How do you mean?” asked the Elf-man.
“Can’t you see?” said the Wheat. “I’ve turned golden-yellow from head to
foot. And I have a whole family of children. They’re not _my_ brothers
and sisters, of course, but they’re each other’s,—so it comes to the
same thing. Dear, dear, how happy I do feel!” And it rocked more than
ever.
“How many are there?” asked the Elf.
“About twenty, I should think,” answered the Wheat, “but I can’t count
them without cricking my neck.”
“Well, well!” said the little Elf. “It’s a large family to look after. It
reminds me of a little rhyme I once heard, about an old woman who lived
in a shoe.”
“The more the merrier,” said the Wheat. “Hush, children! Don’t all talk
at once!” But the little grains would not stop talking all at once; and
although _you_ could not have heard them—their voices were too tinkly and
tiny—it was perfectly deafening to any one who could.
The Elf-man went back into his house and shut the door. Presently he had
to put some cotton-willow-wool in his ears. The Wheat tried to sing its
children to sleep with lullabies; but it did not know any.
“I shall never have a merry family like that, I’m afraid,” said the
Barley-corn to the Dormouse. The Barley-corn had hardly grown two inches
since the spring. In fact, he was so little, you would hardly have known
he was there.
“Never mind,” said the Dormouse. “You have me to talk to you, haven’t
you?”
* * * * *
By and by the Wheat got very tired. Just think, if your mother had more
than twenty children, who never stopped talking all day and all night!
Anyhow, the Wheat could endure it no longer. So it called to the little
Elf-man, and said, “Kindly fetch me the Dormouse. I can see him now, on
the bank at the end of the field. He’s beginning to get sleepy, too, so
please make haste.”
“What do you want me for?” said the Dormouse, when he was fetched. He
and the Elf stood staring up at the tall Wheat. The little grains were
quieter now. They had said nearly all they had to say.
“It’s like this,” said the Wheat in weary tones. “I can’t rock these
children to sleep up here. It’s too light, and too draughty. They must
be put to bed in the earth, as I was. I’m sure it’s the proper place
for them.” As the Wheat spoke, all the little grains fell suddenly fast
asleep.
“Well, I’m not a nurse,” said the Dormouse, rather grumpily, because he
had been disturbed. “And I can’t climb your stalk and fetch them down,
either.”
“You must bite my stalk right through,” said the Wheat, “so that we can
all lie down together.”
“Oh, that will hurt you dreadfully!” cried the little Elf-man.
“Then it will have to hurt, that’s all,” said the Wheat. “It’s the only
thing to do. Be quick!”
The little Elf-man threw his arms round the Wheat’s yellow-stalk, and
wept. But the Dormouse, with his sharp little teeth, bit through the
stalk, just where it came out of the ground. The Wheat gave one great
rock—and one sigh—and SNAP!—down it came. All the little grains tumbled
out of their cradles, and rolled into chinks of the soil.
The tall Wheat, as it lay in the earth, said “Thank you!” in a husky
voice to the Dormouse, and “Good-bye!” to the little Elf-man. The wind
blew it away that night, and nobody ever saw it again.
“Where’s the Barley?” asked the Dormouse next day. But the poor Barley
was quite shrivelled up.
The little Elf-man was sad for nearly a week. But when all the little
grains woke up the following spring, he had a jollier time than ever.
THE LITTLE ACORN
LUCY WHEELOCK
It was a little acorn that hung on the bough of a tree. It had a tender
green cup and a beautifully carved saucer to hold it. The mother oak fed
it with sweet sap every day, the birds sang good-night songs above it,
and the wind rocked it gently to and fro. The oak leaves made a soft
green shade above it, so the sun could not shine too warm on its green
cover, and it was as happy as an acorn could be.
There were many other acorns on the tree, and I am sure the mother often
whispered loving words to all her babies.
The summer days were so bright and pleasant that the acorn never thought
of anything but sunshine and an occasional shower to wash the dust off
the leaves.