As the snows were being guarded on the mountain tops by the gentle
herder Spring two small seeds, dropped from the same busy hand, fell so
near together in a fresh furrow that they could hear each other shiver
as they struck the cold, damp earth and were covered over by the same.
“How cold our bed is,” said seed number One, as a cold chill ran down
her back.
“Yes,” replied seed number Two. “But we will soon get used to this cold,
and when Father Sun sends the sunbeams to play on our top cover we will
get warmth from their little hot feet.”
With this thought seed number Two snuggled down in her new bed of earth
and pulled the tiny clods around her and shut her eyes to sleep. But
seed number One still shivered and complained and wished that she was
back in the paper package so loudly that all her companions in the
furrow were disturbed, especially number Two, who was lying so near.
“Aren’t you feeling more comfortable?” asked seed number Two.
“No, I am not. I am freezing, and these cold clods are mashing me. I
wish I was back in the paper though we were crowded on top of each
other.”
“But you could not grow there.”
“No, but I could be more comfortable. If it takes these old black clods
to make me grow I don’t know that I want to grow,” and she gave a sniff
to show her contempt.
“Stop! You don’t realize what you are saying! You are near committing
the unpardonable sin. Do you remember your promise to Mother Nature as
she placed within your bosom the sacred germ of life? That promise which
you gave to grow, at the first opportunity, and to do all within your
power to become strong and vigorous, producing seeds in which she could
place like germs. Then have you forgotten your dying mother’s request
that you live up to this solemn promise?”
Seed number One did not reply, but gave a little rebellious grunt to
show her state of feelings and remained silent.
This was a great relief to the other seeds, who were enduring the
discomforts of their new and chilly environments with as much fortitude
as possible, hoping and believing that their new home would yet become
more comfortable. Finally all became quiet and they shut their eyes and
waited and dreamed.
The cold, dark night was at last over. The seeds in their little dark
chambers could not see this, but they knew it was so when they felt the
warm influence of the sunbeams as it crept stealthily down through the
damp soil and warmed their cold, wet wrappings. Oh, how it did revive
them! They grew larger as they tried to express their thankfulness. The
quickening power within pictured to them bright sunshine, refreshing
showers and warm, balmy nights. But there they lay helpless in the dark,
waiting and dreaming and dimly feeling that—
Instinct within that reaches and towers
And, groping blindly above for light,
Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers.
But the greatest change of all was in seed number One. She had spent the
dark, cold night in thinking of the promise she had given and about
which she had been reminded by seed number Two. Gradually the angry,
rebellious feelings passed away and she began to realize how sinful her
spirit had been. And now that the warm sunshine had turned the cold, wet
clods into a blessing she most heartily felt ashamed of herself and
could get no rest until she gave some expression to this feeling. She
began by snuggling closer down among the clods and trying to make them
feel that she was glad to be among them.
Then she whispered to them softly: “I am so sorry for the rude,
impatient, angry words I spoke yesterday when I first came among you.
Can you forgive me?”
“Certainly we will,” said the big clod that the seed had accused of
mashing her. “I know we are rough looking companions for a tiny seed and
oftimes we are forced, by influences from without, to act rudely. But
Mother Nature knows our needs and will send water to soften our natures
and men will lift and stir us about so that we can do our very best work
in helping you and other seeds to perform life’s obligations.”
“Yes,” replied the seed, “I now remember how my mother used to praise
you and tell us children that the nice juicy food she brought for us to
eat came from the soil surrounding her roots.”
“I am glad you can remember us so kindly,” responded the clod. “Though
we are the lowest of God’s creation, we are also the oldest, and He has
most graciously used us as an instrument in performing His higher works.
We hold a very humble place, and are trodden upon by all of His
creatures, yet we are happy in realizing that we, too, have a direct
commission from him and a part to perform in the creation of the great
living world above us. Our most extensive and immediate work is helping
Mother Nature to produce the vegetable kingdom, to which you belong, and
we want you to feel,” continued the clod, “that you are among friends
who are waiting and anxious to serve you.”
“Thank you,” replied the seed; “you are very, very kind, and I am sure I
shall learn to love you dearly.” Saying this she crept down closer into
the warm little crevice and the clod, absorbing the water that had been
turned into the furrow, melted around her and gave her protection,
moisture and food.
The next night did not seem so cold to the seeds. They had become better
acquainted with the soil and through the influence of the sun and water
were clasped more warmly and tenderly in his arms. There they lay and
waited until the little germ within them began to stir and knock for
egress. The kind soil had by his own virtues softened their walls so
that it was not difficult for the swelling germs to make an opening
through which they stretched tiny white hands and laid them lovingly
into the strong ones of their benefactor. In these handclasps were
pledged mutual co-operation, sympathy and love throughout life. “Useless
each without the other.”
No sooner had these little hands made sure of their hold upon the soil
than there came an irrepressible longing in the heart bud to reach up
and to know another world. In obedience to this call the little bud
peeped out of its own hull and crept softly through the soil, up to the
sunshine and air. There it unfolded two tiny leaves in thankfulness and
praise to One who had made possible this new life. As the fullness of
the higher world was comprehended, other leaves were thrown out until
the little plant became a whorl of praise and gladness.
At this juncture new difficulties arose. These little leaves forgot
their higher mission of love and praise and began to crowd and push each
other, each striving to grow tallest and command the greatest space. As
seeds number One and Two lay very near each other it was not long before
their leaves came together in the air world. They had been so busy
growing that they had talked but little to each other since the first
night. Seed number One had grown so happy, gentle and meek that she was
fast gaining friends on all sides. Every one regretted that they had so
harshly condemned her. But now this new trial was a severe test to her
genuine heart goodness. At first she made some show of patience, for
seed number Two, her closest neighbor, was so unselfish and gentle in
all that she did that there was little excuse to be otherwise. But no
sooner did other leaves come into the space she considered her own than
her leaves began to rustle and complain and to say: “It is no use for me
to try to grow, crowded up like this. I wish I had been planted
somewhere all by myself.”
Then seed number Two gently whispered: “He who took you from your
mother’s dead arms, kept you from freezing during the cold winter months
and prepared for you this nice loose furrow in which to grow had a right
to plant you where He wished and to do with you what He thinks best. As
for ‘growing room,’ there is likely to be plenty of it within a few days
for all those who have the good fortune to be here.” At this there was a
rustle of surprise among the bystanders and they asked what she meant.
“I remember mother telling about her early life,” continued seed number
Two, “how at first she and her companions were so crowded together that
some lost all their beautiful green color and became white and sickly.
But one day a girl, with a bucket on her arm and a knife in her hand,
came and sat down near them. They all held their breath, not knowing
what she intended to do. Then the girl took the knife and, catching a
number of mother’s companions by the leaves, cut them off just below
their bud. This she continued to do until her bucket was full. When she
left there was plenty of room for those remaining to grow, but their
hearts were sad and anxious.
“Each day the girl came back to some portion of the bed and acted in the
same manner until the bunches were so scattering that the leaves did not
touch each other. Each time mother expected that she would be one of the
number and be cut off from the life she loved and in which she was
hoping to redeem her promise to bear seeds for Mother Nature. Finally
she and her companions began to notice that the girl always chose the
largest and freshest looking bunches. Then some of them began to say:
‘What is the use of us trying our best to grow strong and vigorous? That
very state endangers our lives. Mother Nature surely did not understand
these surroundings when she exacted this promise from us!’ One bold,
rebellious spirit said: ‘I am going to have my roots stop their work
that my leaves may turn yellow and brown; and then I will get the wind
to split and break them.’ ‘But,’ said mother, ‘that will be death.’
“‘Well, what does it matter? I would as lief die one way as another,’
gruffly responded the bold speaker.
“Most of mother’s companions nodded their assent, so she said nothing
more until she had time to quietly think over the matter. That night
mother stood, awake, looking up at the stars and trying to know what was
best to do. Finally, when the first whispers of morning could be heard,
they brought her this message: ‘Always and under all circumstances do
your best. Live up to the highest and noblest within you and leave the
result to Him who knows the heart.’
“Then there came peace and courage, and mother rose above the fear of
death and resolved that she would not relax one effort to grow and carry
out in detail the promise she had given. She was convinced that Mother
Nature wanted her best each day rather than a mere existence in order
that she might bear some puny seeds.
“Several days went by and the girl did not appear. The contrast became
greater and greater between mother and her companions. She stood erect,
holding her broad green leaves up to the sun, while in the midst of them
could be seen a young, vigorous seed stalk crowned with the precious
promises of the future. The leaves of her companions were fast turning
yellow and brown and their whole attitude was dejected and forlorn.
“One day they heard voices in the garden. They thought this must be the
girl coming to fill her bucket. All eyes were turned toward mother. They
felt sure she would be the first chosen. But mother was calm and
possessed, rejoicing in the knowledge that she had lived up to her
higher duties and therefore was better prepared to either be cut down or
left standing as fate would decide.
“As the voices came nearer they recognized the owner of the garden and
with her John, who had always been their good friend, pulling up the
weeds and loosening the soil around their roots. The owner and John were
soon standing beside the bed where mother and her companions grew, and
then the voice of the woman could be heard saying: ‘John, this bed is
doing no good. The season is about over, anyway, so you can spade it up
and sow it to early turnips. But look!’ and the woman stooped and
touched mother’s crisp leaves. ‘Isn’t this a beautiful specimen of fine
lettuce? John, you may leave this bunch for seed.’
“So it came about that mother only, of all her companions, was allowed
to complete a natural life and to realize the hope that we all have in
common.”
As seed number Two finished this narrative they were all very thoughtful
and felt more considerate for each other in their crowded condition.
Sure enough, within the next day or two a woman with a pan and knife
came down the row and began to thin out their number. Seed numbers One
and Two trembled as she passed them, but she did not stop to take
either.
That evening seed number One whispered to her companion: “You are very
fortunate to have had such a noble mother. I know now why it is so easy
for you to be patient and good.”
“Ah! you do not know nor understand, or you would not call me good nor
think that it is easy for me to be always patient. I love and honor the
memory of my mother, but she does not possess the power to make me good.
Mother Nature holds each of us responsible for our own acts and judges
us accordingly.”
After a thoughtful silence seed number One said: “I am growing to try to
be good and to grow strong and upright,” and she stretched herself a
little bit higher in her own effort to appear so.
A few days after this a small, tiny worm came creeping and shivering
along the ground and stopped first under the leaves of seed number One
and asked for a nibble.
“No,” replied the seed, “my leaves must be kept whole and beautiful, for
it is only in this way that I can be my best self and thereby win Mother
Nature’s approval.”
“But I am starving,” replied the worm. “I cannot find a morsel to eat
anywhere. Please give me one of your under leaves that I may gain
strength to crawl on and hunt other food. I do not ask your life, but
only a bit of your under leaves, which you can well spare.”
“But it will spoil my appearance,” said the seed, “and Mother Nature
wants me to be beautiful. And then I can’t bear to have a nasty worm
touch me,” and she rustled and drew up her beautiful green leaves to
show her disgust.
“Very well,” said the worm, “I will not take by force what you are not
willing to give through mercy. Some day you will know me better,” and
the worm crawled away.
He stopped at seed number Two and made the same request. At first she
hesitated, but seeing how near starved the poor worm was and how humbly
and meekly he asked for the food, she relented.
“I know,” said the seed, “you will spoil the appearance of my leaves and
I shall look shabby among my companions, but knowing that you, too, are
one of Mother Nature’s children, I cannot believe that she would have me
withhold life from you. Therefore, I give you of my leaves as giving
unto her, leaving the result with her.”
The worm most heartily thanked the seed and began eating. He stayed a
day or two, making several large holes through the under leaves, but at
the end of that time he had become strong and vigorous, and again
thanking her, he crawled away.
Several days after the worm had departed and seeds numbers One and Two
had grown to be quite large bunches, the woman with her knife came down
the row. She seemed to be in a great hurry and was gathering the largest
bunches as she came along. When she reached the two companions she
stooped and laid her knife at the root of number Two, but noticing the
holes in her leaves she quickly changed to seed number One and the knife
went home. Poor seed number One fell over on her side and was gathered
up and placed in the pan. The woman passed on and seed number Two was
left standing, but shaking with the emotions of fear, thankfulness and
regret. For after all, she loved seed number One and was truly sorry
that she had been taken.
All that afternoon seed number Two remained very quiet and her
companions knew why.
“How strange!” they murmured. “What we thought was her degradation and
destruction has really been her salvation.”
And they looked upon her with awe and whispered:
“How strange! How strange!”