It was spring. The winter storms were over, the sun was beginning to
warm up the earth, and everything was stirring. Under the ground the
Wheat Babies were pushing off their warm blankets and struggling out of
their cradles. "We wish to go up now and see what the world is like,"
they said. They pushed and pushed until at last their heads were above
the ground, and they could see what the world was like. "What a
beautiful place!" they said. "How blue the sky is! And how golden the
sun! All around the birds are singing." They grew tall and graceful,
and waved and nodded to one another across the field.
Now it was early summer. The wheat boys and girls had grown up, and
were busily building their little houses. Such dainty little houses
they were, with shining walls and polished floors and delicate green
silk hangings. Then the wheat people stood on their doorsteps and
waved feathery flowers out of the doorways as a signal to the wind.
"We are ready to be married," they called. "Come and marry us, please."
The wind came blowing gently out of the West, took them on its broad
wings, and carried them to one another's houses to be married. The
birds sang, the sun shone, the crickets played the wedding tune on
their little banjos, and the wee wheat people were as happy as could be.
The later summer came, and in each house the door was shut to keep the
draught from the dear wee baby that had come. There was no time to
stand on the doorstep now, for everybody was busy, feeding the baby and
making a store of food for it when father and mother should be gone.
Autumn came. The Wheat People turned golden, for they were growing
old; and gold, not grey, is the sign of age amongst the Wheat People.
In each house the baby lay in its cradle wrapped in snow-white
blankets, and surrounded by rich white food for the winter.
The reaper thundered into the field, and the tired Wheat People fell
gratefully before the sharp knives, for they were glad to rest. "Our
children are provided for, and that is all that is necessary," they
thought as they lay dying in the sheaves.
Winter came. The field was ploughed and bare, but in the barn the new
Wheat Babies slept in their snug cradles till they should be placed in
the warm moist earth and the time of spring and growth should come
again.