_Loveliness of character is often developed by adversity.
Misfortune need not make us unhappy, nor rob us of sweetness of
temper._
There was a merchant who had three daughters. The two older were
very proud and haughty and ugly. The youngest was so gentle
and pretty that everybody called her Beauty. The merchant lost
everything he had and was obliged to move into the country and do
his own work. The two older daughters behaved very badly, were
very cross, and refused to do anything at all. But Beauty rose by
daybreak, cooked all the meals, cleaned up the house, and grew more
beautiful every day. This also made the other sisters crosser than
ever, but Beauty paid no attention to them but went on singing and
working.
One day their father had to go to town on business. As he was
coming home he lost his way in the woods and wandered far from the
right direction. At last he found himself before a great palace,
the windows all lighted and the doors wide open. The stables were
open too, and his horse rushed in and began to eat the hay and oats.
The merchant was too tired and cold to ask questions. So he walked
into the palace and looked around. Not a soul in sight. There was a
table spread with food, a bright fire burning.
“I may as well get warm,” said he, and stood close to the fire. “I
may as well eat,” said he, and ate a good supper from the table
spread before him. “I may as well sit down and rest,” said he, and
sat down before the fire until he was very sleepy.
Nobody came near him and he heard no voice. “I may as well go to
bed and sleep,” said he. So he wandered through the palace until he
came to a bedroom. Then he undressed and lay down on a beautiful
bed and went to sleep. When he woke in the morning he found his old
clothes gone and in their place he found a new suit of beautiful
material. He put it on and went into the dining room and ate
breakfast. Nobody came near him. He thought this very strange.
After breakfast he wandered into the garden. There were many
beautiful trees and flowers in bloom, and birds singing. He
gathered some of the flowers, and came to a special rose-bush on
which was a large rose red like blood. He broke it off with his
hand. Then he heard a roaring like some one in anger and distress.
He turned, and a terrible Beast came down the path.
“You have plucked my rose and now you shall die or some one in your
place,” cried he in a great rage. “That was my magic rose.”
The merchant begged to be allowed first to go home to see his
family.
“Very well,” said the Beast, “but be sure to return or send some
one, or I shall come after you.”
And the poor merchant found his way home the next day and told his
sad story to his three daughters. To-morrow we shall see how it
turned out.