MINNIE AND THE BIRDS.
For a little while Minnie was very happy with the yellow-birds; they
were gentle and loving as the days were long, and only disputed to know
which should have the pleasure of doing most for their company.
At home it was all sunshine and music, exactly as they had promised;
and, when there was too much sun, they flew to the wood, where hundreds
of other birds met also, and merrily passed the long, bright afternoons.
It was like a party every day. Instead of needing to set a table each
time, there was the whole wood, with its flowers, berries, gums, and
spicy buds, spread out for them to take their choice. The wine bubbled
up freshly from their cellar, and spread into bright wells wreathed
with flowers. No need of corkscrews and coolers; yet, the best wine in
the world never tasted so good, nor left such clear heads, and such
merry, thankful hearts, as this simple water--the only drink the birds
asked at this woodland feast.
Minnie made friends among great and small, she was so sprightly, and
ready to please, and so willing to be pleased herself. This last is a
great secret in winning friends. If people find it hard to amuse us,
they very soon grow tired of trying, and leave us to entertain
ourselves.
But Minnie had a pleasant word and a merry answer for every one. She did
not laugh at the oriole for his foolish pride, nor at the ant for her
stinginess and silence, nor at the bee for making such a bustle, nor at
the indigo-bird for her diffidence. She knew it was their way, and only
took care not to imitate their faults herself.
Meantime she never was tired of admiring their better traits of
character. Let the oriole be proud as he would; she knew that hardly any
one else could sing such lovely songs as he was always twittering. Let
the ant be ever so mean and dumb; who else had such an orderly house,
and such a store of food? Let the bee buzz; couldn't he turn the poorest
weeds into delicious honey, and set it in waxen jars of his own making,
yet so neat, and delicate, and well contrived, that any man or woman
might be proud of them? Let the indigo-bird be shy; once hidden among
the leaves, wasn't she willing enough to trill forth the clearest,
loudest, sweetest little songs?
Ah! in this great wide world there is no creature but has some precious
gift for us, if we can only find it. The little bird is weak, but his
voice can fill the whole sky with music. You may know some rough boy who
seems wicked; but be sure there's a good spot in his heart, and, by
treating him kindly, we may make that good spot larger. Isn't it worth
while to try?
Though yellow-bird, after giving many lessons, found he could not teach
Minnie to fly, he taught her so much that, by resting one hand on his
neck, she could easily glide along with him through the air.
In this way they fluttered from bough to bough in the wood, then took
longer flights through sunny meadows, and at last ventured up among the
clouds, where Minnie had longed to go.
Up, up, they soared,--yellow-bird singing for joy,--till there was
nothing around them except the bright blue air, and, close over their
heads, rose the pearly morning clouds.
Many a time had the little girl sat on her father's door-step, and
longed to be where she now found herself. Many a summer morning she had
watched these same clouds gather and wrap themselves together, till they
looked like splendid palaces of pearl--pearly domes and spires
dazzlingly bright in the sunshine, and porticos with pillars of twisted
pearl; and, at little openings, she could look through vast halls, all
paved with pearl, and curtained with silvery hangings.
At sunset the roof of her beautiful palace had changed from pearl to
silver, and all its spires were gilded; the silvery hangings changed to
rose-color; the floor, instead of pearl, was paved with solid gold, and
the pillars were made of shining amethyst.
"O," Minnie had thought, "if, instead of this little house, with its
dull, iron fence, I could live in such a noble home as that, how proud
and happy I should be!"
Then, as a man passed, with his ladder, to light the street-lamps, she
wondered if hundreds of ladders tied together couldn't reach as far as
the clouds.
"How I would skip up the rounds," she thought, "and, when I had reached
the highest, send my ladder tumbling back to earth! The ladder would
break, so no one could follow me; and all day long I'd fly from hall to
hall, or, through great winding staircases, find my way to the golden
cupolas, where I could look down into the poor old dusty earth I had
left."
And now, without tying a hundred ladders together, here she was among
the clouds. Alas! the pearly halls, that from below had looked so
beautiful, were damp and dismal vapors. It was chilly and lonesome up
there, while, wonderful to tell! the earth seemed a warmer, sunnier,
more cheerful place than she had ever known it. There was the pretty
town, with its surrounding hills and woods, with its winding rivers, and
green fields, and tranquil lakes. In all the sky there was nothing half
so beautiful!