A pious heathen who was currying favour with his wooden deity by
sitting for some years motionless in a treeless plain, observed a
young ivy putting forth her tender shoots at his feet. He thought he
could endure the additional martyrdom of a little shade, and begged
her to make herself quite at home.
"Exactly," said the plant; "it is my mission to adorn venerable
ruins."
She lapped her clinging tendrils about his wasted shanks, and in six
months had mantled him in green.
"It is now time," said the devotee, a year later, "for me to fulfil
the remainder of my religious vow. I must put in a few seasons of
howling and leaping. You have been very good, but I no longer require
your gentle ministrations."
"But I require yours," replied the vine; "you have become a second
nature to me. Let others indulge in the delights of gymnastic worship;
you and I will 'surfer and be strong'--respectively."
The devotee muttered something about the division of labour, and his
bones are still pointed out to the pilgrim.