THE PICTURE BOOK
"Brother," said the little boy, "show me a pretty picture book!"
"Nay!" said the brother. "I would rather show you this book with the ugly pictures, so that when you come to see ugly things you may know what they are. Look! see this, how hateful it is; and this, how hideous; and here again, this, enough to turn one cold with horror."
"Oh!" said the child; and he shuddered. "They are horrible indeed; show me more!"
Next day the brother found the child before a mirror, twisting his face this way and that, squinting, and making a thousand horrible grimaces.
"My dear little boy," cried the brother, "why are you making yourself so hideous?"
"I want to see if I can look like the pictures in the book!" said the child.
THE FLOWER OF JOY
The white frost struck my garden, and blighted my flower of joy. Oh! it was fair, and all the sweetness of the spring breathed from its cup; but now it lay blackened and withered, and my heart with it.
Then, as I stood mourning, I heard another crying voice; and looking up I saw my neighbour in her garden, bending over her stricken plants and weeping sore. I hastened to her. "Take courage!" I said. "It may be they are not quite dead: for, look! here lingers a little green along the leaves. Look here again, the sap flows. Take heart, and we will work together, you and I."
So I labored, and she with me, binding up, tending and watering, night and day; till at last life came back to her plants, first faltering, then flowing free, and they held up their heads and drank the sunshine, and opened fair and sweet to the day.
Then, with her blessing warm at my heart, I turned me homeward: and oh!
and oh! in the ruined garden where all lay black and p.r.o.ne, a thread of green creeping, a tiny bud peeping, a breath of spring upon the air.
Glad woman, I fell upon my knees, and stretched out trembling hands to where, faint and feeble, yet alive, bloomed once more my flower of joy.
THE BURNING HOUSE
Some neighbours were walking together in the cool of the day, watching the fall of the twilight, and talking of this and that; and as they walked, they saw at a little distance a light, as it were a house on fire.
"From the direction, that must be our neighbour William"s house," said one. "Ought we not to warn him of the danger?"
"I see only a little flame," said another; "perchance it may go out of itself, and no harm done."
"I should be loth to carry ill news," said a third; "it is always a painful thing to do."
"William is not a man who welcomes interference," said a fourth. "I should not like to be the one to intrude upon his privacy; probably he knows about the fire, and is managing it in his own way."
While they were talking, the house burned up.
THE PLANT
A plant grew up in the spring, and spread its leaves and looked abroad, rejoicing in its life.
"To grow!" said the plant. "To be beautiful, and gladden the eyes of those who look on me: this is life. The Giver of it be praised!"
Now the plant budded and blossomed: lovely the blossoms were, and sweet, and men plucked them joyfully.
"This is well!" said the plant. "To send beauty and fragrance hither and thither, to sweeten the world even a little, this is life: the Giver of it be praised!"
Autumn came, and the plant stood lonely, yet at peace. "One cannot always be in blossom!" it said. "One has done what one could, and a little is part of the whole."
By and by came a gatherer of herbs, and cut the green leaves from the plant. "They are good for bruises," he said; "or distilled, their juice may heal an inward wound."
The plant heard and rejoiced. "To heal!" it said. "That is even better than to gladden the eyes. The Giver of this too be praised!"
Now it was winter. The dry stalk stood in the field, and crackled with the frost, its few remaining leaves clinging black and shrivelled about it.
"All is over now," said the plant. "There must be an end to everything."
But now came a poor soul shivering with the cold, and took the dry plant and carried it to his home; and breaking it in pieces, laid the fragments on his naked hearth and set fire to them. Puff! the dry stalks crackled into flame and blazed up merrily, filling the room with light and warmth.
"And is this death?" said the plant. "The Giver of all be praised!"