Part 11

“Then you can have him,” said the farmer. “If he’s worth that, I can’t afford to keep him; a lower-priced beast will do just as well for me.”

With that the old man slipped a halter over the horse’s head and led him away. As he sadly followed his master he looked back at the old cow, still contentedly chewing her cud, and said:

“I go from this pleasant farm, where I was bred and have lived so long, to be driven and beaten, and then sold I know not where. Ah, my old friend! I wish now that I was as ugly and as slow as you.”

* * * * *

If we have any gifts beyond our neighbors, let us possess them humbly; for we cannot tell but what those very gifts may some day cause our happiness to be less than theirs.

THE COLT AND OLD GRAY.

A COLT that had just been broken to harness was driven in a milk-wagon every day to the city, where he was fastened to a hitching-post, and left standing, while the farmer went around to the neighboring houses serving milk.

A boy on the way to his work one morning chanced to rap against the post in passing, when the colt put back his ears. Seeing this, the boy stopped and gave him a thrust in the side, when the colt snapped at him and raised his hind foot, showing that he was angry.

Instead of checking the boy, this only encouraged him; so that the next morning he repeated his offence, and continued to do it afterward every morning, seeming to take a wicked delight in rousing the colt’s temper. Yet the colt, being tied, could do nothing to revenge himself, as the boy took good care to keep out of the reach of both his teeth and his heels.

One day, on going back to the stable, the colt told an old gray horse that stood in the next stall how cruelly he was tormented, without being able to stop his tormentor.

“I know how you could stop him,” said the old gray, “and that without giving yourself the least trouble.”

“Tell me,” said the colt.

“What will you give me for my secret?” asked Old Gray.

“My share of the feed that we’ll get for our dinner.”

“All right,” said Old Gray; “I’ll tell you as soon as I have eaten it.”

In a little while the farmer passed through the stable, and poured out six quarts of oats for each horse. And the colt, although he was very hungry and his mouth watered for them, allowed the old horse to put his head over and eat up every grain in his manger.

“Now,” said the colt, impatiently, “tell me, as you promised, how I can stop that young rogue from poking at my ribs every morning.”

“In this way,” said the old horse. “Let him do it, and pretend you don’t feel it.”

“Is that all you have to say?” said the colt, angrily. “I could have done that without being told, or being cheated out of my dinner, either.”

“But you never thought of it till I told you,” said Old Gray. “Now, just try it.”

As the oats were all gone and could never be gotten back, the colt concluded there was no use in fretting any more about them. Yet he found himself thinking over Old Gray’s advice, and before night concluded to try it.

The next morning the boy came along as usual, and, stealing up softly by the colt’s side, gave him a thrust in the tender spot just behind his shoulder. The colt never winced, nor even turned his eyes toward him. The boy tried it again and again, with no better success, until he had to hurry away, for fear of a scolding from his master.

For several mornings after this he renewed the attempt (though with less spirit each morning), until, finding it made no impression, he gave it up altogether, and passed by whistling, with his hands in his pockets, as if no colt were there.

Shortly after this, one evening about sundown, as the colt was drinking in the stable-yard, Old Gray came in from ploughing.

Said the colt, raising his head from the horse-trough:

“Your advice was good and worth the oats, after all. I ask your pardon for being so rude the other morning.”

“I can easily forgive you,” said Old Gray. “Trifles do not worry me. You are only a colt yet, just put to the milk-wagon. You’ll be wiser by the time you get to the plough.”

* * * * *

By noticing small affronts, we give every passer-by the power to vex us; by overlooking them, we take that power away.

THE KING’S ALMONER.

A KING was told that his subjects in a certain city were suffering from hunger and cold and nakedness. Then he said to himself,

“What man is there among them, of prudence and charity, with whom I can intrust supplies for their relief?”

And one being named he sent to him stores of food and raiment and money, with this message:

“These things are for the benefit of all the dwellers in your city. Not that you should be neglected while others are provided for; on the contrary, as you will have to wait on the rest as my almoner, you may keep somewhat the largest share for yourself.”

So the man received what the king sent, and divided it in due proportion between himself and the sufferers around him.

But after doing this justly and generously for a time he began, as new supplies came in, to increase his own portion and diminish that which he divided among his neighbors, thus making himself richer and richer, while they became poorer and poorer.

Now, it was the king’s custom at certain seasons to leave his royal palace and travel through his dominions, visiting his people in every city; and, the time for his departure having come, he set out on his journey, and at length came to the city which he had befriended. And he went among the people, visiting them in their houses, and found great poverty and distress among them.

Then he came to the house of his almoner, and walked through its spacious rooms (for the man had built himself a new house) and saw his children richly clothed and his table covered with dainties. And the king sat down with them and partook of the rich fare that was provided, and afterward went to his own home.

As soon as he came there he called his chief servant and commanded him to send fresh supplies of food and money and raiment—greater and more abundant than ever before—to the suffering city. And these, being sent forth in haste, quickly reached their destination. And the king’s almoner received them, and after giving a very little to the people around him laid up the rest for himself. As he did so he said,

“Now am I sure of the king’s love and favor, for behold by his bounty how my wealth has increased!”

But not many days after this the almoner’s servant who had charge of his storehouse came to him, saying,

“The food which you have laid up has bred worms and is spoiled.”

Then the servant who kept his raiment came and said,

“The rich garments sent by the king, which you have laid by so carefully, are being consumed by the moth and destroyed.”

And the keeper of his gold came, saying,

“The treasure-boxes which appeared so strong are falling to pieces; much gold has already been lost from them, and because they are opening of themselves they invite the hand of the pilferer and robber.”

Then the rich man was in great trouble, and he went in haste to the king and told him of the losses which had so suddenly befallen him.

The king replied,

“How can that be lost now which was given long ago to the poor?”

The rich man answered,

“I have done wrong in keeping for my own what did not belong to me.”

So he returned to his house sad at heart, to find all his riches melted away, and truly (as he knew) it was by his own act, and not by the hand of an enemy.

* * * * *

He who will be richer than he ought to be shall be poorer than he need to be.

PANSIES.

TWO purple pansies opened their velvet-like leaves one summer morning, but on looking around them saw that they had not the garden-bed alone. On one side a clump of crimson poppies towered above their heads, and on the other some tall golden lilies were nodding in the breeze.

When the lowly pansies saw their lofty neighbors, the joy which at first they felt in their new being quickly waned. They looked up enviously, first at the poppies, and then at the lilies, saying to one another,

“Between these haughty flowers, there is nothing left us but to hang our heads in shame.”

Just then the gardener passing by, they cried,

“Take us from here, we pray you, and plant us in a bed of flowers yet lowlier than ourselves.”

“And why do you ask this change?” he said.

“Do you not see,” they replied, “how our gorgeous neighbors overshadow us, and by contrast how poor and mean we seem?”

“Then it is nothing but pride,” the gardener answered, “that prompts the request: you would be to others what these gorgeous neighbors are to you. Be satisfied rather to remain where you are. And know that it is not for the glory of the flower its place in the garden is chosen, yet its greatest beauty may be attained where it stands in fulfilling my design.”

* * * * *

A desire to be the greatest as well as a willingness to be least may lead us to choose our place in a lower sphere.

THE BIRDS AND THE BELLS.

A VILLAGE church was presented with a chime of bells, which were rung for the first time on a bright spring morning. The country-people were delighted with the unusual sounds, but there was one class of hearers displeased. These were the birds. Heretofore they had made all the music for the fields and hills, and the sound of the bells seemed to them an invasion of their rights. They met together in an evergreen hedge to talk over the matter.

Said the robin:

“My notes can no longer be heard.”

The bluebird said:

“I might as well have no voice at all.”

The wrens and swallows whose nests were in the church-tower declared they were driven out of house and home. The meeting appointed the oriole and the dove to wait on the pastor and lay their grievance before him.

The next morning, as the good man was at work in his garden, the two appeared in a pear tree near by.

“Good-morning, sir,” said the oriole.

“Good-morning, my feathered friend,” replied the pastor. “When did you arrive from the South?”

“Only a few days ago, but it was to find a sad change here.”

“Pray, what may it be? Not gunners already, nor boys after your nests?”

“Not these, but the bells in your church-tower.”

“Why, do not they please you?”

“No, indeed! and all the birds have sent us to protest against them. We and our forefathers have enlivened these hills with our songs time out of mind, and we believe the air, for music, belongs to us still. And we have come to give you your choice: Take down the bells, or we will be still and never sing for you again.”

The pastor was dumb with astonishment as the birds flew away. He held the hoe in his hand full five minutes without moving, deep in thought concerning the strange interview. But of course submission to so unreasonable a demand was not to be thought of, and the next Sunday morning the bells again sent forth their glad peal. The ringers were in earnest, and their chimes floated far over hill and vale. But for the rest of the sacred day, and

JACK AND JENNY.

A SPARROW that lived with many others in a public park offended his neighbors by getting up too early in the morning and beginning to chirp before they were willing to be waked. They called a meeting of all the flock, and after considering the matter told him that he and his mate must look for another home.

This he refused to do, saying that he had as good a right to stay where he was as they had.

“These trees do not belong to you,” he said, “and you don’t pay rent for the bird-boxes we live in. They were put up by the people who own the park, because they love to see us building our nests and flying about here.

“Beside this,” he continued, “I have done nothing with which you ought to find fault, for I never wake till the break of day, and do not begin to chirp for several minutes after that, when all industrious sparrows should be ready for breakfast. This very morning I heard a cock crow before I opened my bill, and what sparrow would not be ashamed to be lazier than the chickens?”

When the other birds heard this speech, they did not try to answer it—for, indeed, it was every word true and they could say nothing against it—but, having the power on their side, they all at once fiercely attacked the sparrow with their beaks and claws. Nor did they attack him alone, but they flew at his innocent mate also, and hurt her more than they hurt him; for after they were both driven out of the park and had lodged on a neighboring fence it was found not only that her feathers were badly tumbled and torn, but, alas! that one of her eyes was pecked out.

As winter was just coming on, they knew not where to go or what to do. For the first few nights they roosted on the roof of a stable; but this was a forlorn, lonely place, and, as they had no perch to clasp with their little feet, the wind almost blew them away. Beside this, the man who kept the stable was so saving of his corn, and swept the yard so clean, that they could hardly pick up as much as would make a good meal in a whole day.

From the roof of the stable they moved under the eaves of a carpenter-shop, and thought they were nicely fixed, until one dark night a cat stole softly along the roof to the spot where they were sleeping, and, suddenly putting out her paw, almost caught them both in her sharp claws. As it was, she caught poor Jenny’s tail and pulled out every feather of it, which did the cat no good, but was a great loss to Jenny, for she could hardly guide herself in flying, and looked very odd beside.

After this they led a sad wandering life for the rest of the winter, always sleeping in fear on clothes-lines and fences, and picking up a poor living—mostly from frozen slop-buckets and around kitchen doors.

But toward spring better fortune came to them, for a little girl, looking out of the dining-room window one morning, spied them hopping about the pavement below, and threw them some crumbs. Her joy was great when she saw them quickly eat what she had thrown and then seem to look up for more. She ran back to the table, and brought them as much as they wanted.

The next day they came again, and after this, every day, almost as soon as it was light, they might be seen waiting for their breakfast from the hands of their little friend.

But think of their surprise one April morning, when the sun was shining brightly and the buds were just beginning to swell on the rose-bushes, to see the carpenter come in at the garden-gate carrying a new bird-box fastened to the top of a high pole, which he at once began to set up in the middle of the grass-plot, digging a deep hole to set it in, so that it would stand firm in spite of wind and weather.

Their kind little friend ran out from the house and almost danced for joy around the pole while it was being planted. And her father and mother, and brothers and sisters, sharing in her delight, all left the breakfast-table to watch the carpenter at his work.

That very day the happy pair—little Jack and Jenny—went into their new home, and before night were picking up dried grass and twigs with which to begin building their nest.

Now, it happened, not long after this, that a young sparrow who lived at the park, in taking a longer flight than usual one morning, spied the pretty bird-box with her old acquaintances perched at its door.

“Oh ho!” said she to herself, “is this where you have come? and to such a fine house, too!” and in a lower voice, which no one could hear, she whispered, “I would like to live in it myself.”

She waited till Jenny had gone off in search of a twig; then she quickly flew down to Jack, who was singing on the roof.

“Don’t you remember me?” she asked. “My parents lived next door to you at the park. But I was not one of those who drove you away; indeed, I never raised my wing against you.”

“I remember you,” replied Jack. “But how in the world did you get here?”

“I came to admire your beautiful new home,” said Pert, “and to tell you how glad I am that you have got up in the world.”

“Thank you for your kindness,” replied Jack.

“There is something else,” said Pert, “that I want to say, but I don’t like to mention it.”

“Speak out,” said Jack; “I want ever so much to hear it.”

“Well, then,” replied Pert, “to tell you the truth, I am afraid that all the other birds, when they hear of your good fortune, will laugh at your wife.”

“What ails her?” asked Jack.

“She is not the one,” replied Pert, “for so handsome a sparrow as you, and for such a fine house.” Here Miss Pert turned all the way round to show her fine feathers. “And I have come as a friend,” she continued, “to ask if I can help you in finding a prettier mate.”

“I don’t want one,” said Jack.

“What?” exclaimed Pert. “And Jenny with only one eye and all her tail-feathers pulled out?”

“Ah, but,” said Jack, “her other eye is the brightest and softest that ever was seen. And, as for her tail-feathers, they are all growing again.”

“Pooh!” said Pert, “she is too old for you, beside being ugly.”

“Oh no,” said Jack; “she is just the right age. And if she _has_ lost her good looks, she has lost them for me. When you were against me, then she was my friend; and now, when you are willing to be my friend because I have grown rich, I will not turn her off to please you. Go home again, Miss Pert, for nobody but Jenny shall share my fine house.”

* * * * *

That person seems the prettiest whom we love the best; and the one who was faithful to us when we were in trouble is the one we should remain faithful to when our troubles are taken away.

THE MEETING OF THE WINDS.

THE north and the south winds met one day in a field beside a river. The north wind had brought some snow the night before, but the south wind blew soon after, and melted nearly all of it. Only a few white patches were left, here and there, along the sunny banks of the stream.

As soon as the winds came near each other the south wind said:

“Good-morning, brother! I am glad to meet you, though your cold breath quite chills me.”

“But I am not glad to meet you,” answered the north wind. “Why did you melt my snow so quickly? Could you not let it lie for one day?”

“The time has come for the grass and flowers, you know, brother, and I must be at work,” said the gentle south wind.

“There was no need of such haste,” said the burly north wind; “when friends meet, they should be polite.”

“I have to call up the daisies and to waken the roses,” said the south wind, “and to make all the fields green by the first of May. I have no time to lose. Look at yonder meadow how brown it is, and at these trees how bare! Scarcely a fly is buzzing in the sunshine, and not a tortoise has yet crept out of his hole in the ground.”

“I do not care for your daisies and your tortoises,” muttered the north wind; “you want to hurry me off, but I will not go so soon.”

“Have you not had the whole winter to yourself,” asked the south wind, “freezing the brooks, driving away all my birds and my butterflies, and covering the fields and roads and bushes and barns with snow? If I chanced to come then and pay you a visit some bright morning, how quickly you drove me away again! Never might I stay till the sun went down!”

“The winter is my time,” said the north wind; “it belongs to me, and you had no right to come then.”

“And the spring is my time,” answered the south wind; “you know the law is that I must have the fields now.”

“You think a great deal of yourself,” said the north wind, angrily, “but I am stronger than you. I can fly farther, and I see things that you never see. Where do you think I came from this morning?”

“Tell me, I cannot guess?” answered the south wind.

“I came all the way from the icy pole, where the sea is frozen over, and the land is covered with snow that never melts. The white bear lives there. I saw one but a few hours ago, watching for fish by a hole that he had broken through the ice.”

“But you never saw my home, nor the strange sights that are there,” said the south wind. “I come from the far-off torrid zone, where the snow never falls, and the frost never kills the buds and the flowers. There the panther lives. I passed by one last night in the forest lying out on the branch of a great tree, watching for his prey, that he might spring down on it as it passed beneath.”