Part 8

The husbandman heard the man’s words, but went on with his labor from day to day without much regarding them. The tree remained where it had been planted, putting out new branches and growing higher and stronger.

But after a time strange doubts and suspicions concerning the tree entered the husbandman’s mind. As it took up more ground, he looked on it grudgingly, and said to himself:

“This is not a fruit tree at all, but a thorn. If I let it stand, it will send up its evil shoots all over my field.”

Then, taking his axe in his hand, at one stroke he severed the stalk from the roots.

After this the seasons came and went as they ever had done. The husbandman sowed in the spring and reaped in the harvest. And so he continued to do from year to year, until his labors began to tell upon his strength, and he felt stealing upon him the infirmities of an old man. His field still yielded its crop, but was bare and sunny, without a sheltered spot in which he could sit down and rest.

It happened one day after hours of toil that he sank exhausted, and slept even under the burning rays of the sun. In his sleep he dreamed that he was sitting in the shade. Over him green branches were spread. They were loaded with fruit, which hung so near the ground that he put forth his hand as he sat, and plucked and ate. Birds were also singing in the branches, and a cool breeze passed through them, fanning his brow. He said:

“Surely these have been growing, and their shadows deepening, to cover my head and refresh me in my old age.”

As he spoke suddenly the man who had long ago appeared to him again stood before him, saying:

“Such would have been the tree that I planted on this spot had you not, in unbelief and self-will, cut it down.”

The husbandman awoke from his sleep and found it was only a dream, and that he was still lying alone and unsheltered under the burning rays of the sun.

* * * * *

Not recognizing the Sender, we refuse the gift, to bewail our folly when it is too late.

THE WORN-OUT TEAM.

TWO horses, a bay and a gray, were bred on the same farm. Being nearly of an age and about equal in size, they were mated in harness, and, working well together, were kept as a pair. They went to the plough, the harrow, and the hay-wagon season after season. In this close companionship there grew up something of an attachment between them, although they differed in disposition. The gray was patient and uncomplaining, while the bay, though quite as good a worker, was not of so good a temper.

The seasons came and went. In the spring they toiled together turning up the heavy sod, in the autumn hauling in great loads of hay and grain, until at length, as years passed by, their bulky forms began to shrink and ribs and thigh-bones to appear. More than this, the gray lifted one hind leg higher than formerly, giving a hint of the string-halt, and the bay panted so violently after a short journey as to suggest a thought of the heaves. But they had done their share of work, and the farmer was not the man to sell them off now to some hard fate: they were allowed to stand in the stable or given lighter tasks, while a pair of young horses, that had come on in the mean while, were put to the heavy work about the farm.

One summer day, while the old horses were resting in their stalls, the hay-wagon came in with a load from the field. As it drew near the barn the farmer’s son shouted to encourage his young team up the rise that led on to the barn-floor, and the old pair heard them, as they entered, pounding overhead.

“That is what we used to do,” said the bay, “until they put the colts in our place.”

“We never thought then of getting old and past work,” said the gray.

“But we’ve come to it now.”

“Many a heavy load have we hauled up that rise before them.”

“Yes, I think of it often,” said the bay, “and of something else too: I think of that hard hill over across the bridge. I was not always good to you when we were climbing up that.”

“You always pulled your full share, though.”

“But I needn’t have put back my ears and snapped at you angrily every few steps.”

“Let that go; think no more of it,” said the gray.

“And not only the hill do I remember,” continued the bay, “but many a hot day on the road, while you were doing your best, I jerked in the harness and jeered at you because my nose happened to be a few inches ahead.”

“Think of the pleasant trots we had together, instead,” persisted the gray—“the gambols in the clover-field, and the rolls in the sand down beside the creek. As for the rest, they’re past and forgiven; let them be forgotten.”

“You may forgive them,” said the bay, “but I can’t forgive them myself. And now, while I stand here by your side, both of us grown old, they come back and worry me—yes, more than ever the heavy loads did, or even the driver’s whip.”

* * * * *

Youth is the time of anticipation and of sowing the seed; age is the time of recollection and of reaping the fruits of what we have sown.

THE WISE FARMER.

A FARMER came into possession of some new land. It consisted of three fields that lay adjoining each other, but on going to examine them he was astonished at the difference in their quality. The first was stony ground; the next, though not stony, was of a thin and light soil; while the third, lying lower and being meadow-land, was covered with rich, dark loam. As a whole, the ground was not what he had expected, and in his disappointment he hardly knew what to do. But after consulting with his wife, who was a prudent adviser, he concluded to do his best with all three fields, and not, on account of its inferior quality, to neglect either one.

The stony field was hard to cultivate. The ploughing was laborious, and so were all the other processes of farming it. Yet he persevered till it was well seeded down with grass and clover. The middle field—the one with the thin light soil—required a great deal of help. He had to spend largely for different kinds of fertilizers, and afterward was at much trouble in clearing the ground to receive them. But by hard work he got this field also planted with oats in good time.

The rich loamy field, which from the start he had longed to begin on, was left, purposely, till the last. As he took down the bars and drove his team into it day after day he chuckled to himself, saying: “I do love to farm this field!”

It required but half the expense and labor to make it ready that either of the others required, and no sooner had he drilled in the wheat than there came a shower that made it spring up, so that he could almost see it growing.

The planting being done, he waited patiently for the harvest. Then the stony field yielded him a good crop of hay, which he got safely into his barn without a single wetting; the field with the thin light soil gave a fair crop of oats—enough to feed his stock during the winter; and the rich loamy ground yielded a splendid crop of wheat—sufficient not only to furnish his family with flour, but also to let him sell a portion, that brought in enough money for all his other needs.

“How much better are we off,” he said to his wife one day after the harvesting was over, “that we took the land willingly, just as it came to us, instead of finding fault with it and neglecting the poorer fields because they did not equal our expectations! And, now that we have got them so well started, we may expect them, with proper care, to go on improving from year to year.”

* * * * *

Among those who come under our care (our own children, it may be) we shall find some less answerable to our wishes than others. But our duty to all is alike, and by performing it we shall not only do justice to them, but secure a recompense, in the end, to ourselves.

WAYFARERS.

A MAN who had an ugly limp in his gait, but was nevertheless a good walker, sat down on a bench by the wayside one day, saying, impatiently:

“This lameness embitters my life. I cannot for a moment lose sight of it. I go limping along, my legs are unlike, my steps are uneven, and, though I do not suffer positive pain, I very often experience discomfort. Beside all this, I fear, as I grow older, my halt will increase upon me, so that I shall be even more of a cripple then than I am now. How I wish I could change places with yonder cheerful-looking man who is coming this way with such an even, measured tread!”

As he ceased speaking the man he referred to suddenly turned toward the bench on which the speaker was resting and took a seat at his side, but rather closer than was needful, as they two had it alone.

“Excuse me,” said the new comer as he felt himself crowding his neighbor; “I am blind, and, although I know this path so well that I can walk along it without a guide, I could not see that another was seated here before me.”

“I am sorry for you,” said the lame man, feelingly. “Surely, no one would suspect you were blind from your firm step and your cheerful countenance. May I ask how it is you preserve so happy an aspect under so great a misfortune?”

“By looking at what I have, and not at what I have lost,” replied the blind man. “Though I cannot see, I can hear the voice of my friends, the sound of music, the singing of birds. I can taste three good meals, and enjoy them, every day. I can smell a rose in bloom farther than you can, for all my senses that remain are keener for the absence of the one that is gone. My health, too, is good, and I have learned to work so skilfully at basket-making that, with a little I have beside, I am able to pay my own way without being a burden to others. Thus, in the apportioning of my lot, so much more has been given than taken, that I consider life’s bargain a good one for me.”

Having thus spoken, the blind man, after a few moments’ rest, bade his new acquaintance “Good-bye,” and, rising from the bench, felt his way cautiously, counting each step, until he reached the middle of the sidewalk, when he wheeled around and proceeded on his way with the same measured tread that had first attracted his companion’s attention. As he disappeared the latter said:

“What is my limp, which still permits me to walk wherever I will, to his blindness, which shuts out every ray of light? Yet he is the happier of the two! After all, blind as he is, I was doing myself no unkindness in wishing I could take his place.”

* * * * *

How often does he who has the most go poor because he is unconscious of it! while he who has the least is made rich by being able to appreciate what he has.

OTHER BIRDS’ FEATHERS.

A GANDER and a cock lived on the same farm. They were young and handsome birds, each well satisfied with himself, but, unfortunately, jealous of the other. This made them always ready to pick a quarrel. Chancing one day to meet beside a brook that ran by the farmhouse, the cock straightened himself up and said:

“Look at my long and graceful tail-feathers, and compare them with the short stubby quills in your tail.”

To which the gander replied:

“Look at the soft white down on my breast, and compare it with the frowsy black stubble on yours.”

“I can crow,” said the cock, “but you can’t.”

“I can swim,” said the gander, “and you can’t.”

“I can!” “I can!” cried both birds in a rage; and with that the cock jumped into the water and nearly drowned himself in attempting to swim, and the gander strutted up and down trying to crow.

Just then a goose, with her brood of goslings passing by, looked at them, and said:

“My children, take warning from these two fools. Be content, when you grow up, to wear your own feathers, and to let other birds wear theirs.”

* * * * *

There are always persons about us who possess some gifts that we lack. To deny them credit for these only makes our defects more plain, and brings disgrace on what good qualities we have.

THE NIGHT-WATCHMAN.

A CERTAIN man who prided himself upon his infidel opinions desired to employ a watchman around his house during the night. This it was no more than prudent for him to do, as he was very rich, keeping up an expensive establishment and known often to have a large amount of money about his person.

Many came to apply for the position he wanted filled, some of whom he dismissed at a glance, some after a brief interview; but others appeared well qualified for the place. Of these, three came equally well recommended, and he determined to make his choice from among them. He therefore took them apart separately, and after inquiring more particularly into their former occupations and history wrote down the places of their residence, and also, without letting them know it, a careful description of their dress and appearance. As soon as they were gone he called three of his servants to him and said:

“You know I am looking for a man as night-watchman; I think he can be found among those who have just left, and I want you to assist me in making a selection. To-morrow will be Sunday. Be up, all of you, bright and early, and one go and stand near the lodging-place of each of these men. Watch them when they come out in the morning, keep near them all day, and come here at night and report what you have seen.”

The servants, promising obedience, retired, and the next night, according to orders, returned to their master.

“And what have you to tell about your man?” he said to the first who appeared.

“He spent the day in the country,” replied the servant.

“Sensible fellow!” said his master. “And did you go with him?”

“Indeed I did—got off at the same station, took dinner at the same table, and came back in the same train.”

“And how did he behave himself?”

“Like a sensible fellow, sir, as you called him. He had a friend with him, and they just smoked their cigars and lay about in the shade all day; took a glass of beer now and then—nothing more. I believe he’s the very man that would suit you.” Here the second servant came in.

“And what have you to say?” asked his master.

“My man,” replied the servant, “went to the tavern.”

“He’s none the worse for that, if he didn’t take too much after he got there.”

“And he didn’t; only three glasses—I counted them—between breakfast and dinner.”

“Little enough!”

“You’d have thought so if you had only seen how his friends pressed him, a dozen times, to take more.”

“But he wouldn’t?”

“They couldn’t make him. He’s just the man for a watchman, I’m sure.” The third servant now appeared.

“And where did your man go?” asked his master.

“To church,” replied the servant.

“Did you follow him?”

“You told me to, and I did, and sat in the pew right behind him.” At this the other men laughed.

“Well, did he gape around at his neighbors, and then fall asleep, like the rest of the hypocrites who go there?”

“No; I must tell you the truth.”

“Let’s have it, then.”

“I watched him and never took my eyes off him, and I tell you he’s in earnest.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s among them that believe there’s a God, and have made up their mind to serve him.”

“That’ll do,” said the master. “You have made your report, and now you may go.”

The next night there was a new watchman around the rich infidel’s house. It was he who went to church on a Sunday.

* * * * *

When they must commit themselves, or their substance, to another’s keeping, both good men and bad men want good men to serve them.

SINGLE AND DOUBLE.

A FARMER who owned a lazy horse was riding him barebacked one day, when the beast began to complain of his load, saying:

“Such a heavy man as you ought to ride in a wagon and have a pair instead of one poor overworked horse to carry him.”

The farmer made no reply, but jogged on quietly. Presently he came up with one of his neighbors afoot. The farmer slackened his pace and the man walked beside him in the road, the two talking together about their corn, and oats, and clover. They had not gone far before the farmer noticed a limp in his neighbor’s gait.

“What is the matter?” said he.

“A sharp peg in my boot,” replied the other, “seems to object to my walking.”

“Then you’d better get up and ride behind me,” said the farmer.

“That I will,” said the man—“gladly; and thank you.”

As he clambered on to the horse from the top of a fence beside which his friend had stopped, the animal said to himself:

“Ah! I did not know when I was well off. Willingly now would I carry my master alone, but another behind him almost breaks my back. Never again will I complain of my load until I have asked myself how I should feel if it were suddenly made twice as heavy.”

* * * * *

When real discomforts come, we look back and wonder how we could have fretted under those which were only imaginary.

THE BOASTFUL FLY.

A FLY that had lodged on a crumbling wall, seeing other flies swarming around it, began to boast about their numbers, saying:

“Look at us! Multitudes in this little space! We are everywhere—in the garden among the flowers, in the field amid the clover, in the woods darting in and out of the sunbeams that fall between the branches.”

Here a humming-bird lighted in a trumpet-vine that grew over the wall. Said the fly:

“You are a traveller, sir, I hear, and have been to other countries. Pray, have you ever been in any place where there are no flies?”

“Never,” said the humming-bird.

“Oh that I had your strong wings,” cried the fly, “to carry me where I could see the flies that live far away as well as those that live here! But you have seen them; maybe, now, you can guess how many flies there are?”

“Impossible!” said the bird. “You cannot be counted. Why, all the bluebirds and blackbirds, the humming-birds, and birds of every kind, put together, are as nothing compared with you!”

“We are the people,” continued the boastful fly, raising its tiny voice—“not so big as some others, we’ll admit, but look at our numbers: myriads upon myriads!”

“Great in numbers, it is true,” said a mossy stone in the wall, “but one thing you’ve forgotten.”

“What is that?” asked the fly.

“That midsummer is already past, and in a few short weeks the green will have faded from the fields, and frost will cover the ground; and then, though we look diligently for you, not one of all your myriads shall be found.”

* * * * *

That which seems great in the light of the present, when looked at in the light of the future shrinks into nothingness.

THE MENDED BOOTS.

A MAN who had a pair of boots that needed mending carried them to the cobbler’s and dropped them beside his bench, saying, “They’ll do any time to-day; send them home as soon as they are finished,” and without waiting for an answer departed.

While the cobbler was examining the boots and preparing to go to work on them, another man, with a badly-worn pair in his hand, came into the shop, and said:

“I want you to mend these at once; I’ll send for them in the evening.”

At this the cobbler let the first pair fall upon the floor, saying to himself: “As he will send, I must be sure and have them ready.”

And, going to work on them, he kept at it until they were done. In the evening the man’s little son called, and carried them away with him.

The next day, after breakfast, as he sat down on his bench, the cobbler said:

“Now I must get at the other pair, that was left first.”

But just as he was putting the last into one of them, a man entered the shop with a quick step and handed him a pair of shoes that were almost worn to pieces:

“I must have these, without fail, in the morning,” he cried, “and will call for them myself. On no account disappoint me.”

The cobbler at once dropped the boot that was in his lap, and, seeming to have caught the man’s ardor, thrust the last into one of his shoes and continued to work diligently until evening, and so finished them.

In the morning the man appeared, with as rapid a step as ever, and, finding his shoes done, paid for them, and was quickly gone.

A little while after this, as the cobbler sat calmly reading his newspaper, the man who left the first pair strolled into the shop.

“As I happen to be passing,” he said, “I’ll just take my boots with me.” But, seeing a confused look on the cobbler’s face, he added:

“Of course they’re ready; you know they were to be done the day before yesterday.”

Then, looking on the floor, he saw them lying exactly where he had left them.

“I’ve been so very bu—busy,” stammered the cobbler, “that I haven’t got ’em quite finished yet.”

“‘Quite finished’!” exclaimed the man. “Why, you haven’t touched them!”

“But I’m going to begin this minute,” said the cobbler, “and you shall have them to-morrow, for certain.”

* * * * *

He who is the least urgent is apt to be the last served.

THE CRIPPLE AND HIS STAFF.

A POOR cripple who had to go on foot to the hospital (where only he could be cured) cut a staff to help him in walking. It was the best he could get from the woods that grew by the way, and was just like those that other cripples used on that same road.

For a time, as long as the road was smooth, the staff seemed to be all that he needed; but when he came to an uneven place, he found that it did not answer. It was too short, though as long as that sort of wood grew, and it was too rough, hurting his hand as he leaned upon it. Beside this, it did not take a firm hold on the ground, but slipped from under him, giving him many falls.

After one of these falls, while he was lying prostrate and hardly able to rise, a man came to him with a pair of crutches in his hand. The man raised him up from the ground, put the crutches under his arms, and showed him how to walk with them.

And now the poor cripple was overjoyed to find that he could walk with comparative ease and with perfect safety. Yet he kept the staff that he had cut for himself, carrying it, thrust under his girdle, across his back, behind him.

He walked leaning on his crutches for a considerable distance and over a good deal of rough ground, and then came to another smooth spot.

Here a desire seized him to try his staff again. But why should he want to do this? In the first place, he had forgotten in that short space of time the falls it had before given him. Then it seemed as if the staff would be lighter and more easily handled than the crutches. But perhaps the chief reason was that he would not appear so great a cripple with the staff as with the crutches; for above all things else the cripple desires to appear not a cripple, and to seem to walk as if nothing were the matter with him.

So he tried his staff again, and for a time got along quite well.

While he was walking at his best, hardly limping, as he thought, a man came to him saying:

“How well you walk! That staff is just the thing for you. But you don’t need the crutches; why do you cumber yourself with them?”

With this the man took hold of the crutches to take them from him, but the cripple would not let go of them. The man stood and reasoned a while with him; but when he found it was of no use, he turned away, disgusted, saying, as he left him:

“Any way, you are a fool, to keep both.”