Amid so much new life, it was strange and truly pitiful
to behold, here and there, in the fields and pastures,
the hoary periwigt of dandelions that had already
gone to seed. They had done with summer before
the summer came. Within those small globes of
winged seeds it was autumn now!
Well, but we must not waste our valuable pages with
any more talk about the spring-time and wild flowers.
There is something, we hope, more interesting to
be talked about. If you look at the group of
children, you may see them all gathered around Eustace
Bright, who, sitting on the stump of a tree, seems
to be just beginning a story. The fact is, the
younger part of the troop have found out that it takes
rather too many of their short strides to measure
the long ascent of the hill. Cousin Eustace,
therefore, has decided to leave Sweet Fern, Cowslip,
Squash-blossom, and Dandelion, at this point, midway
up, until the return of the rest of the party from
the summit. And because they complain a little,
and do not quite like to stay behind, he gives them
some apples out of his pocket, and proposes to tell
them a very pretty story. Hereupon they brighten
up, and change their grieved looks into the broadest
kind of smiles.
As for the story, I was there to hear it, hidden behind
a bush, and shall tell it over to you in the pages
that come next.
THE MIRACULOUS PITCHER.
One evening, in times long ago, old Philemon and his
old wife Baucis sat at their cottage-door, enjoying
the cahn and beautiful sunset. They had already
eaten their frugal supper, and intended now to spend
a quiet hour or two before bedtime. So they
talked together about their garden, and their cow,
and their bees, and their grapevine, which clambered
over the cottage-wall, and on which the grapes were
beginning to turn purple. But the rude shouts
of children and the fierce barking of dogs, in the
village near at hand, grew louder and louder, until,
at last, it was hardly possible for Baucis and Philemon
to hear each other speak.
“Ah, wife.” cried Philemon, “I
fear some poor traveller is seeking hospitality among
our neighbors yonder, and, instead of giving him food
and lodging, they have set their dogs at him, as their
custom is!”
“Well-a-day!” answered old Baucis, “I
do wish our neighbors felt a little more kindness
for their fellow-creatures. And only think of
bringing up their children in this naughty way, and
patting them on the head when they fling stones at
strangers!”
“Those children will never come to any good,”
said Philemon, shaking his white head. “To
tell you the truth, wife, I should not wonder if some
terrible thing were to happen to all the people in
the village, unless they mend their manners.
But, as for you and me, so long as Providence affords
us a crust of bread, let us be ready to give half to
any poor, homeless stranger, that may come along and
need it.”
