NATURE'S SONG
There is no rhyme that is half so sweet
As the song of the wind in the rippling wheat;
There is no meter that is half so fine
As the lilt of the brook under rock and vine;
And the loveliest lyric I ever heard
Was the wildwood strain of a forest bird.
Madison Cawein.
THE GIFT OF FLAX
(NORSE LEGEND)
In a beautiful valley surrounded by mountains there once lived a shepherd with his wife and children. They were very poor, indeed, and were obliged to work hard in order to earn the scantiest living.
The good wife was most helpful to her husband. She kept the cottage spotlessly clean, and mended the children's clothes with patient skill. Every day the shepherd took his small flock of sheep to pasture on the side of a mountain, whose tall, white summit was hidden in the clouds. He often carried a crossbow, and sometimes he brought home some mountain game, which provided a fine meal for his family.
One day, while he was watching his sheep, he saw, a short distance above him, a fine reindeer drinking from a pool in the basin of a rock. The shepherd seized his crossbow and took aim to shoot the quarry, but before he could speed an arrow, the deer scented danger and leaped away up the steep slope of the mountain-side. The shepherd pursued his game with eager haste, climbing up the dangerous paths with a sureness of foot which comes only to those whose lives are spent among the mountain fastnesses.
It grew bitterly cold as the shepherd pressed on and on, and he saw the glittering ice-fields near the mountain top.
"'Tis the most fleet-footed quarry I ever followed," said the hunter, stopping for a moment's rest. "After this hard chase, I'm afraid I must give up the game."
Suddenly he saw the reindeer slacken pace, and walk into the entrance of a cavern in the glacier.
"I'll make one more effort," said the tired hunter, climbing on until he reached the opening where the reindeer disappeared. In a few moments he reached a dark passage, at the end of which he saw glittering, coloured lights. His heart beat fast, but he walked on toward the brilliant opening.
The desire to see the lighted hall at the end of the passageway now took possession of the hunter and, strange to say, he forgot all about the quarry, which had led him to this marvelous place. When he reached the threshold of the opening he was obliged to shade his eyes with both hands. Rainbow colours sparkled from the walls and ceiling, which were thickly set with precious stones. A floor of shining white marble added to the beauty of the place. The shepherd stood in silent wonder.
"Welcome to the Hall of Mists," said a queenly voice, but still he stood gazing from the entrance.
The queen repeated her words of welcome, and the shepherd walked humbly forward toward a beautiful woman, clothed in silvery white robes girdled with gold. On her bright hair was a crown of jeweled blossoms. She held a distaff in her right hand; in her left, a bunch of flowers the colour of the sky on a fair summer day. She was attended by many youthful maidens, who stood back of the queen near jeweled spinning wheels.
Filled with awe, the shepherd threw himself on his knees at the feet of this Queen of the Air.
"Have no fear, my good man," she said in a gentle voice. "Perseverance and courage led thee up a dangerous path, but thou hast not laboured in vain. Thou shalt be rewarded for thy dauntless chase. Choose anything thou wilt from my jeweled Hall of Mists."
Without hesitating a moment, the shepherd said, "Gracious Queen, there is nothing in the world I should like to have so much as the flowers your majesty holds."
The Queen of the Air smiled and put the blossoms into his hand. Then she took up a measure of small seed, which stood near her, and said: "Thou hast made a wise choice, my good man. Sow this seed in the field near your cottage. Farewell."
Suddenly a peal of thunder rang through the air, and the brilliant light in the Hall of Mists changed to total darkness. In a twinkling the bewildered man found himself once more upon the mountain-side not far from the spot where he had left his sheep grazing. At first he thought he had been dreaming, but there in one hand he held a bunch of blue flowers; in the other, a measure of seed.
He hastened home, told the marvelous adventure to his wife, and showed her the blue flowers and the measure of seed. For awhile she listened in wide-eyed wonder, but when the shepherd said the Queen bade him choose anything he wished from the jeweled hall, the good wife said impatiently: "Do not tell me that you chose a bunch of flowers when you might have had a precious stone! How could you be so foolish? One jewel would have made us rich for life."
"Let us see what the seed will bring forth," answered her husband. "I shall plant it to-morrow."
Accordingly, the next day he plowed the ground and planted the seed. He was amazed to find that the small measure held enough to sow a very large field. In a short time, tiny green shoots covered the ground. With eager interest, the shepherd watched the little plants grow and burst into blossoms exactly like those the Queen of the Air had given to him. In a few weeks he saw the star-like blossoms wither and seeds begin to form and ripen. One night the shepherd dreamed he saw a beautiful woman, clothed in silver white, float over his field and bless the ripening stalks.
The next evening an old woman knocked at the cottage door. When the shepherd invited her to come in, he noticed she carried in her hand a number of stalks from his field.
"I've come to teach you what wonderful use you can make of these stalks," she said.
Very gently and patiently she taught the shepherd and his wife how to separate delicate fibers from the woody core; how to spin them into thread and weave the thread into linen. Last of all she told them how to bleach the useful linen. It was a wonderful evening for the peasant and his wife.
When the old woman rose to leave the cottage, she said to the shepherd, "In the Queen's Hall of Mists you asked for the gift of blue flax flowers. To-night you have learned what a priceless blessing you chose. Farewell."
She left the cottage very quickly and when the shepherd and his wife went to the door to see which way she went lo! she had disappeared. In a short time all the people in the valley heard the wonderful story of making linen. For awhile they bought the linen which was made from the shepherd's first field of flax. But they bought some of his seed, too, and the next year they were able to spin their own thread and weave their linen. The blessing which came from the shepherd's choice was shared by all the people in the valley.
THE STORY OF THE DEWDROP
Lucile Corbett
One day as the children were coming home from school, the snowflakes began dropping lazily to the ground. One beautiful star-shaped flake fell on a little girl's hand.
"Oh, you pretty, pretty snow fairy. Where did you come from? Did you tumble off a fleecy cloud, or did you dance all the way from Frostland to show us your soft, lacy dress?"
To the little girl's surprise, a tiny voice said: "Do you really want me to tell you where I came from? I was not always a snowflake, and will not return to Frostland for a long, long time. I can stay with you but a little while; then, when the bright sun comes and the south wind calls, I must leave you, for I have much to do. Many things in the woods need my help.
"Last spring, when the earth became soft, the sky blue, and the warm breeze played with the sun, I was sent from the clouds to give the violets a drink of water. Taking the form of a sparkling dewdrop, I stooped and kissed the dark green leaves, and a violet held me in her arms until the sturdy oak called.
"A sunbeam drew me up, up, and up, then let me gently drop in the quiet pitter-patter of rain. I reached down, down to the roots, giving him new life, so that he put forth leaves which sheltered and protected the violets all summer.
"From the roots of the sturdy oak I traveled on and on and on until the babbling brook called. I turned into a tiny stream of clear water, and the brook rocked me as it went murmuring through a shady dell. The birds dipped into the cool water, then shook their wings till the drops glistened like diamonds in the sunlight. The willow tree bent and looked at herself in the mirror of water, the ferns crept nearer and nearer, and the small white pebble was worn smooth by the laughing brook, as it sang on its way to the sea.
"When I reached the big, broad waters, I found many, many dewdrops, which had been changed into rain and into streams to help the plants, the flowers, and trees. Ships, looking like great white birds, sailed on the waters. Suddenly a storm came up, the sea grew dark and angry-looking. I was turned into white foam, and the waves tossed me higher and higher until the ships went down. The seagulls flapped their wings and gave their cry of warning for all things in the forest to keep away from the wild billows.
"After the storm, I was carried up and up in the air as mist, so that I blotted out all sight of land. I drew closer and closer to the small islands, and wrapped them in a thick blanket of fog. The wind sighed, the flowers closed their beautiful petals, and the birds hid their heads under their wings in fear of this clinging white monster.
"The winter winds came along and carried me into the far Northland, where the Ice King reigns supreme. Here I found little men dressed in fur to keep them warm. Great white bears walked on huge cakes of ice. But the birds and flowers could not live in that still, cold land. The silence was broken only by the crunching of the ice. I, too, became ice, and drifted slowly out on the shining white waste.
"Then again came the sun, warm and strong, and forced back the cold north wind. Instead of being a thick white cake of ice, I became a tiny, fluffy bit of frost, as white as ermine, as soft, as soft as down. Gently the north wind, who was now a slave of the mighty sun, gathered me up and carried me into a strange land, a very strange land. The earth was hard, the trees bare, and the flowers were all dead. Dark, sullen-looking clouds took me from the north wind and sent me floating down, down through space until I reached your hand.
"When you gather up a handful of snow to make a big, round snowball, do not forget that once we were bright dewdrops sparkling in the morning sun. And when you wade in the little brook in the summer time, we will flow over your bare feet and sing you a song of the sea."