Clara longed to be a little girl again. She asked the stone to tell her how, but the hard stone would not answer. She asked the brook, but the brook whispered, “Ask the Bobolink!” She asked the Bobolink, but he merely alighted upon the flower and teetered up and down. She could not learn from the Bobolink how to make her shadow stay upon the stone.
Then she asked a spider and he spun a web from her bright blossoms, fastened it to the stone, bent her over, and tied her up, till she feared she could never get loose. But all his nice films did her no good; her shadow would not stay upon the stone.
She asked the wind to help her. The wind swept away the spider’s web, and blew so hard that the flower lay its whole length upon the stone; but when the wind left her and she rose up, there was no shadow marked upon the stone.
“What is beauty worth,” thought Clara, “if it grows by the side of a stone that does not feel it, nor care for it?”
She asked the dew to help her. And the dew said, “How can I help you! I live contentedly in darkness, I put on my beauty only to please others. I let the sun come through my drops, though I know it will consume me.”
“I wish I were dew,” said Clara, “for then, I, too, could do some good. Now my beauty does no good, and I am wasting it every day upon a stone.” When Clara breathed this kind wish, there were glad flutters and whispers all around.
The next day a beautiful child came that way. She was gathering ferns, and mosses, and flowers. Whenever she saw a tuft of moss, she would ask, “Please, dear moss, may I take you?” And when she saw a beautiful branch with scarlet leaves, she would ask, “Dear bush, may I take these leaves?”
When she saw the beautiful columbine growing by the side of a stone, she asked, “Oh, sweet Columbine, may I pluck you?” And the fairy flower said, gently, “I must not go till my shadow is fastened upon the stone.”
Then the girl took from her case a pencil and in a moment traced the shadow of the columbine upon the stone. When she had done this, she reached out her hand, took the stem low down, and broke it off.
At that moment Clara sprang up from her chair by the window, and there stood her mother saying, “My dear daughter, you should not fall asleep by an open window, not even in summer. How damp you are! Come, hasten to bed.”