[THE MOUNTAIN DWARF.]
BY ANNIE L. BELCHER.
You all know the old proverb, "Those who live in glass houses should not throw stones"? Well, I am going to tell you a story about it.
Years ago there stood a beautiful castle on the summit of a mountain. It had many towers and many wings, and was built entirely of glass. It stood in the midst of a garden brilliant with unknown flowers, and filled with trees weighted down with strange delicious fruits.
People from various parts of the world came to see this wonderful garden, with its glass palace, and strange birds and fruits and flowers; and not the least strange part about it was its master, christened, by order of the Mountain King, the Mountain Dwarf. He was an odd, grotesque little creature, with thin, crooked legs, and a sharp shrewd face set in a mass of yellow hair. He wore costly satins and velvets, and all his garments were trimmed with wee silver bells that kept up a perpetual jingling that seemed impertinently to assert their master's supremacy over all the world. It pleased this curious little man to build himself a glass castle. He liked that men should watch him dine from golden plates, and drink rare wine from diamond goblets. Admiration was to him the breath of life, and he was most happy when his neighbors were most envious. He laughed aloud when strangers, toiling up the hill, were forced to shield their eyes from the dazzling glare of the sun shining on his palace.
Half-way between the summit of this mountain and the pretty village at its foot stood a miner's settlement—a pitiful collection of log-huts so rudely put together that they kept out neither snow nor rain. In these huts lived the families of the men who toiled night and day in the mine underneath the hill. It was these half-starved, hard-worked men that made the money that enabled the Mountain Dwarf to live like a Mountain King. But little thought he of the poor wretches underneath his feet, save that their settlement was an eyesore, and must be destroyed. He denied their right to homes and families. Those uneducated machines, men! They were lower than the brutes, and but fit to live in mines. He had no thought of helping them to a higher life; he only wished to push them lower.
Every evening after sunset the Mountain Dwarf would wrap himself in his sable cloak, and walk down to the miners' homes, followed by a retinue of servants. At the first sound of the tinkling bells, women and children would rush from the huts and hide themselves in the forest.
One night he stood alternately gazing on the wretched hovels beside him and the castle on the hill. As he looked, his rage escaped all bounds.
"Down with that rubbish!" he shrieked, pointing to the settlement. "They have disgraced me enough. Strangers have to pass this to see my palace. Down with these huts!"
"But the miners and their wives and children!" ventured the boldest of the servants.