DISCONTENTED DEWDROP

Discontented DewdropDiscontented Dewdrop

One morning a little Dewdrop was resting on the petal of a wild rose that grew beside a river.

The sun shining on it made it glisten like a diamond and a lady who was passing stopped to admire its beauty.

"It is the most beautiful thing in the world," she remarked. "See the colors in that tiny little drop. Isn't it wonderful?"

"Wonderful," repeated the Dewdrop when the lady had walked away. "If I were like the river I might be wonderful; it is too bad; here I am sitting here while the river can run on and on and see all the sights. It bubbles and babbles as it goes, and that is worth while. I have never a chance to be wonderful. Oh, if I were only in the river water I might be something."

Just then a breeze passing heard the little Dewdrop's wish.

"You shall have your wish, foolish Dewdrop," she said, blowing gently on the rose, which swayed, and off went the little Dewdrop into the rushing river.

"This is like something, being a part of this river," said the Dewdrop as it mingled its tiny drop with the running river. "Now I am worth admiring and can see something of the world."

On and on it ran with the water of the river, but it was no longer a Dewdrop; it was a part of the river.

"I wish I could stop for a minute so some one might admire me," said the silly little drop, for it thought it could still be seen and was making all the babbling it heard as the river ran along.

But no one admired it, nor did it stop. On went the river to a larger river, and by and by it came to the bay and the Dewdrop went rolling into it with the other water.

"Surely I am greater now than ever and worth admiring," thought the drop, but it heard no sweet words such as the lady spoke of the little Dewdrop on the rose by the river.

The bay mingled at last with the ocean and little Dewdrop knew at last that it was no longer a thing to be admired for itself alone, but a part of the great ocean. It was completely lost in the vastness of the mighty waters of which it was only a drop.

The breeze went whispering over it, calling, "Little Dewdrop, little Dewdrop, where are you?"

But the drop answered never a word. It did not even hear the gentle voice of the breeze, so loud was the roar of the ocean.

"Come away," called a loud wind to the gentle breeze; "that is no place for you. I must blow here and make the waves high, and you will never find your little Dewdrop. It has been swallowed long ago by the ocean. Go back to your river and tell the other Dewdrops the fate of their companion."

The gentle breeze went away and the loud wind swept the ocean, making the waves high and the roar louder and louder. The little Dewdrop was there somewhere in the great whole, but it was lost forever in its longing to become great.

The gentle breeze went back to the river, and as she sighed around the rose where the discontented Dewdrop had rested she heard another drop say:

"Look at the river. Isn't it big? Here am I only a Dewdrop, so small no one can see me."

"Ah, that is where you are mistaken, my dainty Dewdrop," said the gentle breeze. "You can be seen now, but if you were to become a part of the river you would never be seen. You would lose your identity as soon as you mingled with the waters of the river. Be your own sweet self and be content with the part you play in this world. You are helping to make it more beautiful by your own dainty beauty. Do not wish to do what only seems a greater thing."

And then she told the fate of the discontented Dewdrop that had wished to become great and how at last it was swallowed by its own greatness, and its dainty beauty which had been so admired no longer remained.

"Be content with the small but beautiful part you play in this world," she told the drop, "and do not long for a greatness which may result in your unhappiness."

Inquisitive Mr. PossumInquisitive Mr. Possum

It was Mr. Owl who gave the wood folk the warning by calling out one night, "To whom it may concern!" At least the wood people knew that was what he meant, but anyone else might have thought he just cried "To whoo! To whoo!"

So when all the animals both great and small had gathered around his tree he told them that in his opinion it was to be a very, very hard winter.

That of course meant that they must begin right away to lay up stores for the cold, snowed-in days, and everyone bestirred himself at once to do this.

Even Mrs. Rabbit, who seldom made much preparation for the winter days, began to do up preserves; all the small bunnies were sent out with their baskets to gather corn and beans and beet tops and all sorts of good things. "If we cannot get them green," said Mrs. Rabbit to her neighbor, Mrs. Squirrel, "we can eat them stewed; but of course we much prefer them in their natural state."

Mrs. Squirrel, to encourage her neighbor in laying up winter stores, gave her a big basketful of walnuts which Mrs. Rabbit pickled, and some say those were the first walnuts ever pickled.

But this story is not about pickled walnuts; it is about the nice preserves that Mrs. Rabbit put up and the accident that befell Mr. Possum.

Everybody that passed Mrs. Rabbit's home for many days found it hard to get by her door, for such spicy, nice-smelling odors as came through the open windows made everyone feel hungry.

Mr. Possum was especially interested when he found that Mrs. Rabbit was, among other things, putting up a great deal of canned corn, and he decided that when it was dark he would just take a peek into her pantry window and see how many cans she had.

Right in front of the window was a tree and one limb hung low enough so that Mr. Possum with a little care could easily swing himself from it and reach the pantry window.

Now this might have been safe enough if the limb had been a good one, but it wasn't, and when Mr. Possum ran along it, before he could even get ready to swing, "crackle, snap," went the limb and down went Mr. Possum into a barrel of whitewash Mrs. Rabbit had ready to use on her little house.

And that was not the worst of it. When he ran home, so scared he didn't remember running at all after it was over, Mrs. Possum didn't know him, but thought he was some terrible white creature come to carry on her children, and slammed the door right in his face.

All night Mr. Possum had to sit outside, the whitewash dripping from his coat, and in the morning, bright and early, all the little Bunnies and Mr. and Mrs. Rabbit, as well, were standing in front of the house, looking at him.

Mrs. Rabbit wanted to know what he meant by carrying off some of her whitewash. "I tracked you right to your own door-yard, so you need not deny it," she said.

Mr. Possum did not try to deny it, for what was the use. He was all covered in the white stuff? But he did try to tell Mr. and Mrs. Rabbit that it was all an accident, that he was just running along the limb and off it broke and he happened to fall into the whitewash.

Mrs. Possum had found out it was her husband by this time, of course, and she came out to say that what Mrs. Rabbit could think they wanted of her whitewash was more than she could tell.

Mrs. Rabbit wiggled her nose and looked very wise. "Well," she said, "if that is true, Mr. Possum, that it was all an accident, why, of course, that is all there is to it; but you must admit that it did look suspicious."

Mr. Possum admitted that it did, and off ran the Rabbit family for home; but it was a long time before Mr. Possum could go abroad again, for the white coat he wore was to be plainly seen in the daytime or at night.

What the Flowers told MarthaWhat the Flowers told Martha

Martha was visiting her grandmother, who lived in the country. At the back of the farmhouse was a very large porch, and in the front of that a garden in which grew all kinds of flowers.

One afternoon, when everyone else was taking a nap, Martha sat on the porch. It was warm and a bee was buzzing around the flowers. Every little while he would fly around Martha's head.

"I wish I had someone to play with," thought Martha. "Everybody is asleep and I am lonesome."

"The flowers want you to come into the garden," buzzed the bee.

Martha listened, for she could not believe the bee was really speaking to her, but she heard again, "The flowers want you to come into the garden."

Martha walked down the path to the Rose Bush. "I'll find out if that bee is telling the truth," she said.

"I am so glad you came," said a Rose, and as Martha looked it seemed that she could almost see the face of a little girl in its petals. "I wanted some one to talk to," said the Rose.

"So did I," said a Lily.

"We all are glad to see you," said a Tulip, "for we never have anyone to talk to."

"I never knew before that you could talk," said Martha.

"Of course we can," said the Rose, "but we are tired of telling stories to one another."

"Oh! can you tell stories?" asked Martha as she seated herself on the ground beside the flowers.

"Yes, indeed!" said the Rose. "I'll tell mine first."

"Did you ever hear how the Rose happened to have thorns?" she asked.

Martha said she never did, and the Rose said, "I will tell you."

"Before I bloomed here I lived in the warm climates, and although you may not think it I also lived in the land where Jack Frost dwells. But I love best the land where the nightingale lives and tells me of his love. One night when he was singing and telling me that my perfume was the sweetest in the garden and my damask cheek the softest, a Thorn Bush which grew near and had tried many times to win him from me began to tell how sweet were his notes and how graceful his form."

"'Do come and sing in my bush,' she said, 'and let me show you how strong I am. You will be safer in my bush than on the swaying branches of the Rose.'

"But the nightingale would not leave me, and told the Thorn Bush it was far too bold and its sharp points far too treacherous. 'You are not so fragrant as the Rose,' he said, 'and my love is all for her.'

"'You shall pay for this,' screamed the Thorn Bush, angrily, 'and you will find that your beautiful Rose has thorns as well as I.' But the nightingale only sang lower and more sweetly to me, and we forgot the Thorn Bush in our happiness.

"The cruel Thorn, however, did not forget or forgive, and one day she twined herself around my roots and pressed into my tender stems until she was a part of me. I tried to cry out, but her strength was greater than mine. That night, when the nightingale came to sing his love song, she raised one of her sharp thorns and pierced his foot.

"'You see your beautiful Rose has hidden thorns,' she said, 'and she is no more to be desired than I am.'

"'I should be a poor lover were I not willing to suffer for the one I love,' replied the nightingale as he came closer and sang to me even in his pain.

"'I will always love you,' he said; 'I know you are not to blame for the thorns you wear, and that my love for you brought this upon you. I will never leave you.' And he sang to me all through the night, and in the morning a deep, red Rose bloomed where the nightingale's bleeding foot had rested, and the Thorn Bush was more angry than ever when she beheld its beauty.

"'You shall never be free,' she said to me; 'every Rose shall wear a thorn.'

"The nightingale still sings to me and never fails to tell me of his undying love."

"That is a very pretty story," said Martha as the Rose finished, "and I am glad to know about that Thorn, for I have wondered many times why a flower so beautiful as you had that sharp point under your soft leaves."

"Martha! Martha!" some one called from the doorway, and Martha jumped up.

"Come back to-morrow and hear my story," said the Tiger Lily; "and mine," said the Tulip; "and mine," called out the Jonquil.

Martha promised that she would and ran toward the house.

The next day as soon as Martha found herself alone she ran into the garden, for she was curious to hear the promised stories.

The Jonquil spoke first. "My story," it said, with dignity, "will be historical. I am a descendant from the great Narcissus family, and the Narcissus, as you know, is a very beautiful flower; it grows in wild profusion among the stony places along the great Mediterranean and eastward to China. All that you may have heard, but do you know why Narcissus loves to be near the water?"

Martha said she did not.

"I will tell you," replied the Jonquil. "Ages and ages ago Narcissus was the son of a river god. He was extremely vain of his extraordinary beauty, which he beheld for the first time in the water. He sought out all the pools in the woods and would spend hours gazing at his reflection, and at last he fell in love with his own image.

"Narcissus could neither eat nor sleep, so fascinated did he become with his reflection. He would put his lips near to the water to kiss the lips he saw, and plunge his arms into it to embrace the form he loved, which, of course, fled at his touch, and then returned after a moment to mock him.

"'Why cannot you love me?' he would say to the image; 'the Nymphs have loved me, and I can see love in your eyes'; which, of course, he did, for he did not know he was gazing at his own reflection.

"At last he pined away and died, and in the place of his body was found a beautiful flower, with soft white petals, nodding to its reflection in the water.

"The Daffodils are also my cousins," the Jonquil explained, "and descend from the beautiful Narcissus."

"That is a very pretty story," said Martha, "and the fate of Narcissus should teach all vain people a lesson."

The Tiger Lily told her story next.

"Mine is not a love story," she said; "it is about something I saw in far-off China before I bloomed here.

"In that land little girls are not so happy as they are here because the boys are the pride of the family.

"One day a poor beggar who was faint from hunger and thirst lay down close beside where I bloomed. He groaned aloud in his misery, and a little girl who was passing heard him. She came to him and gave him water from a near-by stream and bathed his face. When he was refreshed he asked, 'Who are you, and how did you happen to be here?'

"'I am only a miserable daughter on her way to the mission,' she replied. 'My father is very poor and can provide only for his sons. If I can reach the mission they will take me in and I shall be taught many things.'

"The beggar only shook his head; he did not believe that a girl was worth even thanking, and that anyone should bother to teach her was past his belief, and so the little girl passed on.

"I am telling you this story," said the Tiger Lily, "that you may know how much good your pennies do that you drop into the missionary box, for you see by the kind act of that little girl the Chinese girls are worth saving, for they are kind and good and grow up to be a blessing to their country."

"What became of the beggar?" asked Martha.

"The little girl reached the mission," the Lily said, "and they sent some one from there to take the beggar away. Very likely the missionaries took care of him."

"I am glad you told me that story," said Martha. "I shall try to save more pennies now to send to the little girls in China."

The Tulip spoke next.

"I am afraid," she said, "that my story will not be very interesting, but I don't suppose that many people know that I bloomed long ago in Constantinople, the city of beautiful hills, where the mosques and the tombs and the fountains make a strange picture in the moonlight.

"There the ladies wear queerly draped gowns and their veiled faces leave only their bright eyes exposed.

"Afterward I bloomed in a country where everybody seems happy, and that is the land I love best. The children in that country look like little stuffed dolls in their many petticoats and close-fitting bonnets around their chubby little faces. Their little shoes clatter over the stones, sounding like many horses in the distance. There I was best loved and grew in profusion and beauty around the quaint homes of these quaint-looking people.

"Ah, me, it is a long way from here," sighed the Tulip, "and I often long to hear the sound of the Zuider Zee as I did once long ago."

"Why, she has gone to sleep," said Martha as the Tulip closed and drooped her head, "and I must go in the house. Grandmother will be looking for me."

"Will you come again?" asked the flowers; "there are many more that have stories to tell."

"I shall be glad to hear them," said Martha, "for I had no idea that flowers could tell such interesting stories."

When Jack Frost was YoungWhen Jack Frost was Young

Not that he is old now, for Jack is a snappy, bright fellow, and will never really grow old—that is, in anything but experience.

And that is exactly what this story is about, the time when Jack Frost was young in experience and would not listen to his mother, old Madam North Wind.

One morning he awoke and hustled about with a will, and Madam North Wind, who had not yet begun to arise early in the morning, was aroused from her slumbers.

"Whatever are you doing, making such a noise at this time in the morning?" she asked her son.

"It is time I was on my round," said Jack Frost, in a snappy, sharp tone. "I mean to begin early and not let all the farmers get ahead of me and get their corn and pumpkins and such things in the barn.

"They will have to look out for me, I tell you, mother. I am a sharp, snappy young fellow, and they must know it."

"You go back to your bed," said old Madam North Wind. "It is not time for frosts yet. You should not begin your rounds for another two weeks at least."

"Oh, mother, you are so old-fashioned," said Jack Frost. "I want to be up and doing. Those farmers think they know everything there is to know about the weather, and I want to show them I am too smart for them. I shall start off to-night."

"You listen to me if you do not wish to spoil all your beautiful colored pictures, Jack," said his mother. "I may be old-fashioned, but I know what the beauty of your work is worth, and if you do not wish to lose your reputation as an artist you go back to your bed and wait until I call you."

But Jack Frost, like many a son, thought his mother was far too old-fashioned; but to keep her from fretting he crept into bed again and kept still until he was sure his mother was asleep.

All day he kept quiet, and when the darkness came he listened to make sure old Madam North Wind was still sleeping before he crept softly out of his bed.

Very quietly he got out his big white coat and cap and then he filled his big white bag with white shiny frost from his mother's chest.

He filled the bag full and then shook it down and put in more. "I'll give them a good one to-night," he said, laughing at the thought of the surprise he would give the farmers.

Then he crept softly past his sleeping mother, and out he went; flying swiftly over hill and dale.

All around he spread the white frost, and when at last he finished his work the old Sun Man, looking over the crest of the hill, was horrified when he looked upon a white world.

"You rascal!" he shouted after Jack Frost's flying shape. "You are far too early! You have spoiled all your pictures for this year!"

"Old silly, what does he know?" said Jack as he hurried along. "He is just like mother—old-fashioned."

Jack got softly into bed, and not until his mother called him did he awake again.

"Come," she said one day, "it is time now for you to be about your work, and your pictures should be gorgeous in their colorings this year. Be careful, my son; scatter your frost to-night lightly, and again to-morrow night. I will go out in the morning and see how things look."

Jack Frost did not tell his mother he had been out before. He did not need to tell her, for the next morning before old Madam North Wind had gone far she knew what had happened. "They are all spoiled," she said as she looked over the landscape; "all black and dead before they had a bit of color."

"Come out and look at your work," she said, going back for her son. "You thought you knew more about it than your old mother."

Jack Frost had no idea what old Madam North Wind meant, but he felt sure something was wrong, so he followed his mother very meekly; but when they reached the forest he knew something was wrong indeed.

No bright and beautifully-colored leaves and bushes met his gaze. All were brown and black. "What is the matter with my pictures?" he asked. "I thought they would be very beautiful this year."

"You stole out before it was time, and you not only surprised the farmers, but you spoiled all your gorgeous pictures and cheated all the people who look for them. There will be none this year because you thought you knew more than I. Go home. There is no work for you, and perhaps you will listen to me next year and not get up until I call you."

Jack Frost went home a sadder but wiser fellow and the next year he slept and did not put his frosty nose out from under his blanket until old Madam North Wind called him.

Revenge of the FirefliesRevenge of the Fireflies

The Fireflies and the Goblins had always been good friends, just as they were with the Fairies, until one night when the Goblins held a frolic in the woods and did not invite the Fireflies to come.

It was a bright moonlight night, and the Goblins, who did not think much about anyone or anything if it did not in some way help them, knew they would not need the Fireflies' lanterns, so they did not bother to send them an invitation.

When the moon was high up in the sky so it shone down on all the trees in the woods, making it almost like daylight, the Goblins came tumbling out of their rocks and began their frolic.

They tumbled and they played such antics in the moonlight that anyone who did not know who they were and had seen them would surely have thought them a lot of crazy little creatures.

Of course, the Fireflies came flying along, and when they saw what was going on they began asking one another if anyone had received an invitation.

"It is plain to be seen why they did not invite us," said one old Firefly. "They did not need us because the moon is shining."

"That shows us what their friendship is worth," said another. "If they need our lights, they invite us; if not, we are forgotten."

For a few minutes all the Fireflies flashed with anger and then the old Firefly said. "I think we can have revenge if all of you will do as I tell you, and if I am not much mistaken those Goblin fellows will remember us the next time they have a frolic, even if they do not need us."

All the Fireflies wanted to know what the old Firefly had in his mind, but not a word would he tell them about his plan until they ran about and called together all the Fireflies for miles and miles around.

Of course, it did not take those sprightly little creatures long to fly miles and miles, and pretty soon in one corner of the woods were gathered together thousands of Fireflies.

"My plan is this," said the old Firefly when they were all there, "the Goblins are to go sailing on the lily pads after the frolic and we will go around to all the rocks and alight on all of them, for that is where they live, and when they return from their sail they will think their homes are on fire.

"Shine as brightly as you can, every one of you, and don't wink or blink, so the Goblins will not suspect us. They will have a good fright, if nothing else."

Away went the Fireflies in groups of thousands, and pretty soon all the rocks in the woods were covered; but not until the Goblins returned from their moonlight sail did the Fireflies let their bright lights be seen.

The Goblins stopped every one when they reached the woods, for all the rocks were a blaze of light. "Oh, our homes!" they all cried; "someone has set them on fire. What shall we do?"

Hither and thither like little bees they flew, but it was no use; they could not enter their homes. They were all on fire.

"Where shall we sleep?" they began to ask one another, for they were all very tired after the frolic.

"We can crawl under the leaves," said one Goblin, "but we dare not sleep, for if the fairies should find us, no knowing what they would do to us with their wands. We will have to stay awake all night, and in the morning if the fire is out we can crawl into our homes, for, of course, the rocks cannot burn."

"No, but they can be very hot and burn us," said another. "Oh dear, I wish we had not gone sailing; perhaps we could have saved our homes."

So under the leaves they crawled, but not a wink of sleep did those Goblins dare take, and when it was 'most daylight time the Fireflies put out their lights and silently flew away.

When the Goblins went to their rocks they were surprised to find them all cool and not at all hot as they had expected, and one of the Goblins, putting a pointed little finger on the side of his pointed nose said to the others: "I have a thought, and it is this: The Fireflies were not invited to our frolic and I wonder if they alighted on our rocks for revenge?"

"I wonder," said the others; but they were all so sleepy they could not think, so in they tumbled and were soon fast asleep; but the next time they gave a frolic the very first thing they did was to invite all the Fireflies, and not one did they forget.

Sallie Hicks's ForefingerSallie Hicks's Forefinger

Sallie Hicks was a little girl who was good most of the time, but she had one bad habit, and that was caused by her forefinger on her right hand.

Sallie's right-hand forefinger would get into things it should not, and it caused Sallie's mother a great deal of trouble, and most of Sallie's punishments were on account of that unruly right-hand-forefinger.

One day Sallie's mother set a dish of hot jelly on the kitchen table to cool. She told Sallie it was hot and she must not touch it.

But no sooner was her mother out of the kitchen and the cook's head was turned another way than Sallie Hicks forgot all about her mother's warning, and the naughty right-hand forefinger went right into the hot jelly.

Oh, how Sallie screamed with pain! And she forgot all about putting the forefinger in her mouth to taste the jelly, it burned her so.

The big tears ran right down Sallie's pretty pink cheeks, and her mother and grandmother, and cook, too, came running to see what was the matter.

The little forefinger told the story, and it had to be wrapped in some cooling salve and a soft piece of linen.

"I told you that some day you would get that finger burned," said her mother, "and now because you disobeyed me you must sit in the big chair in the hall until lunch time and not speak to anyone. I want you to think about that naughty finger."

Sallie's grandmother passed her in the hall and leaned over and kissed her. "I am sorry that grandmother's little girl was so naughty," she said. "Good little girls mind their mothers and they don't get burnt fingers."

Sallie watched her grandmother go upstairs and then Sallie looked at the picture hanging on the wall of her great-grandmother.

"I wonder if Grandmother Great ever had to punish grandmother," thought Sallie. "I wonder if grandmothers were always very good little girls?"

Sallie looked at her Grandfather Great, too, and wondered how it was that, though the Greats were the father and mother of her own dear grandmother, they had nice black hair, all smooth and shiny, while her grandmother and grandfather, too, had white hair.

Sallie looked at the forefinger all wrapped about with the white cloth, and she thought how dreadful it would be to have her finger big and long as it looked now. Then she looked at Grandmother Great again and her eyes seemed to be looking right at that little burnt forefinger.

Sallie put her right hand behind her, but the eyes of Grandmother Great looked right at Sallie.

Sallie winked her eyes and looked again, for she thought her Grandmother Great smiled at her. Sallie looked hard at the picture, and Grandmother Great seemed to shake her head at Sallie.

"Didn't your little girl ever do anything naughty with her forefinger?" asked Sallie.

Grandmother Great smiled. "I had several little girls once, but they were all good little girls," said Grandmother Great.

"Always, every bit of the time?" questioned Sallie.

"Yes; I cannot remember now that they ever did anything naughty," said Grandmother Great. "But you know, dear, it was a long time ago. I had my little girls a very long time ago."

"Perhaps you forget when it is a long time ago," said Sallie. "Didn't your little girls ever put their forefinger in anything just to taste it?"

"Oh dear, yes; I remember now that your grandmother did put her forefinger, the right-hand forefinger it was, too, in the wheel of the wringer once to see what would happen," said Grandmother Great.

"Did she cry?" asked Sallie.

"Oh dear, yes, poor little girlie; she cried, and I was so frightened I cried, too. Her poor little finger never grew quite as it should at the end," said Grandmother Great, with a sigh.

"Do mothers cry when little girls get burnt putting their fingers into things they should not?" asked Sallie.

"Of course they do, my dear. Mothers have many a cry over their little girls when they are naughty," said Grandmother Great.

"I don't want mother to cry," said Sallie.

"Of course you don't, my dear," said Grandmother Great. "So you will not put your finger in anything again, will you?"

Before Sallie could promise her Grandmother Great she would be a good little girl she heard some one say, "Sallie, Sallie, come to lunch."

Sallie opened her eyes, for she had been asleep, dreaming all this time, and there stood her mother in the doorway.

"Mother, do mothers forget how naughty their little girls were when they grow up?" asked Sallie.

"I think so," said her mother. "I hope you will be so good before you grow up that I shall forget how naughty you were this morning."

"Grandmother Great told me mothers did forget their little girls were naughty ever, after they grew up," said Sallie.

"You mean your grandmother told you; not Grandmother Great," said Sallie's mother. "You never saw Grandmother Great, dear."

"Well, she told me so just now," said Sallie, "and she said, too, that grandmother put her finger in the wheel of the wringing machine once, and that she cried because grandmother, who was her little girl then, cried, and was hurt."

"What is the child talking about?" said Sallie's mother.

"She has been asleep and dreamed it," said Sallie's grandmother, taking Sallie in her arms. "I showed her my forefinger where it was hurt when I was a little girl and told her she must look out for her forefinger or she might get it terribly hurt just as I did.

"Did you think the picture of Grandmother Great spoke to you?" she asked Sallie, holding her close in her arms.

"She did," said Sallie, "and she said mothers always cried when their little girls are naughty. Oh, mother dear, I don't want to make you cry, and I won't put my finger in anything again, truly I won't!" sobbed Sallie.

"She isn't half awake yet," said her grandmother as Sallie's mother took her in her arms and kissed her.

Sallie kept her promise, even if she did dream about Grandmother Great talking to her, and the right-hand forefinger did not get her into any more trouble.

Sallie Hicks often looks at the portraits in the hall of Grandmother and Grandfather Great, but Grandmother Great never has spoken to her since that day. But Sallie Hicks smiles at her and sometimes the eyes seem to smile back, and Sallie wonders if they really do.

The Rain ElvesThe Rain Elves

The Rain Elf children had been shut up in their houses for ever so long, for it had been hot and the Rain Elves do not like very hot weather.

Their mothers, the Rain Clouds, awoke one morning and found the sun was not shining, so they told their children they could drop down and play on the Earth awhile.

"Now, mind you, do not all go. Part of you can go at a time, because there are so many, many millions of you; the poor Earth would be quite overcome if all the Rain Elves went down at once."

So a few from each family of the Rain Cloud's children went out the door as their mothers opened it and down they dropped upon the dry Earth.

Oh, the gardens were so glad to see them! The flowers lifted their drooping heads and smiled a glad welcome. "Where have you been?" they asked. "It is so long since you were here we thought you had forgotten us."

"Oh no, we didn't forget you!" replied the Rain Elves, "but it has been so hot our mothers would not let us come out. We can stay but a little while, because we have many, many millions of brothers that want to come down to the garden, too; so we will have to go back, and the next shower will bring some of the others."

The little flowers were grieved when they heard this, for they were so dusty and thirsty they felt they could never get enough of the shining little Elves.

"What shall we do to keep them here?" they whispered among themselves. "If they go back to the clouds, perhaps the others will not come. Oh, if the old Wind Witch would only come along she might help us."

"She might get us all into trouble also," said a slender lily. "I think we better trust the Rain Cloud mothers to do what they think best."

But poor little lily's words were not noticed and a tall hollyhock was asked to find old Wind Witch and request her to help them keep the Rain Elves all day.

The old Wind Witch laughed with glee when she heard the request, for she saw a chance to work mischief and make it appear she was trying to do good.

"Tell the pretty flowers they shall have the Rain Elves all day, and their brothers, too," she said to the hollyhock, and off she flew up to the Rain Cloud homes.

She went about the clouds very carefully and gently, for she knew if the Rain Cloud mothers heard her they would call their children home; but by and by she saw her chance, and while the Rain Cloud mothers were busy she softly opened the door of each cloud one by one and beckoned to the Rain Elves.

"Run along quickly," she said. "Your brothers are having such a fine time they have quite forgotten you; they will not be back today, so run along and be merry with them."

The little Rain Elves did not stop to think they should wait for their mothers to tell them when to go, they were so eager to get out.

Down they went quite gently at first with a patter, patter, pat, and then they quite lost their heads, thinking of the fun they would have, and down they dropped, splash, splash, splash.

At first the flowers laughed and danced about for joy, for they were getting their leaves and blossoms washed and their thirsty petals satisfied; but in a little while the Rain Elves came so fast and thick the petals dropped off one by one, and then the stems bent under the swift coming of the Elves.

Pretty soon the garden was filled with water so that the grass could not be seen, while old Wind Witch danced about overhead and cackled with delight at the mischief she had done.

"Oh dear! I did not know there were so many of you!" cried a rose as her stem broke and she fell into the water.

"I was afraid of it," sighed the lily as she fell to the ground. "A few Elves at a time is best. The mother Rain Clouds know."

Such a commotion as there was in the Rain Cloud homes when the mothers found the doors of their houses open! They hustled about and called for the Rain Elves to come home; but they were so taken up with the fun they were having, spattering and splashing, they did not hear.

By and by old Sun Man saw them, and it did not take him long to throw his hot rays on old Wind Witch and drive her away, and then the Rain Elves felt the Sun Man's breath and thought of home.

One by one they disappeared. Some hid among the roses and other flowers that were left in the garden, and others were lucky enough to get back to their cloud houses and their mothers, but they left the garden a very sad-looking place.

"Who ever would have thought there were so many of those Rain Elves," said a bedraggled-looking flower. "I shall never wish for them to stay all day again."

"The lily was wiser than we thought," said another. "The Rain Cloud mothers know best what is good for us, and the next time they send a part of their children I think we better be satisfied and not get them all here at once."

"I think you are right," sighed the hollyhock from the ground, where he had fallen. "Shall I ever see over the wall again, I wonder. Such a fall as I took none of you can realize."

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