It was late in the fall when Fuzzy Caterpillar gave up.
"I suppose this is the end of me," he thought in his little round head as he tried to wriggle across the road and couldn't because his back was so stiff. "Now I am an old man and I shall never see another summer. Good-bye." And Fuzzy Caterpillar rolled himself up in a gray blanket and hung himself on the end of a dried twig. "This is the last of me," he said once more as the dried little grub he now was rattled around in the cold.
All his beautiful furry coat was scattered to the winds. The path he had made in the dust grew narrower as it wound across the road. That was because Fuzzy Caterpillar had shrivelled as he crawled. Poor Fuzzy Caterpillar, who had so loved the Out-Doors!
The winter was white, and cold, and long. Then it was over, just as all winters are over at last, and Spring came. Spring came over the hills, in a pretty new green frock and with wild flowers in her hair. Sometimes she looked up at the sky, but oftener she looked down at the ground. Spring was looking for the little creatures that she loved so much; the tiny ants, the patient spiders, the cheerful beetles, and Fuzzy Caterpillar.
"Where is Fuzzy Caterpillar?" Spring wondered. She did not see him, all dried up and hanging in his gray blanket from the twig.
"Of course Fuzzy Caterpillar is here somewhere," Spring said to herself. "And wouldn't it be nice to celebrate the day he comes out with some kind of a surprise?" The more Spring thought about this, the happier she was, and the nicer she thought it would be. So she spoke to the grass about it.
"Long Green Grasses," called Spring, "I want to make Out-Doors pretty, and celebrate the day that Fuzzy Caterpillar comes out. Will you cover the ground for me?"
So the Long Green Grasses pushed their slender fingers up out of the earth and they covered the whole ground until it was bright and green again. But the Grasses looked everywhere, and they could not see Fuzzy Caterpillar.
Then Spring spoke to the trees.
"Patient Trees," called Spring, "I want to make Out-Doors pretty, and celebrate the day that Fuzzy Caterpillar comes out. Will you cover your branches with new green leaves?"
So the Patient Trees burst their hard brown buds, and they hung new green leaves upon every one of their branches. But the leaves looked everywhere, and they could not see Fuzzy Caterpillar. All they could see was a little rolled-up gray blanket hanging from a twig.
But Spring was not one bit discouraged, and she spoke to the Laughing Brook.
"Laughing Brook," called Spring, "I want to make Out-Doors pretty, and celebrate the day that Fuzzy Caterpillar comes out. Will you run between your banks again, and sing a song?"
So the Laughing Brook began dancing and tripping over its stones again, and singing as it ran between its banks. Sometimes, though, it stopped in a quiet pool, and it could not see Fuzzy Caterpillar anywhere along its edge.
But Spring, who is very wise, was not discouraged yet, and so she spoke to the flowers.
"Sleepy Roots," called Spring, "I want to make Out-Doors pretty, and celebrate the day that Fuzzy Caterpillar comes out. Will you grow and send up plants that will bud and bloom?"
So the Sleepy Roots did just as Spring had asked them. They awoke, and they sent up leaves and buds through the earth, and the buds blossomed. So there were crocuses in purple petticoats, and daffodils in bonnets with yellow ruffles. There were tulips, red, yellow, pink, and white. They filled all the gardens, making them beautiful. And the fields were golden in the sunshine because the dandelions had bloomed again. But the flowers could not see Fuzzy Caterpillar anywhere.
Then Spring stood on the top of the hill and she looked all over the wide Out-Doors. It was very, very pretty again, so she decided that the day had come when she would celebrate.
"This is Easter Day," said Spring.
"But where is Fuzzy Caterpillar?" whispered the Long Green Grasses.
"Where is Fuzzy Caterpillar?" rustled the New Green Leaves.
"Where is Fuzzy Caterpillar?" tinkled the Brook so sadly that it did not sound like singing.
"Where is Fuzzy Caterpillar?" the wind sighed as it blew through the flowers.
Just then a wonderful thing happened. As if it had floated down from the sky, a beautiful moth flew and lighted on the tip of Spring's finger. It had all the colors of Easter in its wings, the green of the grass and the leaves, the blue of the waters, and the gold of the spring flowers. It was such a beautiful creature that only to look at it made one feel happy. But every one wondered about the moth.
"It is a stranger from far away," they said.
"Oh, no," said Spring. "Fuzzy Caterpillar has come out."
And this was true, for the gray blanket that hung from the twig was torn and empty.
It was Serozha's birthday, and he received many different gifts; peg tops, and hobby horses, and pictures. But Serozha's uncle gave him a gift that he prized above all the rest; it was a trap for snaring birds.
The trap was constructed in such a way that a board was fitted on the frame and shut down upon the top. If seed was scattered on the board, and the trap was put out in the yard, the little bird would fly down, hop upon the board, the board would give way, and the trap would shut with a clap.
Serozha was delighted, and he ran into the house to show his mother the trap.
His mother said:
"It is not a good plaything. What do you want to do with birds? Why do you want to torture them?"
"I am going to put them in a cage," Serozha said. "They will sing, and I will feed them."
He got some seed, scattered it on the board, and set the trap in the garden. And he stood by and expected the birds to fly down. But the birds were afraid of him and would not come near the cage. Serozha ran in to get something to eat, and left the cage.
After dinner he went to look at it. The cage had shut, and in it a little bird was beating against the bars.
Serozha took up the bird, and carried it into the house.
"Mother, I have caught a bird!" he cried. "I think it is a nightingale; and how its heart beats!"
His mother said it was a wild canary. "Be careful! Don't hurt it; you would better let it go."
"No," he said. "I am going to give it something to eat and drink."
Serozha put the bird in a cage, and for two days gave it seed and water, and cleaned the cage. But on the third day he forgot all about it, and did not change the water.
And his mother said, "See here, you have forgotten your bird. You would better let it go."
Serozha thrust his hand in the cage and began to clean it, but the little bird was frightened and fluttered. After Serozha had cleaned the cage, he went to get some water. His mother saw that he had forgotten to shut the cage door, and she called after him.
"Serozha, shut up your cage, else your bird will fly out and hurt itself."
She had hardly spoken the words when the bird found the door, was delighted, spread its wings, and flew around the room toward the window. Serozha came running in, picked up the bird, and put it back in the cage. The bird was still alive, but it lay on its breast, with its wings spread out, and breathed heavily. Serozha looked and looked at it, and began to cry.
"Mother, what can I do now?" he asked.
"You can do nothing now," she replied.
Serozha stayed by the cage all day. He did nothing but look at the bird. And all the time the bird lay on its breast and breathed hard and fast.
When Serozha went to bed, the bird was dead. Serozha could not get to sleep for a long time; every time that he shut his eyes he seemed to see the bird still lying and sighing.
In the morning when Serozha went to his cage, he saw the bird lying on its back, with its legs crossed, and all stiff.
After that Serozha never again snared birds.
The Emperor's palace was the most beautiful in the world.
In the garden were to be seen wonderful flowers, and to the costliest of these silver bells were tied, which rang, so that nobody should pass by without noticing the garden. It extended so far that the gardener himself did not know where the end was. If one went on and on, one came to a glorious forest. The wood extended straight down to the sea, and in the trees lived a Nightingale. It sang so splendidly that even the poor fisherman, who had many other things to do, stopped still and listened, when he had gone out at night to throw his nets, to hear the Nightingale.
From all the countries of the world travellers came to admire the Emperor's palace and his garden, but when they heard the Nightingale they said, "That is the best of all!"
At last their words came to the Emperor.
"What's that?" he exclaimed. "I don't know the Nightingale at all. Is there such a bird in my empire, and even in my garden? I've never heard of that. I command that he shall appear this evening and sing before me!"
But where was the Nightingale to be found? The court had not heard of it either. There was a great inquiry after the wonderful Nightingale which all the world knew except the people at the palace. At last they met a poor little girl in the kitchen who said,
"Yes, I know the Nightingale well. It can sing gloriously. Every evening I get leave to carry my mother the scraps from the table. She lives down by the stream, and when I get back, and am tired, and rest in the wood, then I hear the Nightingale sing. It is just as if my mother kissed me."
So the little girl led the way out into the wood. Half the court went, and the child pointed at last to a little gray bird up in the boughs.
"It can't be possible," they said. "How dull it looks; but it may have lost its color at seeing such grand people around."
"Little Nightingale," called the kitchen maid, "our gracious Emperor wishes you to sing before him."
"My song sounds best in the greenwood," replied the Nightingale; still it came willingly when it knew what the Emperor wished.
The palace was festively adorned for it. The walls and the flooring, which were of porcelain, gleamed in the rays of thousands of golden lamps. The most glorious flowers, which could ring clearly, had been placed in all the passages. In the great hall there had been placed a golden perch on which the Nightingale sat. The little kitchen girl had received permission to stand by the door. All the court was in full dress, and all looked at the little gray bird to which the Emperor nodded.
Then the Nightingale sang so gloriously that the tears came into the Emperor's eyes, and the song went straight to his heart.
It was to remain at the palace now, the Emperor decided; to have its own cage, with liberty to go out twice every day and once at night. Twelve servants were appointed when the Nightingale went out, each of whom had a silken string fastened to the bird's leg which he held very tightly. There was really no pleasure in an excursion of that kind. The whole city spoke of the wonderful bird. When two people met, one said "Nightin," and the other said "gale" which was all that was necessary. Eleven peddlers' children were named after the bird, but not one of them could sing a note.
One day the Emperor received a large parcel, marked "The Nightingale."
He thought it was a present for the bird but when he opened it, he found a box. Inside the box was an artificial nightingale, brilliantly ornamented with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. As soon as this artificial bird was wound up, its tail moved up and down, and shone with silver and gold. It sang very well, too, in its own way. Three and thirty times over did it sing the same waltz, and yet was not tired. The Emperor said that the living Nightingale ought to be shown this wonder.
But where was it?
None had noticed that it had flown away out of the open window, and back to the greenwood.
"What does it matter? We have the best bird after all," every one said. And the artificial bird was made to sing again and again until every one knew its tunes by heart. They liked to look at it, shining like bracelets and breastpins. The real Nightingale was banished from the empire. The artificial bird had its place on a silk cushion close to the Emperor's bed.
All the presents it received, gold and precious stones, were ranged about it. It had a title, High Imperial After-Dinner-Singer. It was certainly famous.
So a whole year went by, and then five years. The Emperor was ill and could not, it was said, live much longer. He lay on his gorgeous bed with long velvet cushions and heavy gold tassels. High up a window stood open, and the moon shone in upon the Emperor and the artificial bird.
The Emperor could scarcely breathe. It was just as if something lay upon his heart. He opened his eyes and then he saw that it was Death who sat upon his heart, and had put on his golden crown and held the Emperor's sword. And all around, from among the folds of the splendid curtains, strange heads peered forth, some ugly, and some quite lovely and mild. They were the Emperor's bad and good deeds that stood before him, now that Death sat upon his heart.
"Music! Music!" cried the Emperor, "so that I need not hear what they say! You little precious golden bird, sing, sing!"
But the bird stood still. It was worn out inside, and there was no music left in it. And Death sat and looked at the Emperor, and it was fearfully quiet.
Then there sounded from the window, suddenly, the most lovely song. It was the little live Nightingale that sat outside on a spray. It had heard of the Emperor's sad plight and had come to sing to him of comfort and hope. And as it sang the blood ran quicker and more quickly through the Emperor's heart; and even Death listened.
The Nightingale sang on and on; and it sang of the quiet churchyard where white roses grow, and the elder-blossom smells sweet, and the grass is green. Then Death felt a great longing to see his garden and he floated out at the window in a white mist, and with him went the spectres.
"Thanks! Thanks!" said the Emperor. "How can I reward you? You must always stay with me."
"Not so," replied the Nightingale. "I cannot build my nest in a palace, but I will come and sit in the evening on the spray yonder by the window and sing you something so that you may be glad and thoughtful at once. I will sing of those who are happy and those who suffer. I will sing of good and of evil that are hidden from you. The little singing bird flies far around, to the poor fishermen, to the peasant's roof, to every one who dwells far from your court. I will come and sing to you. But one thing you must promise me."
"Everything!" said the Emperor; and he stood there in his imperial robes, which he had put on himself, and pressed his sword to his heart.
"One thing, only, I beg of you," said the Nightingale, "tell no one that you have a little bird who tells you everything. Then it will go all the better."
And the Nightingale flew away.
The servants came in to look at their dead Emperor, and, yes, there he stood; and the Emperor said, "Good morning!"
A long while ago when there were not so many people on the earth as there are now, and the birds and animals had things about their own way, a Cuckoo gave a tea party.
She invited all the birds there were, from the great Eagle, through the Larks, Swallows, Finches, and Crows, down to the little brown bird that sings alone in the hedges and had no name then. She seated them all around her table, although it was a task to find places for them all; and she gave each bird whatever it liked best of all to eat.
Every one wondered why the Cuckoo took such trouble as this, and certain people say to this day, "as silly as a Cuckoo," because of it; but when all the birds had eaten their fill, the Cuckoo hopped upon the table and addressed the assembled company.
"It seems to me," said the Cuckoo, "that things have been going very badly with us for some time, and that all would be remedied if we had a king to settle our affairs and rule over us. I would suggest that we choose a king to-day."
Oh, how the birds chirped, and chattered, and peeped at that. The Cuckoo had imagined that she would have the say as to which bird should be king, and she had in mind one of her own sons, but, no indeed! Each bird at the tea party was sure that he had royal blood in his veins, and they all began to argue and quarrel about it.
About that time a Rooster and a Hen passed by, taking their daily airing. They had not been invited to the tea party and so they were greatly excited at hearing the commotion; grandfathers, and fathers, and cousins, and sons among the birds were all talking and arguing at once.
"Wat? Wat?" clucked the Hen.
"I will go and see, my dear," said the Rooster, and so he rushed into the midst of the tea party to see what all the hubbub was about. When he found out, he had a plan to offer. He was often called upon to settle disputes among the Hens, so he was always quite willing to help in any such matters.
"Have a test! Have a test!" said the Rooster. "You will never decide anything by arguing in this way; but it shall be decided that the bird who is able to fly the highest shall be your king."
This seemed a fair way of settling the matter. All the birds agreed to it except the Plover, who went off into the woods and has lived there, wild, ever since.
Then the birds lighted in a row, and spread their wings, and flew with all their strength, and as high as they could, up, up into the air. One by one, though, they dropped back for they did not all have the same strength of wing. The Lark flew higher, indeed, than most of them, but finally he, too, was outstripped by the Eagle, who soared and soared until he was only a speck in the sky.
"The Eagle is our king! The Eagle is king of the birds!" sang all the others; but, no! Way, way above the Eagle flew another bird, so tiny that he looked like nothing but a mote, floating in the sunlight. It was the little brown bird that sings alone in the hedges, and had no name then. He had hidden himself in the Eagle's feathers and had been carried up with him until he wanted to fly on by himself.
"I am the king of the birds!" he twittered as he flew down among the others again.
But the other birds did not wish this. They did not like to think of so tiny and humble a bird being exalted to be their king. They were about to fall upon the little brown bird and drive him out of their midst when the Rooster spoke to them again. Since the plan had been his, he wanted to make a success of it, so he said,
"The mistake was mine, all mine. This is how we will arrange it. The bird that is able to fall deepest into the earth shall be your king."
The Rooster had a plan of his own in mind when he said this. As all the birds began to look about for places to jump into deeper places, and the Duck tried to see how long he could hold his head under water, the Rooster called to the Hen. He instructed the Hen to scratch, and when she had made a deep hole, he hid himself in it.
"I am king of the birds! I am your king!" the Rooster crowed, poking his head up out of the hole.
But the little brown bird that sings in the hedges, and had no name then, had again got the best of them all. What had he done but creep into a mouse hole, and there he was, deeper down in the earth than any of them.
"I am your king!" he twittered up to them.
Then all the birds were very much put out, for they saw that the little brown bird was truly the king. They decided, though, that they would not recognize him, and they appointed the Owl to sit, night and day, at the opening of the mouse hole and not allow the little brown bird to come out. Then all the birds went home from the Cuckoo's tea party, and to bed, for they were quite worn out with all the excitement.
All went well that night with the Owl. He watched the mouse hole and did not allow the little brown bird to so much as put his bill out. When it came to be day, though, the Owl was tired, and he closed, first, one eye, and then the other eye. There he was, fast asleep, and out hopped the little brown bird who had a name now, because he was the little Hedge King.
It was a great disappointment to the other birds to be obliged to recognize so humble a little brown bird as their king, and they blamed the Owl for it. That is why he still sleeps in the daytime now, and looks about only at night. And that is why, also, he is such an enemy of the mice, continually hunting them in their holes.
But the little brown bird who sings alone in the hedges really made himself king of the birds. He has two names now, Hedge King, and Wren.
Every one knew that she was a princess because she wandered all day through the castle without doing any work. It was a very busy kingdom indeed even if it was so tiny. It was only about two inches high above the meadow, not nearly as tall as the grass blades that grew all around it. The grass looked like a forest of trees to the little red princess, and a wild forget-me-not that bent down over the castle made her sky, for it was almost as blue and nearly as large to her wee eyes.
There were many roads and streets that went up and down through the kingdom, none of them much wider than the stalk of a daisy. There were many little houses along the streets and there was the castle of the little red princess with more windows than one could count, and more winding passages than she could walk through.
The castle was full of other busy little people in red who waited on the princess. They milked her cows, and played with her, and managed the house-keeping so that she did not have to do a bit of work. She was the only one, though, in the whole kingdom who did not work.
As the little red princess looked from her highest window she saw her subjects hurrying to and fro. They were always bringing sand for building, whole lines of them, and putting up new houses, and making better roads. Sentinels watched the gates of the city, and hundreds of workers in red brought in food from the meadow.
If one could have heard so tiny a person as the little red princess speak, she would have said,
"Why should I work when I have so many subjects to wait upon me? I was intended to look pretty, and sit in my doorway, and keep the whole kingdom working for me!"
One day something wonderful happened. The little red princess felt a strange pricking on her shoulders. When she turned her tiny head about to see what was the matter, she found out that she had a beautiful pair of wee, gossamer wings!
If any of the little red workers of the kingdom had been in doubt as to whether their princess were a real princess or not, they were sure now. Hadn't she wings? They waited on the princess more carefully than ever for fear she might hurt herself. And they declared a holiday for her to try her wings when they would stop work and go with her outside of the kingdom.
The little red princess was very much excited indeed about her flight. She had never been outside in all her life, and she went at the head of a procession, all the workers dancing and running along beside her.
Oh, how wonderful she found it in the meadow! The wind in the grass was like a forest wind to her. The sun dazzled her. Now she knew that the blue flower was not at the top of things. Far, far above it was more blue, and yellow sunlight, that she thought was gold, shone all for her because she was a princess!
She spread her wings! Up, up she flew! The others who had no wings watched her and clapped their hands as she rose in the bright air. It was not such a very long flight, not much higher than a tall parasol of Queen Anne's lace, but it was like flying into the clouds to the little red princess.
"I shall fly all the time!" she thought to herself. "I will alight only long enough to tell my subjects to go back to work for me. I am going to fly all the rest of the time."
So the little red princess dropped lightly to the ground again.
How they crowded about her! But she pushed them all aside a little scornfully. They looked surprised and tried to lead her toward the gate of the kingdom again. Then she pushed harder, and stamped her tiny feet. She tried to spread her wings, but they would not let her.
The little red workers surrounded their princess. They began cutting off her wings! It was a rule of the kingdom that a princess might fly only once. She did not know it, of course.
Some princesses were satisfied with trying their wings just once and then took them off themselves, but she was not that kind of princess. She wanted wings all the time!
She struggled, and tried to bite her kind little red subjects who really knew what was best for her. They did not pay any attention to her, though. They did not hurt her very much, but they did not stop until every scrap of her gossamer wings was gone.
"Now look at me! Just see what you have done to your princess!" she tried to say.
"Yes, just look! See what has happened to you!" the others tried to reply, hopping merrily around her.
It was true. Something wonderful had happened to the little red princess. She had changed into a little red queen!
So she did not mind in the least losing her wings. In fact, she was rather glad. She went home to the castle and went right to work ordering her servants about, and keeping house, and taking care of her royal family and all the nurses. She very seldom has time to look out of her castle window, so you may never see her. Her kingdom lies very near you, though, for the little red queen is the real, true queen of the ant hill!
Ever so many years ago the world was as bare and gray as the roads. The Earth King grew very tired of it, and covered the ground with a carpet of green. We call it grass. For years and years there was nothing but green, until the Earth King grew as tired of the green as he had been of the gray. He decided that he must have more colors. So one day he took his royal retinue and journeyed to a hillside where he knew there grew the finest grasses in all the kingdom. At the blast of the King's bugler the grasses assembled, and the King addressed them in simple words.
"My faithful grasses," he said. "It is many years since I placed you here. You have served me well. You have kept true green. It now pleases me to announce to you that I am about to reward a certain number of you and make you lords and ladies of the field. To-morrow I shall come hither at this same hour. You are to assemble before me, and the fairest of your number and the most pleasing I will honor with a great and lasting reward. Farewell."
How the grasses whispered and put their heads together then as a breeze crept up the hillside! They arose next morning before the sun, that they might wash their ribbons in the gleaming pearls of dew. What prinking and preening! What rustling of ruffles and sashes! What burnishing of armor and spears! At length the King's bugle rang out to call them into grand assembly. Full of excitement, they stood before the King, each hoping that he might be chosen for one of the great honors.
The King greeted them as he had on the previous day, but he said,
"In this Court of Judgment I must have willing servants to help me. First, I must have a keeper of the gate so that no outsider may enter. Which one of this host will be keeper of the gate?"
Not a man-grass stirred in his tracks, for each feared that if he became a servant of the King he would lose his chance to be a lord.
"Which one?" asked the King again. "Which one will volunteer to keep the gate for me?"
At this moment a sturdy grass was seen coming down the hillside. He was not handsome, but he was strong. His shoulders were broad, and his chest was deep, and he was armed to the teeth. Spear points stuck from every one of his pockets, and in each hand he carried a lance as sharp as lightning.
"Let the others wait for their honors," he thought, as he said,
"I will serve the King."
"So be it," said the King. "Take your station at the gate. And now," continued the King, "I must have a herald to announce my awards and my commands. Who will be my herald?"
Again there was silence among the man-grasses, until at last one was seen to advance. He was short and round and smiling, as happy a grass as grew on the hill. He came before the King as fast as his short legs could carry him.
"So it please the King," he said. "I will be his royal herald."
"So be it," said the King. "Stand here at my feet."
"Two torch-bearers I need," the King went on, "two torch-bearers, tall and comely, to hold the lights on high. Who will serve the King as torch-bearers?"
And now there was silence and stiffness among the lady-grasses as each feared to lose her chance to be given a title, and waited for the others. At last two slender grass-maidens advanced with glowing faces but reluctant step. They were not as beautiful as some of their sisters. Their ribbons were few and some of them were frayed. They scarcely expected the King to accept them, but they meekly offered themselves, as they said,
"We, O King, will be your torch-bearers."
The King looked greatly pleased as he replied,
"So be it, indeed. Stand here on either hand. And now," continued the King, "I must have an incense-bearer to swing my censer over the meadows. Who will be my incense-bearer?"
For a moment there was silence again among the lady-grasses, but only for a moment. Then out stepped one of the daintiest of them all. She tripped quickly and quietly down the hill to the King, saying modestly as she approached,
"I will be your incense-bearer."
"Let it be so," said the King. "Await my commands. Yet one more servant," he added. "I need some one to ring the chimes. Who among all these loyal subjects, man or maid, will ring the chimes?"
Scarcely had the King's words left his lips when one of the noblest grasses of all, her broad green ribbons rustling as she moved, left the crowded ranks of the grasses, and eagerly advanced before the King. "If it please your Majesty, I will ring the chimes," she said.
Then the King looked around, satisfied, upon his eager and expectant audience, and spoke a few brief words to them. He had come, he said, fearing that the task was almost too great for even a king—to choose among so many and so beautiful subjects. But they had helped him by choosing for themselves, and he had now only to award the honors.
"Keeper of the gate," he commanded, "stand before the King!"
The keeper of the gate came awkwardly forward, pricking all who brushed against him as he passed.
"Because you have been willing to serve," said the King, "I reward you with distinguished honor." Then, taking from the hand of a page a great velvet cap of purplish red, he placed it upon the head of the gatekeeper, saying as he did so, "I dub you: My Lord, the Thistle.
"Let the King's herald stand forth!"
The little round, happy herald obeyed. The King took a great gold coronet from the hand of a page and placed it upon the herald's head, saying,
"Because of your readiness to serve the King, I create you a noble of the field, and dub you: My Lord, the Dandelion.
"Let the torch-bearers stand forth!"
Then the two shy grass-maidens bowed before the King. On the head of each the King placed a shining crown, one all gold, and the other of gold rimmed with white, that they might be told apart; and he said to them,
"Because of your generous deed, I dub you: Lady Buttercup and Lady Daisy.
"Now, my incense-bearer!"
The dainty grass-maiden knelt at his feet and bowed her head.
The King beckoned to a page, who brought him a tiny hood of beautiful blue. This the King placed upon her head, saying,
"I am grateful for your service. I dub you: Lady Violet.
"Let the ringer of the royal chimes appear!"
The beautiful grass with the broad, shining ribbons stood proudly before him, and bent her head in salute. The King took a silver bell and gave it to her, saying,
"This shall be the sign of your royal office. I dub you: Lady Lily-of-the-Field."
Then the King charged his new-made lords and ladies to be faithful to their service, and never cease, year by year, to return and beautify the earth. Then the assembly was dissolved, but not until the whole host of grasses on the hillside had applauded what the King had done. They were disappointed, but they knew that the bravest and truest had been made the most beautiful among them, and crowned with the honor due.
There were once three little butterfly brothers, one white, one red, and one yellow. They played in the sunshine, and danced among the flowers in the garden, and they never grew tired because they were so happy.
[1] From Weick and Grebner's "Eclectic German Third Reader." Copyright, American Book Company, publishers.
One day there came a heavy rain and it wet their wings. They flew away home, but when they got there they found the door locked and the key gone. So they had to stay outdoors in the rain, and they grew wetter and wetter.
By and by they flew to the red and yellow striped tulip, and said, "Friend Tulip, will you open your flower-cup and let us in until the storm is over."
The tulip answered: "The red and yellow butterflies may enter because they are like me, but the white one may not come in."
But the red and yellow butterflies said: "If our white brother may not find shelter in your flower-cup, why, then, we will stay outside in the rain with him."
It rained harder and harder, and the poor little butterflies grew wetter and wetter, so they flew to the white lily and said: "Good Lily, will you open your bud a little so we may creep in out of the rain?"
The lily answered, "The white butterfly may come in, because he is like me, but the red and yellow ones must stay outside in the storm."
Then the white butterfly said: "If you won't receive my red and yellow brothers, why, then, I will stay out in the rain with them. We would rather be wet than parted."
So the three little butterflies flew away.
But the sun, who was behind a cloud, heard it all. He knew what good little brothers the butterflies were and how they had kept together in spite of the wet. So the sun pushed his face through the clouds and chased away the rain, and shone brightly on the garden.
He dried the wings of the three little butterflies, and warmed their bodies. They ceased to sorrow, and danced among the flowers until evening. Then they flew away home, and found the door wide open.
The Merry Little Breezes of Old Mother West Wind had been tumbled out of her big bag very early one morning. Indeed, they were hardly awake when Old Mother West Wind shook them out on the Green Meadows and hurried away to her day's work, for she knew it was to be a very busy day.
[2] Copyright, 1913, by Little, Brown and Company.
The Merry Little Breezes had watched her go. They saw the great windmill in Farmer Brown's barn-yard begin to whirl as she passed. They saw the million little leaves of the Green Forest shake, until a million little drops of dew, like a million little diamonds, fell down to the earth. And then Old Mother West Wind disappeared on her way to the Great Ocean, there to blow the white-winged ships along their way all day long.
The Merry Little Breezes stretched themselves and then began to dance across the Great Meadows to kiss the buttercups and daisies and to waken the sleepy little meadow people, who hadn't got their nightcaps off yet. But no one wanted to play so early in the morning. No, Sir, no one wanted to play. You see every one had something more important to do. They loved the Merry Little Breezes, but they just couldn't stop to play. Finally the Merry Little Breezes gave it up and just curled up among the grasses for a sun-nap. That is, all but one did. That one kept hopping up every few minutes to see if any one was in sight who would be likely to play a little while.
By and by he saw Peter Rabbit coming down the Lone Little Path from the Green Forest on his way to the dear old briar-patch on the Green Meadows. Peter looked sleepy. The truth is, Peter had been out all night, and he was on his way home.
Half-way down the Lone Little Path Peter stopped, and sitting up very straight, looked over towards the Smiling Pool. He could see Mr. Redwing flying 'round and 'round, this way and that way over the bulrushes. He could hear Mr. Redwing's voice, and it sounded as if Mr. Redwing was very much excited. The more Mr. Peter looked and listened, the more certain he became that something very important must have happened over in the bulrushes on the edge of the Smiling Pool.
Now curiosity is Peter Rabbit's besetting sin. Sleepy as he was, he just couldn't go home without first finding out what had happened in the bulrushes. So away Peter started for the Smiling Pool, lipperty-lipperty-lip. Of course the Merry Little Breeze saw him go. Then the Merry Little Breeze waked all the other Merry Little Breezes, and away they all danced across the Green Meadows to the Smiling Pool and stole in among the bulrushes behind Peter Rabbit to see what he was about. They came up just in time to hear Peter say:
"Hello, Mr. Redwing! You seem very much excited this fine morning. What is it all about? Has anything happened?"
Mr. Redwing hovered right over Peter Rabbit.