"I've spun a piece of hempen cloth, And I want to spin another

A little sheet for Mary's bed,

And an apron for her mother.'

"And with that I could not help but laugh, And I laughed out loud and free;

And then on top of the Caldon-Low
There was no one left but me.

"And all on top of the Caldon-Low, The mists were cold and gray;

And nothing I saw but the mossy stones

That round about me lay.

"But as I came down from the hilltop,

I heard, afar below,

How busy the jolly miller was,

And how merry the wheel did go.

"And down by the weaver's croft, I stole, To see if the flax were high;

But I saw the weaver at his gate,
With the good news in his eye!

"Now, this is all I heard, mother,
And all that I did see;

So, prithee, make my bed, mother,
For I'm tired as I can be!"

THE FLAX

The flax was in full bloom. The pretty blue flowers were as soft and delicate as the wings of a moth. The rain watered them and the sun shone upon them, and this was as good for the flax flowers as it is for little children to be washed and then kissed by their mother. They look much brighter for it and so did the flax.

"People say that I am growing tall," said the flax, gayly tossing its blossoms in the morning breeze. "They say that I shall make a beautiful piece of linen. How glad I am! It makes me very happy to think that I shall be so useful. How warm and cheerful the sunshine is, and how sweet the rain tastes! No one could be happier than I."

"Ah, well," said the fern, "but you do not know the world yet. I would not be so cheerful; it is of no use." And then it sang very sadly:

"No, no, it is not ended," replied the flax. "I like the sunshine. I like the rain. I know that I am growing. I am sure that I am in blossom. Who is so happy as I."

But one day some people came and pulled the flax up root and all. This was really painful. Then it was thrown into water as if it were to be drowned. After that it was put before a fire as if it were to be roasted.

All this was far from pleasant, but the flax said, "We must not expect good fortune always. If we learn to suffer patiently, we shall become wiser."

Well, surely there was trouble enough in store for the flax. It was soaked, it was roasted, it was broken and it was combed. At last it was put upon a spinning wheel. "Whir, whir, whir," went the wheel so fast that the flax could not collect its thoughts. It could hardly tell where it was in the noise and confusion.

"Oh, well," it said to itself, "I must think how happy I have been in the past. I will not lose my

courage even now.

And so it said when it was

taken to the loom and there-would you believe it? -it was made into a large, smooth piece of linen. "Well, this is perfectly delightful," said the linen as it lay on the cool grass. "Who would ever have dreamed of good fortune like this? Really the fern was mistaken when he said the song was ended. Ended? No, indeed, it is just begun. Now I shall really be very useful. The housemaid said this morning that I was a very fine piece of linen, so soft and so strong, so white and so long.

"When I was a little plant in the field, I seemed to give people pleasure, and I was very happy in my lot. But I would much rather be of real use in the world. No one could possibly be happier than I am.”

It was made into

Then it was taken into the house and cut with the scissors. It was torn and clipped and pricked. There was certainly no pleasure in that at all. But the linen was very cheerful, and soon it was rewarded for its patience. beautiful, soft garments. "Just see me now," it said. to do my work in the world. be all my life!"

"Now I am all ready How happy I shall

Years passed by.

so thin that they

The linen garments were worn could hardly hold together. "Now, I suppose, the end has indeed come," said the linen.

But no, the old worn pieces were torn into tiny bits; they were steeped in water, made into pulp, dried, heated and rolled. At last they became smooth, white paper.

"How wonderful this is!" said the paper. "Now shall be able to carry beautiful stories and poems all over the world. I shall be a messenger of good news to many, many homes. For every blossom that I used to have, I shall now have some beautiful thought or pleasant fancy. What have I ever done to deserve such honor and happiness?

The paper was sent to the printer, and the stories were printed in books, and the books were sent all over the country. Many children read the stories and were better and happier for it.

What would the fern have said if it could have known? You do not know, I suppose, but it is just as well, for children must not know everything.

HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. Adapted.