Tell Me Another Story Part 40

At that moment the Infanta, herself, came in through the open door, and when she saw the ugly little dwarf lying on the ground and beating it with his clenched hands, she went off into shouts of happy laughter.

"His dancing was funny," said the Infanta, "but his acting is funnier still. He is almost as good as the puppets," and she clapped her hands.

But the little dwarf never looked up, and his sobs grew fainter and fainter, and suddenly he gave a curious gasp and clutched his side.

And then he fell back, and lay quite still.

"That was splendid!" said the Infanta, "and now you must get up and dance for me!"

But the little dwarf made no answer.

The Infanta stamped her foot, and called to the Court Chamberlain.

"My funny little dwarf is sulking," she cried. "You must wake him up and tell him to dance for me!"

So the Chamberlain came in from the terrace where he had been walking and bent over the dwarf, tapping him on his cheek with his embroidered glove.

But the little dwarf never moved.

The Chamberlain looked grave, and he knelt beside the dwarf, putting his hand on his heart. And after a few moments he rose up, and making a low bow to the Infanta, said,

"My beautiful Princess, your funny little dwarf will never dance again. It is a pity, for he is so ugly that he might have made the King smile."

"But why will he not dance again?" asked the Infanta, laughing.

"Because his heart is broken," answered the Chamberlain.

And the Infanta frowned, and her rose-leaf lips curled in scorn. "For the future let those who come to play with me have no hearts," she cried, and she ran out into the garden.

THE p.r.i.c.kLY BUSH

It was the only growing thing in the whole, beautiful garden that was p.r.i.c.kly. It stood beside the sunny path, so low that the white rabbit could jump over it. It longed to spread its branches across the path to be touched by the gardener and the children, but no one cared to go very near the little bush that was so covered with thorns.

The day lily had broad, soft leaves without a single thorn. It spread them away from the p.r.i.c.kly bush. The tulips had tall, smooth leaves.

They held them very high, and away from the bush that was so full of thorns. The white rabbit that lived in the garden and loved to sun himself beneath the plants was very careful not to go near the p.r.i.c.kly little bush.

"I must tie this bush so that it cannot hurt any one," the gardener said one day as he pa.s.sed it. "The thorns on it are growing larger and larger every day." So he cut a long, straight stick, and painted it green, and stuck it in the ground beside the p.r.i.c.kly little bush. Then he tied the bush tightly to the stick, which kept it from leaning over the path.

"Be very careful not to go near that ugly little bush," said the children to each other. "It will scratch you even worse than the cat scratches."

All this was very discouraging, and the p.r.i.c.kly little bush drooped and did not feel like growing.

The days of the summer grew warmer, the sun shone, and soft rains fell upon the garden. A pleasant breeze came singing down the path, and the sun, and the rain, and the breeze, each one, spoke to the p.r.i.c.kly little bush.

"Climb up a little higher," the great, yellow sun seemed to say. So the p.r.i.c.kly little bush pulled and stretched its p.r.i.c.kly branches up toward the blue sky, and as it grew higher and higher, its thorns went, too, out of the way of the rabbit and the children.

"Push harder," the pattering raindrops seemed to say to the roots of the p.r.i.c.kly little bush as they soaked down through the ground. So the roots of the p.r.i.c.kly little bush pushed, and pushed until the branches seemed bursting, and green leaves and tiny buds came and covered over the thorns so that they could scarcely be seen at all.

"Open your buds as wide as you can," the warm breezes seemed to sing as they stopped in the branches of the p.r.i.c.kly little bush. So the little bush unfolded its brown buds as wide and as prettily as it could.

Then it came to be the most beautiful day of all, the mother's birthday. The children went out to the garden to try to find the loveliest thing that grew there to be their mother's birthday gift.

And that was not easy because the garden was so full of lovely things.

"I am sure that she will like this tall white lily," said one of the children.

"But the lily fades so quickly after it is picked," said another child. "I think that she would like a red tulip."

"But our mother loves pink better than she loves red," said the youngest child. "Do let us go on a little farther before we decide what to take her for her birthday. Oh, how pretty--" The youngest child stopped in front of the p.r.i.c.kly little bush, and the others crowded close to see, too.

They never would have known that it was the p.r.i.c.kly bush, at all. It stood as proudly and as straight as a little tree, and its green leaves covered it like a beautiful dress. Peeping out from between the leaves were the most lovely pink flowers, as soft as velvet and with so many curling petals that one could not count them. They smelled more sweetly than any other flower in the garden, and the children could scarcely speak at first, they were so surprised.

"Roses!" said one child.

"Pink roses!" said another child.

"The p.r.i.c.kly little bush has turned into a rose bush for our mother's birthday," said the youngest child.

So they smelled of the beautiful pink roses, and touched them to feel how soft and like velvet the petals were. Then they decided that the pink roses that had bloomed on the p.r.i.c.kly little bush were the loveliest flowers in the whole garden, and they picked the largest pink rose of all to carry into the house for their mother's birthday gift.

On the way they met the gardener, and they showed him the beautiful rose, telling him how it had grown upon the p.r.i.c.kly little bush. He smiled, for he knew a great deal about the strange ways of his plants.

"I thought it would bear roses this year," the gardener said. "It often happens that the bush with the sharpest thorns to carry, once it blooms, has the prettiest roses."

ARBOR DAY

THE TINKER'S WILLOW

One day, when my Grandfather Gifford was about seven years old, he looked across the road to his father's blacksmith shop, and seeing some one sitting on the bench by the door, went over to learn who it was.

He found a little old man, with thick, bushy eyebrows and bright blue eyes. His clothes were made all of leather, which creaked and rattled when he moved. By his side was a partly open pack, in which grandfather could see curious tools and sheets of s.h.i.+ny tin. By that he knew that the man was the travelling tinker, who came once or twice a year to mend leaky pans and pails, and of whom he had heard his mother speak.

The old man was eating his luncheon--a slice or two of bread, a bit of cold meat, and a cold potato; and because it seemed so poor a luncheon, grandfather went back to the house and brought two big apples from the cellar. The old man thanked him and ate the apples.

Then he got up, brushed the bread crumbs from his leather breeches, and taking a little tin dipper from his pack, went down to the brook for a drink of water. When he had had his fill, he came back to the bench and sat down.

"Now, my boy," he said, "we will make a tree to grow here by the brook. There ought to be one, for shade."

"Make a tree!" cried grandfather. "How can we make a tree? I thought only G.o.d made trees."

"True," said the old man. "Only G.o.d makes trees, but sometimes we can help Him."

With that, he took from the bench at his side a stick that he had cut somewhere by the road, and had been using for a cane. It was slender and straight, and grandfather noticed that the bark was smooth and of a beautiful light green.