With its whiteness no flower could compare. There were
others, growing half way up, that approached its purity, but none equaled
the flower on the summit.
"I should like, of all things," answered the old man, when they desired
to know what would most please him,--for he had become a great favorite
in the valley,--"to look once more upon my pure white flower ere I die;
but it's so far to the mountain top, none will care to climb."
"Thou _shalt_ see it!" exclaimed a strong youth, who was courageous,
but seldom completed anything he undertook, for lack of perseverance.
The old man blessed him. He started for the mountain, and walked a
long way up its side, often missing his footing, and at one time seeking
aid from a rotten branch, which broke in his grasp and nearly threw him
to the base.
After repeated efforts to reach the summit, he found a sweet, pale
blossom growing in a mossy nook by a rock.
"Ah! here it is--the same, I dare say, as those on the mountain top.
So what need of climbing farther? What a lucky fellow I am to save so
many steps for myself!" and he went down the mountain side as fast as
he could, amid the rank and tangled wood, with the flower in his hand.
Day was walking over the meadows with golden feet when he entered
the cottage and placed the blossom exultingly in the old man's palm.
"What! so quick returned?" he said. "Thou must have been very swift--but
this, my good young man, never grew on the mountain top! Thee must have
found this half way up.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25