"I sent him to gather ferns to plant beside these rocks: he surely cannot
be all this time gathering them," remarked the woman.
The husband went to the edge of the wood whither she had sent him,
and found him lying upon the ground, looking dreamingly at the skies.
The good couple did not succeed in arousing him to a sense of any
duty. He was dead to labor, and had no life to contribute to the scene
around him.
"I fear you have made a mistake," said the wife of the good man when
the shadows of evening came and they were alone. "I see the boy can
never appreciate the toil of our years. He must return and climb the
mount for himself. He has no appreciation of all this accumulation
which we have been years in gaining, nor can he have. It is not in the
order of life: each must climb the summit himself. A mistake lies in
our taking any one in our arms and raising him to the mount."
"I see it now," said her husband, who had, like many people, been
more kind than wise, and like many foolish parents who injure their
offspring by giving them the result of their years of toil.
On the morrow, the youth was sent back. A few years after, the aged
man saw him toiling up a steep hill, seeking to make a home of his own.
It was a beautiful eminence, and overlooked the fields and woods for
miles around.
"He will know the worth and comfort of it," said the old man to his
companion.
"Toil and sacrifice will make it a sweet spot," she answered; "and
after the morning of labor will come the evening of rest.
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