"I'll let him rest to-night," said the kind man. "To-morrow he shall have his first lesson in weeding the beds and watering the flowers."

At dawn the old man arose, dressed himself, and went forth to view the sun as it rose over the hills; while the youth slumbered on till nearly noon, and when he arose manifested no life nor interest till the evening meal was over. He partook largely of the bounties, and seemed so full of animation that the old man took courage, and smiles of satisfaction settled on his features; for he thought he had found a helper for himself and wife.

The next day they called him at sunrise, and after many efforts succeeded in arousing him from his sleep. The aged couple went to their garden after the morning meal, and awaited the appearance of the youth.

"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 acc.u.mulation 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."

XIV.

THE VINES.

They grew side by side. The most casual observer would have said that one was far more beautiful than the other. Its height was not only greater, but its foliage was brighter.

"I should think," remarked the vine of superior external appearance to the other, "that, for the gardener's sake, you would try and make a better appearance. I heard him remark this morning that he almost despaired of your ever bearing fruit, or looking even presentable. I am sure we each have the same soil to draw our nourishment from, and one hand to prune away our deformities."

"I think I can defend myself to the satisfaction of both yourself and the gardener; and if you will listen to me this evening, as I cannot spare any of the moments of the day, I will tell you what labor occupies so much of my time."

"Both myself and the gardener would be delighted to have an explanation; for it has been a wonder to us both what you can be doing. You certainly have not attained any height, nor put forth foliage of any account for the past year."

The full-leaved vine spent the day fluttering her leaves in the wind and listening to the praise of pa.s.sers-by.

"What a difference in these vines!" exclaimed two gentlemen as they walked past the garden.

"Just what every one remarks," said the good-looking vine to herself; and, raising her head very high in the air, she put forth another shoot.

Yet, with all her fullness of conceit and vainglory, she grew very impatient for the hour to arrive when her sister would be at leisure to talk with her.

At sunset, after the gardener had laid his tools away and closed the garden gates for the evening, her sister announced to her that she was ready to explain her strange life for the past year.

"If you can call anything 'life' which has no visible sign of growth or motion," pertly remarked the gay vine.

Her sister took no notice of the remark, though it wounded her, and some of her leaves fluttered and fell to the ground. Had her sister been more sensitive, she could have seen her tremble in every limb, though her voice was sweet and clear as she commenced, saying, "I have been very busy the past year, but in a direction which no one but myself could perceive. Knowing that we are subject to periods of drought, I have been, and I think wisely too, occupying all my time in sending fibres into the earth in every direction. I have already got one as far as the brook, the other side of the wall. I heard the gardener say it was never dry, so I struck out in that direction, and expect to bring forth fruit next year for all."

"But could you not have put forth some leaves, at least, and made a more pleasing appearance?" inquired her sister.

"No: it took all my strength to strike into the earth. I hope to see the time when no one will be ashamed of my appearance."

The vain vine grew quite thoughtful. Was she, after all, ahead of her sister? Was a good external appearance the sure sign of merit?

These questions kept her busy for many days. She reasoned them in her mind, but did not act on the lesson they taught. She, too, would like to have made preparation for seasons of drought, but her pride stood in the way. She feared to lose her lovely foliage; and the month sped on.

Another year came. The earth was parched: no rain fell on the dry plants and leaves. The once lovely vine lost all her foliage, while her sister was full of leaves and promise of fruit.

"I declare," said the gardener, "it does seem strange. I expected this vine had lost all its life; yet it is now bright and vigorous, while the one I looked to for much fruit is fast fading. What can be the reason?"

Later in the season, the vine which had worked so long out of sight had the pleasure of seeing not only the table of its owner supplied with delicious fruits from its branches, but also of hearing the gardener remark to visitors that the sick and feeble of the neighborhood were strengthened and refreshed by the cooling grapes which she had, through so much exertion brought forth.

The other vine bore no fruit, and had to be pruned severely; but pride stood no longer in the way of her progress. She began to send forth her fibres into the earth, as her sister had done. It was hard at first for her to be obliged to listen to the praises of one whom she considered her inferior; but she at length attained that glorious height which enables us to rejoice when the earth has been made richer, no matter by whom or by what means.

XV.

IN THE WORLD.

A parent who loved his son more wisely than most earthly parents, and who longed to see him crowned with the light of wisdom, felt that he must send him afar from himself to gather immortal truth: and his heart was moved with a deeper grief at the thought that he must send him forth alone, and unprovided with means to procure his daily sustenance; for only thus could he learn the lessons which were necessary for his soul's development.

The boy lay sleeping upon a soft white bed: his hands were folded peacefully upon his breast. Hard was the task the father knew was his,--to break that sleep, that slumber so profound, and send his boy out into a cold and selfish world. But, shaking off the tremor and the weakness of his soul, he said, "Arise, my son: I must send you forth upon a long and dangerous journey to gather truths to light your soul; and you must go without the means to procure your bread and shelter.

It grieves my heart, my son, that all this must be so; but yet I know the journey must be taken, and all its dangers and privations met. My prayers and blessings will go with you, child, through all your scenes."

The astonished son gazed on his father's face. The parent turned and wept; then, wiping away the fast-falling tears, he said, "I do not wonder at your earnest, curious gaze, you who have so long lived in the bosom of my love; but there are lessons that must be learned by every human soul. I cannot tell you what these lessons are: they must be experienced, else gladly would I spare you the toil, and myself the pain of parting."

The boy looked sad as he thought of the perils and exposures to which he should be subjected, without means to procure the least comfort.

The night shades fell on the earth. Only a glimmer of daylight tinged the sky when father and son parted, the one for action, the other to endure and wait his return.

The journey for many days lay over cheerless hills and barren plains; and many a tear was brushed from that young cheek by the hand which his father had so warmly pressed at parting.

At the close of a dark, stormy day, weary and faint for food, he was about to lie down on the damp gra.s.s, overcome with weariness, when he espied an elegant edifice a little way beyond.

"I will travel on," he said hopefully; "for surely, in such a mansion, I shall find protection and food for my famished body."

It took much longer to reach it than he expected; but at last, with torn and bleeding feet, he came to the broad avenue which led to the dwelling.

"What magnificence!" he exclaimed. "How glad I am that my father sent me hither to see such wondrous things!" With hope beaming in every feature, he approached the door and knocked.

It was opened by one whose voice and face exhibited no sign of welcome.

He cast an impatient glance upon the traveler, who shrank abashed and trembling from so rude a gaze.