The Pig Brother, and Other Fables and Stories. Richards Laura Elizabeth Howe

“is a round cake. Look at it! the frosting is half an inch thick, with candied rose-leaves and angelica laid on in true-lovers’ knots; and inside there are chopped-up almonds, and raisins, and great slices of citron. It is the prettiest cake I ever saw, and the best.”

      “So it is I did!” said the third child.

      Then the Angel gave the last piece to the child whose nursery it was.

      “My dear!” she said. “Just look! Here is an ice-cream rabbit. He is snow-white outside, with eyes of red barley sugar; see his ears, and his little snubby tail! but inside, I think you will find him pink. Now, when I clap my hands and count one, two, three, you must eat the feast all up. One – two – three!”

      So the children ate the feast all up.

      “There!” said the Angel. “Did ever you see such a grand feast?”

      “No, never we did!” said all the four children together.

      “And there are some crumbs left over,” said the Angel. “Come, and we will give them to the brother birds!”

      “But you didn’t have any!” said the child whose nursery it was.

      “Oh, yes!” said the Angel. “I had it all!”

      THE OWL AND THE EEL ANDTHE WARMING-PAN

      The owl and the eel and the warming-pan,

      They went to call on the soap-fat man.

      The soap-fat man he was not within:

      He’d gone for a ride on his rolling-pin.

      So they all came back by the way of the town,

      And turned the meeting-house upside down.

      THE WHEAT-FIELD

      Some children were set to reap in a wheat-field. The wheat was yellow as gold, the sun shone gloriously, and the butterflies flew hither and thither. Some of the children worked better, and some worse; but there was one who ran here and there after the butterflies that fluttered about his head, and sang as he ran.

      By and by evening came, and the Angel of the wheat-field called to the children and said, “Come now to the gate, and bring your sheaves with you.”

      So the children came, bringing their sheaves. Some had great piles, laid close and even, so that they might carry more; some had theirs laid large and loose, so that they looked more than they were; but one, the child that had run to and fro after the butterflies, came empty-handed.

      The Angel said to this child, “Where are your sheaves?”

      The child hung his head. “I do not know!” he said. “I had some, but I have lost them, I know not how.”

      “None enter here without sheaves,” said the Angel.

      “I know that,” said the child. “But I thought I would like to see the place where the others were going; besides, they would not let me leave them.”

      Then all the other children cried out together. One said, “Dear Angel, let him in! In the morning I was sick, and this child came and played with me, and showed me the butterflies, and I forgot my pain. Also, he gave me one of his sheaves, and I would give it to him again, but I cannot tell it now from my own.”

      Another said, “Dear Angel, let him in! At noon the sun beat on my head so fiercely that I fainted and fell down like one dead; and this child came running by, and when he saw me he brought water to revive me, and then he showed me the butterflies, and was so glad and merry that my strength returned; to me also he gave one of his sheaves, and I would give it to him again, but it is so like my own that I cannot tell it.”

      And a third said, “Just now, as evening was coming, I was weary and sad, and had so few sheaves that it seemed hardly worth my while to go on working; but this child comforted me, and showed me the butterflies, and gave me of his sheaves. Look! it may be that this was his; and yet I cannot tell, it is so like my own.”

      And all the children said, “We also had sheaves of him, dear Angel; let him in, we pray you!”

      The Angel smiled, and reached his hand inside the gate and brought out a pile of sheaves; it was not large, but the glory of the sun was on it, so that it seemed to lighten the whole field.

      “Here are his sheaves!” said the Angel. “They are known and counted, every one.” And he said to the child, “Lead the way in!”

      ABOUT ANGELS

      “Mother,” said the child; “are there really angels?”

      “The Good Book says so,” said the mother.

      “Yes,” said the child; “I have seen the picture. But did you ever see one, mother?”

      “I think I have,” said the mother; “but she was not dressed like the picture.”

      “I am going to find one!” said the child. “I am going to run along the road, miles, and miles, and miles, until I find an angel.”

      “That will be a good plan!” said the mother. “And I will go with you, for you are too little to run far alone.”

      “I am not little any more!” said the child. “I have trousers; I am big.”

      “So you are!” said the mother. “I forgot. But it is a fine day, and I should like the walk.”

      “But you walk so slowly, with your lame foot.”

      “I can walk faster than you think!” said the mother.

      So they started, the child leaping and running, and the mother stepping out so bravely with her lame foot that the child soon forgot about it.

      The child danced on ahead, and presently he saw a chariot coming towards him, drawn by prancing white horses. In the chariot sat a splendid lady in velvet and furs, with white plumes waving above her dark hair. As she moved in her seat, she flashed with jewels and gold, but her eyes were brighter than her diamonds.

      “Are you an angel?” asked the child, running up beside the chariot.

      The lady made no reply, but stared coldly at the child: then she spoke a word to her coachman, and he flicked his whip, and the chariot rolled away swiftly in a cloud of dust, and disappeared.

      The dust filled the child’s eyes and mouth, and made him choke and sneeze. He gasped for breath, and rubbed his eyes; but presently his mother came up, and wiped away the dust with her blue gingham apron.

      “That was not an angel!” said the child.

      “No, indeed!” said the mother. “Nothing like one!”

      The child danced on again, leaping and running from side to side of the road, and the mother followed as best she might.

      By and by the child met a most beautiful maiden, clad in a white dress. Her eyes were like blue stars, and the blushes came and went in her face like roses looking through snow.

      “I am sure you must be an angel!” cried the child.

      The maiden blushed more sweetly than before. “You dear little child!” she cried. “Some one else said that, only last evening. Do I really look like an angel?”

      “You are an angel!” said the child.

      The maiden took him up in her arms and kissed him, and held him tenderly.

      “You are the dearest little thing I ever saw!” she said. “Tell me what makes you think so!” But suddenly her face changed.

      “Oh!” she cried. “There he is, coming to meet me! And you have soiled my white dress with your dusty shoes, and pulled my hair all awry. Run away, child, and go home to your mother!”

      She set the child down, not unkindly, but so hastily that he stumbled and fell; but she did not see that, for she was hastening forward to meet her lover, who was coming along the road. (Now if the maiden had only known, he thought her twice as lovely with the child in her arms; but she did not know.)

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