FullReads

A class in arithmetic was going on, and Eva listened to questions that none but elves would care to know.

“Twinkle, if there were fifteen seeds on a dandelion, and the wind blew ten away, how many would be left?”

“Five.”

“Bud, if a rose opens three leaves one day, two the next, and seven the next, how many in all?”

“Eleven.”

“Daisy, if a silk-worm spins one yard of fairy cloth in an hour, how many can he spin in a day?”

“Twelve, if he isn’t lazy,” answered the little elf, fluttering her wings, as if anxious to be done.

“Now we will read,” said Jack, and a new class flew to the long leaf, where they stood in a row, with open books, ready to begin.

“You may read ‘The Flower’s Lesson’ to-day, and be careful not to sing-song, Poppy,” said the teacher, passing a dainty book to Eva that she might follow the story.

“Once there was a rose who had two little buds. One was happy and contented, but the other always wanted something.

“‘I wish the elves would bring me a star instead of dew every night. The drop is soon gone, but a star would shine splendidly, and I should be finer than all the other flowers,’ said the naughty bud one night.

“‘But you need the dew to live, and the moon needs the stars up there to light the world. Don’t fret, sister, but be sure it is best to take what is sent, and be glad,’ answered the good bud.

“‘I won’t have the dew, and if I cannot get a star I will take a firefly to shine on my breast,’ said the other, shaking off a fresh drop that had just fallen on her, and folding her leaves round the bright fly.

“‘Foolish child!’ cried the rose-mother; ‘let the fly go, before he harms you. It is better to be sweet and fair than to shine with a beauty not your own. Be wise, dear, before it is too late.’

“But the silly bud only held the firefly closer, till in its struggles it tore her leaves and flew away. When the hot sun came up the poor bud hung all faded on her stem, longing for a cool drop to drink. Her sister was strong and fresh, and danced gayly in the wind, opening her red petals to the sun.

“‘Now I must die. Oh, why was I vain and silly?’ sobbed the poor bud, fainting in the heat.

“Then the mother leaned over her, and from her bosom, where she had hidden it, the dew-drop fell on the thirsty bud, and while she drank it eagerly the rose drew her closer, whispering, ‘Little darling, learn to be contented with what heaven sends, and make yourself lovely by being good.'”

“I shall remember that story,” said Eva when the elves shut their books and flew back to the daisy seats.

“Would you like to hear them sing?” asked Trip.

“Very much,” said Eva, and in the little song they gave her she got another lesson to carry home.

“I shine,” says the sun,
“To give the world light,”
“I glimmer,” adds the moon,
“To beautify the night.”
“I ripple,” says the brook,
“I whisper,” sighs the breeze,
“I patter,” laughs the rain,
“We rustle,” call the trees
“We dance,” nod the daisies,
“I twinkle,” shines the star,
“We sing,” chant the birds,
“How happy we all are!”
“I smile,” cries the child,
Gentle, good, and gay;
The sweetest thing of all,
The sunshine of each day.

“I shall sing that to myself and try to do my part,” said Eva, as the elves got out their paints and brushes of butterfly-down, and using large white leaves for paper, learned to imitate the colors of every flower.

“Why do they do this?” asked Eva, for she saw no pictures anywhere.