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Page 28
Then the grasses laid down their tiny spears, and the dandelions bent
their heads, and the locusts and the crickets and the grasshoppers
called feebly,--
"Oh, little brook, cannot you get out of your bed and come this way?"
"Our hearts are broken," cried the daisies.
"We shall die," wailed the ragged-sailors. Then they all waited for
the brook to reply; but she was silent, and call as they would they
could get no answer.
"Hush!" whispered the springs. "Her bed is empty. Have n't you
noticed how little she sang lately? The weeds must have fallen asleep
and she has run away. You know they always hindered her."
They did not tell that they were too weak to feed the brook; so it had
dried away. And still the sun glared down, and the little breeze was
dead, and the brook had disappeared; while there on the door-step sat
Marie weeping big tears,--for the little maid was always sad, and come
when you would, there was Marie with her dark eyes filled and brimming
over with the shining drops.
The beeches beckoned her from the garden; she saw them do it. Their
long branches waved to her to come, like inviting arms; and still
weeping, she stole quietly away.
"Come," whispered the gnarled apple-trees down in the orchard; and she
threaded her way sadly among the trunks, while her tears fell splash,
splash, on her white pinafore.
"Here!" gasped the meadow-grass; and she followed on, sobbing softly to
herself, as she sat down where, days ago, the brook had merrily sung.
"Why do you grieve?" asked the pebbles; and she heard them and
answered,--
"Because I am so sad. Things are never as I want them, and so I cry.
I am made to obey, and then, when the stars come out and I wish to stay
up, I am sent to bed; and the next morning, when I am so sleepy I can
hardly open my eyes, I am made to get up. Oh, this is a very sad
world!" And she wept afresh.
Then the flowers and the grasses and the pebbles, seeing her tears, all
said at once: "Would you like to stay here with us? Then you could
stay awake all night and gaze at the stars, and in the morning you need
not get up. You may lie in the brook's empty bed, and you need never
obey your parents any more."
Marie was silent a moment, and then a hundred small voices said, "Do,
oh, do!" And her tears fell faster and more fast, and larger and
larger, for she felt more abused than ever now the meadow had shown her
sympathy, as she thought. She kept dropping tears so quickly that by
and by even her sobbing could scarcely be heard for the splash, splash,
of the many drops that were falling on the white pebbles in the brook's
bed.
How they fell! The brown eyes grew dim, and Marie could not see. She
felt tiny hands pulling her down--down; and in a moment she had ceased
to be a little girl and had become a brook, while her weeping was the
murmur of little waves as they plashed against the stones.
Yes, it was true!
She need never go to sleep when the stars came out; she need never get
out of her bed in the morning,--how could she when the strong weeds
hindered her,--and how could a brook obey when people spoke?
And meanwhile the meadow grew gay again, for the brook cooled its
fever; and by and by the dandelions tied on their large, fluffy
nightcaps and disappeared, and the sun ceased to glare--for Marie was
gone from the door-step with her weeping, and he need not look down on
the ungrateful little maid who ought to have been so happy. The clouds
came back; and when they heard how the meadow had suffered they wept
for sympathy, and the underground springs grew strong, until one day
there was a great commotion in the meadow.
A little bird had told the whole story of Marie's woe to the breeze,
and he rose and sighed aloud; the trees tossed their arms about,
because it was so wicked in a little girl to be ungrateful. The
crickets said, "Tut, tut!" in a very snappy way; and at last the great
wind rose, and whipped the poor brook until it grew quite white with
foam and fear.
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