OUR LITTLE FOLKS.

Otago Witness, Issue 1959, 10 September 1891, Page 37

OUR LITTLE FOLKS.

Bt Dot.

&o» wIH b« Hnnl to no*** «k«rt Wtton frrat jarenllu eorr«. (Mtxdtnti on w; tuttten at tntore* to ttiw»»«W«-ttiort ttori« wt pet »nlm»Jj. detviytioai of their fkTonrito toyi, thtir partUa. wnuiemeaU, *o. Tfc» ttten to b* written by tfc* tUMni tfe«a' ttlrei and itowwt " ••*, nr* of tha Miter." %mA to b* Mfc-

THE GARDEN OF GOD. A STORY FOR CHILDREN OF EIGHT TO EIGHTY. By the Author op "A Dead Man's Diary." I. It was broad noonday in the garden, and so hot that one oould sac the air palpitating and quivering above the gravel paths in undulant haza of heat. - Even the butterfly gasped for breath, and grumbled beoauße the swaying of the grasses set stirring a warm puff, which was like the opening of an oven. The Bun Beemed so near, and waa trying bo hard to be hot, that the daises Baid they oould see him spinning and panting as ho stood above them ; but that, I think, was only their fancy, although it is true that be was shining so exactly overhead that there wasn't a streak of shadow where one oould creep for shelter from the sweltering heat. All the flowers were parched and drooping, and except for the passing buzz where a bee went drowsily by, or buried himself with a oontented burr in the heart of a pansy, not a Bound stirred the sultry silence. 411 at onoe there was a suddea scurry among the birds. A oat whioh bad been basking and purring in the sunshine — opening and shutting an eye every now and then to make believa that she wasn't sleepy — had dropped off into a doz9, and now yawned and awakened; and this was the signal for a general Btir. " Phew ! but it is hot, to be sure 1 " exolaimed the butterfly as be darted up for a stretch from the poppy head on which he had been sitting, and went waltzing, anglewise, down the gravelled path of the garden, lacing the long green lines of the boxwood bordering with loops of crimson and gold. "I hope my weight won't inconvenience you I " he said with airy politeness to the lily, dropping himself lazily, and without waiting for an answer, upon her delioate head, whioh drooped bo feebly beneath her new burden that several aoented petals fluttered fainting to the ground ; " but really, if one ia to endure auoh weather in comfort, an agreeable seat is absolutely a neoesßity." " I am grieved to sea you looking so sadly," he continued, after he had Battled himself to his liking ; " but what on earth, my good soul, makes you lean forward in that uncomfortable attitude ? There is a charmingly shady Rpot under the shelter of the wall behind you, Why don't yau lean in that direction ? As it is, you are going out of your way to make yourself uncomfortable, besides which, I should very muoh prefer being out of the heat." " I should be glad to move into the shade," said the lily gently, " but my eweetheatt, the rose, has fallen asleep by the border, and I am leaning over her to keep the sun from her buds.' p

" How very charming you are 1 " lisped the butterfly languidly, and in a tone of polite contempt which seemed to imply, " and whit a fool ! " " But your ideas are a little crude, don't you know ? though of course interesting. It is easy to see you are not a person of the world. When you have travelled about and learnt aB much as I have, you will come to look at Buch things in a different way." " Yes, you have travelled, and lived in the world, and seen a great deal," eaid the lily ; " but I have loved, and it ia by loviner, aa well as by living, that one learns." " Don't presume to lecture me i " was the impatient answer. " Fancy a flower finding fault with a butterfly ! Don't you know that I am your superior in the scale of being ? But tell me, does this love of which you speak bring happiness ? " " The greatest of all haopineases," whispered the lily almost to herself, and with infinite tenderness -her white bells seeming to light up and overflow, like human eyes, as she spoke. " To love truly, and to be loved, is indeed to be be favoured of heaven. All the good things whioh this world contains are not worthy to be offered in exchange for the lovo of one faithful heart."

"Then I must learn to love," said the butterfly deoisively, "for happiness has alwaya been my aim. How am Ito begin?" " You'll have to begin by unlearning," put in a big double-dahlia, which was standing by like a sentinel, and looking aB stiff and stuckup aa if he had jußt been appointed flowerpoliceman to the garden, " Don't you be afraid that any one's going to fall in love with you," was the spiteful rejoinder of the butterfly, edging himaelf round and round on a lily-bell aB be spoke. " Your place is in the vegetable garden, along with the cauliflowers and artichokes. There is something distinguished about a white chrysanthemum, and the single-dahlias are shapely, although they do stare bo; but the doubledablias 1 " and the butterfly affected a pretty shudder of horror wbiob made tha doubledahlia stiffen on his stem with rage. "How dare you speak Bligbtingly or my family I " be Baid indignantly. " And as for those big chrysanthemums 1 why they're just like tumbled heaps of worsted, or that shaggyeyed skye-terrier dog that we see sometimes in the garden — untidy, shapeless, lumpy things, I call them ! " The butterfly, who had been alternately opening and shutting his wings, as if he thought the sight of suoh Bplendour was too dazzling to be borne continuously, but really because he knew that the eombre tinting whioh they die* played when'olosed! heightened by contrast their gorgeous colouring when open, was nothing if not well-bred, bo he simply pretended to stifle a yawn in the dahlia's Iface, and to make believa that he bad not heard what was said.

"After all," he said, turning hia baok pointedly upon the dahlia, and shutting up bis wings with a final snap— just as a fine lady doeß a fan— " after all, my dear lily, I don't know whether it's worth my while to learn to love ; for by this time next year you and I will be dead, and it will be all the same then to us as if we had never loved, or even lived at all."

" I know about what oomes after death," replied the lily; "but no one who loves can doubt immortality, and if the rose and I are not already immortal, I believe that our love will make us so."

"What is this immortality?" said the butterfly. " I have heard the word used a great deal in my wanderings, but I never quite knew the meaning of it."

"It is the finding again after death of those we have loved and lost; and the loving and living with them for ever, I think," answered his companion. "I don't believe you know anything about it," Baid >the butterfly derisively. " All the men and women I've met— and they ought to know— used ever so muoh longer words." "Perhaps you are right," replied the lily ttuietly, bending forward to shield a stray rose*

bud from the burning sun: " but to be for ever with those I love would be immortality enough for me, And I heard the maiden who walks in the garden speaking yesterday, and I remember that she said it was more godlike to love one little child purely and unselfishly than to have a heart filled with a thousand vast vague aspirations after things we can neither know nor understand." (21? be concluded next week.)