but seldom completed anything he undertook, for lack of perseverance.

The old man blessed him. He started for the mountain, and walked a
long way up its side, often missing his footing, and at one time seeking
aid from a rotten branch, which broke in his grasp and nearly threw him
to the base.

After repeated efforts to reach the summit, he found a sweet, pale
blossom growing in a mossy nook by a rock.

"Ah! here it is--the same, I dare say, as those on the mountain top.
So what need of climbing farther? What a lucky fellow I am to save so
many steps for myself!" and he went down the mountain side as fast as
he could, amid the rank and tangled wood, with the flower in his hand.

Day was walking over the meadows with golden feet when he entered
the cottage and placed the blossom exultingly in the old man's palm.

"What! so quick returned?" he said. "Thou must have been very swift--but
this, my good young man, never grew on the mountain top! Thee must have
found this half way up. I remember well those little flowers--they grew
by the rocks where I used to rest when on my journey up."

The crowd who had come to see the strange white flower now laughed aloud,
which made the youth withdraw, abashed and much humbled. Had he been
strong of heart, he would have tried again, and not returned without the
blossom from the mountain top. Many others tried, but never had the
courage to reach its height; while the old man daily grew weaker.

"He'll die without setting eyes on his flower," said the good woman